The Perfume Trap
The snow on Fifth Avenue is swept into pearl-white walls, and Leah Winters crunches through the sunlight on her latest season's red-soled pumps. She arranges her fur scarf against the mirrored façade of the Fendi boutique, her diamond studs shimmering on her earlobes like tiny specks of light dangling from two hardened daggers.
"Ms. Winters, a gift from a gentleman." Gucci's counterpart chased her out with a black velvet gift box, her breath condensing into a flattering white mist in the cold air.
Leah picked at the ribbon with her velvet-gloved fingertips. She heard the soft clink of her back teeth as the classic N°5 bottle emerged into the morning light -- a love token Lucas had given to that bitch back in the day. But now the words "To the Eternal Muse" engraved on the bottom of the bottle are refracting the light and creating a tsunami in her pupils.
Behind the security camera Emma twirled her tail ring, the sapphire face flashing with dark red blood. It was a miniature controller she'd adapted from her mother's relics, and at the moment all the electronic screens on Fifth Avenue were synchronized to show Leah opening her presents. As the nude nail-polished hand unscrewed the cap, she blew the intro to "To Alice" softly into the microphone.
"Biometric match detected." Arthur's voice came over the invisible headset. Leah would never know that the fingerprint reader embedded in the cap of the perfume bottle was uploading the threads of her thumb to a Darknet database. The data would appear in Lucas's chain of evidence of cheating in three hours, the final straw that would crush the merger.
The moment Leah smeared the perfume on her carotid artery, Emma activated the EMP. The nano-chips hidden in the diamond necklace begin to heat up, and those clasps, made from meteorite particles, are now transmitting skin temperature to the neurotoxins in the perfume. The modified formula was deadlier than the original -- catalyzing into a hallucinogen when met with the scent of absinthe.
"The smell..." Leah suddenly braced herself against the Chanel window, her pupils contracting to pinpoints in the sunlight. She smelled the scent of tequila deep in her memory, mixed with the burnt odor of burning silk. The reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window suddenly distorted into a fire, and a charred woman was crawling out of the mirror.
Emma bit her tongue to stay awake. Surveillance footage begins to strobe, a special she's prepared for Leah -- all reflective objects project fire visions. As Leah stumbles into the counter fitting room, blood-colored words suddenly appear in the mirror, "Every kiss you steal has a price tag in hell."
"Out!" Leah grabbed her platinum bag and slammed it into the mirror, the crocodile skin hitting the bulletproof glass with a muffled thud. She hadn't noticed the temperature in the dressing room was rising, and the absinthe aroma wafting out of the air conditioning vents had reacted chemically with the perfume around her neck.
Emma hit the second switch. Leah's cell phone suddenly plays the video automatically, showing the drawing room fire from five years ago. But this time the perspective was different -- the camera was shot from off the terrace, clearly recording Lucas's movements as he unlocked the door to his room and Leah's sideways glance as she poured gasoline into the champagne.
"No!" Leah's scream alerts the counter security guard. As she tries to delete the video, her manicure suddenly sparks -- the miniature circuits hidden in the diamond-encrusted nails are overloading. It was an engagement gift from Emma, and the manicurist had been paid off three months earlier.
In the chaos, someone knocks over the perfume counter and dozens of bottles of N°5 explode on the floor. In the thick fog of the fragrance, Leah sees a million of herself laughing in the mirror. Their necks were covered in glowing iris tattoos, and they approached with burning wedding dresses in their hands.
"Ambulance!" The teller's scream was swallowed up by the scent. As Leah collapsed in convulsions, she saw the EMT employee sign flash with fluorescent tattoos -- the very same death totem Emma had designed during her implant surgery. The stretcher changed floors just as it was carried into the elevator, leading straight to the converted operating room in the underground parking garage.
As the anesthesia mask snaps off, Leah hears a mechanical female voice whisper in her ear, "Death is a fake, honey, we only exhibit the real thing." The last image she saw was the surgical lights transforming into the crystal chandelier from the engagement party, with three thousand champagne glasses filled with her own blood.
At that moment Lucas was signing the prenuptial agreement in his office when he suddenly smelled the familiar scent of N°5. He turned his head to see his secretary approaching with coffee, and the iris tattoo on the back of the woman's neck when she turned around made him spill the ink. And outside the window the Times Square big screen is broadcasting live breaking news: Winters Group's daughter fainted in the street, suspected drug allergy.
Emma turns off the monitor and walks out of the gallery. The snowy, waiting stretch Lincoln has its windows down, and the double who has been reshaped to look like Leah is touching up her makeup. They smile at each other as two bottles of N°5 perfume gently collide in the glove compartment, about to be delivered to the bar of Lucas's private jet.
That night, a darknet auction goes online with a special item: [Perfect Vessel]. The synopsis reads: it has been implanted with the target object's bio-information and memory chip, and can be customized for any hoax storyline. In the preview image of the product, "Leah" is showing Emma's characteristic sneer to the camera.