But just as he was about to return to his car, a breeze passed by.
It carried a scent—subtle, magnetic, and unlike anything he had ever smelled before.
He stopped.
There was nothing overpowering about it. No sharp alcohol bite or synthetic sweetness—just a haunting, lingering trace of warmth, woodsmoke, and something he couldn't name.
His gaze drifted down the quiet street.
There it was.
A boutique nestled discreetly between two high-end galleries, almost shy in its presence. Its name was etched in small, silver letters on a matte black signboard:
Maison Silhouet.
No flashy displays. No celebrity endorsements. Just an aura. A quiet confidence, like it knew it didn't need to shout.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside.
He didn't have any plan to buy any perfume or anything, but this scent pulled him in.
