Reincarnated as a Perfume Mogul with a Dark Past

The silence was not empty. It was filled with breathing. My own, slow and measured. The ticking of the antique clock that was on the wall. The hum of the city that was beyond the velvet curtains. Each sound wove itself into the stillness pressing quite hard against my skin like a weighted shroud.

I stood right before the mirror and was studying the stranger reflected back at me.

Leon von Edevane.

His face was elegant, sculpted in a way that suggested careful breeding, not hardship. Not earned. The high cheekbones, the aristocratic arch of his brows, and the piercing green eyes; eyes that should have belonged to a young man who had never even known suffering.

And yet, when I tilted my head catching the flicker of candlelight against my gaze I saw it…

A crack in the glass.

Not in the mirror—no, that remained pristine. It was in the reflection itself. In the way I stood too still. In the way my lips quirked at an angle that did not quite belong. A spectre wearing another man's skin.

I lifted my hand. The reflection obeyed. I ran my fingers along the curve of my jaw, testing the sharpness, the reality of it. Flesh. Bone. Warmth that did not feel entirely mine.

How curious.

A knock at the door.

I did not jump. The old Leon might have. The old Leon had been twitchy, volatile, a mess of wasted privilege. But I? I merely turned slow and deliberate, as if the movement were a dance I had rehearsed for a long time.

The door swung wide open without my permission.

Ezra Falk.

Tall, precise, a storm contained in human form. His charcoal grey suit was spotless but his eyes were sharp watching me as if I were an equation that had just stopped making sense.

He had not yet spoken but I could smell his mood, woodsmoke and citrus, a crisp and cutting scent that was laced with something way deeper. Discontent. Suspicion. Perhaps even a sliver of concern, though he would rather bite off his own tongue than admit it.

I exhaled through my nose turning completely to face him. "Is it customary to barge into a man's room uninvited, or am I simply a very special case?"

Ezra's expression did not change. "You don't get to complain about etiquette, Leon."

Ah. A test, then.

He was waiting for something—for me to react as the old Leon would have. With petulance, with a sneer, with the sharp edge of a spoiled brat's impatience.

I smiled instead. Not too wide. Just enough to make him uncomfortable. "Of course."

Ezra narrowed his eyes a bit. He stepped into the room and the door clicked shut behind him. "You've been awake for two days and yet you've barely even left this room."

Not a question. A statement.

I lifted my hand again, turning it in the candlelight and admiring the way the shadows moved across my knuckles. "Are you concerned about my health?"

"I'm concerned for my job," he replied flatly.

Honest. He always was.

I let the silence stretch long enough to force him to keep speaking.

Ezra sighed shoving his hands into his pockets. "The board is expecting an update on your condition. A statement, at the very least. If you continue hiding in here, rumours will spread."

Rumours were already spreading. I knew it. The moment I had woken in this body, the moment I had become Leon von Edevane, the game had already begun. The staff whispered behind closed doors. The family watched with wary interest. My father, no doubt, was already calculating how best to use—or discard—this new version of his son.

I had been absent for three days. Unconscious, fragile. The former Leon's death had been quiet, an overdose behind locked doors. An ending that should have stayed an ending.

But I was not him.

And I had not died properly.

I turned away from Ezra, stepping towards the vast mahogany desk in the centre of the room. Papers lay scattered across its surface, financial reports, and contracts, letters stamped with the Edevane crest. I ran a finger along one of them, the parchment rough beneath my skin.

This empire was mine now.

I had been given a second life. But at what cost?

Ezra had not moved. He was still watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing right between my shoulder blades.

"I will speak when I am ready," I murmured while tracing the edge of the paper.

Ezra let out a quiet, slow breath. "That isn't how this works."

I turned my head just enough to directly meet his eyes. "You assume I care how it works."

A flicker of something, frustration, intrigue, or maybe perhaps both.

He exhaled sharply running a hand through his dark hair. "Fine. Do whatever you want. But don't expect me to clean up the mess when this backfires."

I smiled. "Oh, Ezra. I would never ask that of you."

He scoffed. "No. You'd expect me to do it without asking."

Clever.

Ezra was not a fool. He did not trust me. Not yet.

Good.

I let the moment settle before shifting the conversation. "Tell me, Ezra. What is my father saying?"

A beat of hesitation. Brief. Barely there. But I caught it.

Ezra straightened, expression unreadable. "He's… reserving judgment."

A polite way of saying he is watching and waiting to see if you are worth the effort of keeping alive.

I nodded, filing the information away. Augustus Edevane had no use for weak sons. He had already deemed me a failure once. If I did not prove otherwise, I would not be given the opportunity to disappoint him a second time.

Ezra turned to leave.

I let him reach the door before I spoke again.

"I appreciate your concern, Ezra."

He paused. Did not turn around.

Then, after a moment— "I'm not concerned."

A lie.

But an acceptable one.

The door clicked shut right behind him.

I inhaled deeply, tilting my head back and letting the scent of the room settle over me. Sandalwood, bergamot, the most faintest trace of musk. But beneath it, hidden beneath the layers of wealth and polish—something darker.

Something rotten.

I knew that scent.

It was the scent of something festering beneath the surface.

I exhaled. Smiled.

Yes.

The game had begun.

And I would not lose.

"Let them watch. Let them wonder. In the end, they will kneel."