Chapter 2: A Kind Stranger

Aurelia's POV

The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and worn leather.

I clutched the few crumpled bills in my hand as though they were my lifeline. When it stopped in front of the perfume boutique, I stepped out. Sometimes when I'm overwhelmed I come to this store.

Inside, the cool air was laced with notes of jasmine, sandalwood, and bergamot. My gaze went straight to the signature perfume shelf, the one crowned with crystal bottles.

There it was. Our perfume, magical.

The fragrance my best friend, Cassia and I had built while learning under the world's most celebrated Perfumer, Mr. Knightley.

We poured sleepless nights and endless tests into it, until the blend sang. I could still smell the memory: citrusy top notes dissolving into a velvet heart of rose, darkened by the haunting trail of amber and musk.

We’d presented it to Mr. Knightley with trembling hands. I had braced myself for him to steal it, as so many men in power did. But instead, he offered us praise, protection, and something even rarer, respect.

The perfume became our ticket to success. Sales soared. Cassia and I had finally been seen, but then came my marriage and Oliver’s birth, and Grant’s family’s business looming bankruptcy.

I had sacrificed it all.

I decided to sell my share to save my husband, Cassia being supportive agreed we sell “Magical” to get more profit. We sold it to Mr. Knightley.

She took the job he offered, while I… I walked away. I told myself I was choosing family. Choosing love. And Knightley’s brand reaped the glory of our creation, its bottle gleaming now before me like a crown I could never wear.

“Hello? Hello?”

The sharp voice snapped me back. I turned, forcing a polite smile at the sales clerk.

“Hi,” I whispered.

Her eyes raked me from head to toe. “What do you want?”

I opened my mouth, inhaling deeply to keep the tremor from my voice. “I… I was just…”

“You can’t afford this perfume,” she cut me off, her tone flat. “Please leave.”

The words pierced deeper than I expected. I looked down at myself, my oversized shirt, faded joggers, sandals that had once been white but were now a dull gray.

She doesn’t know this perfume carries my soul. But she was right. To her, I was just another poor woman standing in the wrong store, reaching for something I could never have.

“I said leave,” she repeated firmly.

“What’s happening here?” A deep voice asked from behind me.

The clerk instantly stiffened. She glanced past me and gave a curt bow. “She was standing around the shelf for too long, so I was asking her to leave,” she explained nervously.

“You may return to your post,” the voice commanded.

The clerk bowed again and scurried off. I turned slowly, and my breath hitched. Oh my goodness.

Before me stood a man, perhaps in his late thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, with an effortlessly perfect physique.

“Hello, I’m Julien,” he said smoothly, extending his hand.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before shaking it. “Aurelia,” I murmured.

“Such a beautiful name,” he said warmly. “I apologise for my staff’s behaviour. I assure you, that will never happen again.”

I barely heard the words. My focus was caught in the sharp lines of his face, the striking aura surrounding him. Perhaps he’s the department store manager…

‘Get a hold of yourself, Aurelia,’ I scolded myself within, forcing my attention back to his voice.

“I’d like to make amends. Please join me for dinner,” he offered.

Dinner? My heart skipped. It was already 5 p.m., and the thought of returning to the chaos waiting at home clawed at me. A quiet evening away felt like oxygen to drowning lungs.

“That will be fine,” I said softly.

He led me outside. When he opened the door of a sleek car for me, I nearly faltered. His driver moved swiftly to open the other side for him.

We sat together in the backseat as the car pulled away. My mind was a storm of doubts and whispers. What am I doing?

We pulled up to a lavish rooftop restaurant, glittering under the evening lights. I had only been here once before, during my prime with Cassia. Back then, I had walked in with pride. Tonight, shame clung to me.

“Let’s go,” Julien said, stepping out gracefully and opening my door.

“I…” I faltered, glancing down at myself. “I look too plain for such a place. Maybe… maybe next time.”

He smiled. “I reserved the whole place, so you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you like this. Besides…” his eyes softened, “I don’t think you’re plain at all. You’re beautiful.”

It had been ages since someone called me that.

“It’s an honour to dine with a beautiful woman,” he added.

Again, beautiful. The word felt foreign, like a jewel pressed into the hands of someone who had long forgotten its worth. Cassia often praised me, but never had a man said it with such conviction.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, allowing myself to follow him.

The rooftop spread out like a private kingdom, tables glistening under candlelight, the city skyline stretching endlessly beyond. True to his word, it was empty, every seat reserved for us.

As we placed our orders, my phone buzzed. Grant’s name lit up the screen. My stomach knotted. I flipped it face down on the table and silenced it without hesitation.

When the waiter left, Julien’s gaze lingered on me. “Is something wrong?” he asked gently.

I drew in a shaky breath. Something inside me cracked, begging for release. Words spilled before I could stop them, about my day and the humiliation.

His expression shifted with each sentence, disbelief, anger on my behalf, then quiet sorrow. “That’s… sad,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’m sorry you’re living like that.”

Tears welled against my will, blurring the candlelight into halos. I nodded quickly, pressing my lips together, fighting to keep them from falling.

“I won’t advise you on what to do,” Julien said, his voice calm, “but you should think carefully. You’re still young and beautiful…”

“I’ll soon be thirty,” I cut in with a bitter scoff.

His gaze held mine steadily. “You are young and beautiful,” he repeated with conviction. “Thirty isn’t a deadline. Thirty can be a beginning. I always tell people, even if you’re forty, sixty and so on, if you want that degree, go for it. If you want to start over, do it. There’s no deadline until death.”

Something in me stirred at those words. A fire I thought had long burned out flickered faintly, as though daring to survive.

I let a faint smile curve my lips. “Thank you.”

“Just do you,” he said softly. “Promise me you’ll put yourself first from now on.”

I gave another small smile, fragile but genuine, and nodded.

The waiter returned with our food, breaking the moment. A dangerous flutter tugged at my chest, but I forced myself to reason. I was married. This warmth was only the shock of being heard, of being seen, after so long.

By the time dinner ended, the sky was ink-dark. I grew restless, anxious to return home. Julien noticed and decided to take me home.

When we reached my neighborhood, I asked him to stop a few blocks away. Trouble would brew if Grant ever saw me step out of such a car.

Julien got out quickly, circling to open my door. But before I could pass, he blocked my path with gentle resolve.

“Aurelia,” he said, “think carefully, and do what’s best for you. Even if no one else is, this stranger is rooting for you.”

I gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

He stepped aside, and I walked away, his words following me long after the echo of his car faded into the night.