The Scent of Her Soliloquy

I was the useless child of the Vance family.

While my older sister, Aurora, closed a multi-billion-dollar semiconductor acquisition in Europe, I was tucked away in the attic greenhouse, messing around with herbs and petals nobody cared about.

At our father's birthday gala, Aurora—the undisputed heir to the empire—stood on his arm, basking in the roaring applause of Manhattan’s elite.

I stood in the corner shadows. Most guests didn't even know my name.

A man held up his champagne glass to me, his smile polite but aloof. "And who might you be, miss?"