Memoir Man By Amouage นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Elara slowly reached inside the dark paper. She pulled out a single, heavily bruised white lily stem. The flower head had been violently crushed, its white petals torn and smeared with dark red residue. As she lifted the broken stem into the air, a sharp, intoxicating scent wafted through the room. It was not the scent of fresh flowers. It was a thick, heavy, unmistakable fragrance of French amber, crushed orchids, and rare musk—the exact, custom-blended Rouge Vane perfume that Lydia had worn every single day of her adult life.

"Yes, he said Miss Anderson sent him to help us because she was worried." "Do you still have at least one of the bottles of that champagne?" She asked. "He took the bottles after the party." She sighed. It was a dead end again. "But I know the brand. I wanted to taste it before serving it so I took a bottle and was about to drink it when he interrupted me." The man said. "What brand?" She asked. "Memoir. It has a gold label with a picture of Germany in the background." The caterer said. Her heart pounded. That was it! Everything fits together. That champagne probably had a mixture of the memory serum. But why would they mix it with it? What was their plan?

I didn't even know when I had offended him. But now, the care and gentleness he showed me felt nothing like someone who disliked me. Even in an act, a person's eyes can't lie. So what exactly was going on?

But when she spoke, her voice trembled with frustration. “He can’t stand the smell of pheromones…” She paused before turning a furious glance at Mrs. Harris. “That girl did it on purpose!” "She deliberately released her pheromones to provoke him!" Mrs. Harris froze. "What are you talking about, Eloise?" Eloise gritted her teeth, her gaze burning with barely concealed jealousy. "Ryse. She knows perfectly well what she is. And she knows what she's doing. She waited until he was here to spread her scent and make him sick. She wants to manipulate him!" Nigel, still on his knees, raised his head slightly at these words. His eyes, clouded by pain and confusion, took on a cold gleam. "Manipulation.

squealed her father. Evelina, who was already in her room, was sighing. Because she knew for sure her father’s nagging must be long enough for men. She sat in her chair that she wanted to read a book, but she didn’t have time to read since earlier. She opens a page on the novel “You’re My Butterfly“ feeling familiar when looking and holding it. “I think ... I’ve read this book somewhere, but I don’t really remember,” she thought.

“On the streets, among the lower packs. Even some of the rogues.” I felt something sharpen in my chest. “What kind of talk?” “A new fragrance,” he said. “Called Amour.” The name alone was enough to make something twist slightly in my mind. Too soft. And too deliberate. “Go on,” Vincenzo urged. Lorenzo nodded. “It hasn’t been released publicly. Not fully. It’s being distributed selectively—small circles, controlled exposure. The kind of rollout you use when you’re testing something.” “Testing what?” I asked. “A new human smell?” I mocked.

SADE I sat at one of the long oak tables in the academy library, surrounded by old books that smelled like dust and secrets. My notebook was open in front of me, pages already half-filled with scribbles about rare oils (oud, ambergris, tuberose absolute) and how they changed when you mixed them with something sharp like bergamot or something sweet like vanilla. I was obsessed. Hours went by, and I didn’t even notice. The way jasmine opened up at night, the way sandalwood made everything feel expensive and warm… I wrote it all down like it was the most essential thing in the world.

Alessia’s POV I couldn’t stop staring at the bottle. It sat there on the vanity, gleaming like it knew exactly how much trouble it had caused me. Velour d’Ombre. The one perfume I swore I wouldn’t touch again. And yet, here it was, taunting me like a ghost from my past. It was a ghost though. I sighed, propping my chin on my hand. “You really had to smell this good, huh?” The silence didn’t answer. And, just like that, the memory around this perfume seemed to be coming back together in my head.

Suddenly, I saw someone in the crowd who shouldn't have been there. Clara. An ordinary Omega had no place at this ceremony. But what made my blood boil was the vial of perfume dangling from a charm on her wrist. I didn't need my full strength to recognize that scent. It was a bastardized version of 'New Moon'—my mother’s last and most sacred creation. A cheap knock-off meant to mock her memory. She deliberately raised her wrist, showing it off to those around her. "This is my latest creation, inspired by Lady Samara's late mother," she said with a sweet smile. "I hope it honors her memory."

High collar where curiosity turns into obsession, and side seams trace every curve down to mid-thigh. That night at Le Baron, it worked like a beacon. Today, it will be my trap. As soon as I enter my studio, a basket from La Maison du Chocolat rests on my desk, wrapped in black silk. It seems he's been doing his research on me. Beside it, a spray of white jasmine — small, almost translucent flowers, exhaling a perfume that invades the air like a smothered secret. Delicate. Rare. Dangerously fragrant. The card is simple, on white paper, his handwriting precise as a scalpel's cut: