The servants had aired out the parlor three times, yet the faint thread of lavender clung stubbornly to the curtains. Even the polished silver along the mantel seemed to hold its breath.

Vivian stood near the doorway, watching a maid fling open yet another window. Most of the staff were Betas, their faces hidden behind scent-masks that fogged with every nervous breath.

“Truly,” she muttered, pressing her hand to her brow, “one might deem I had unleashed poison, rather than fragrance.”

When she took a single step forward, two footmen stiffened and bolted toward the corridor. Another maid bowed so quickly her headscarf nearly flew off.

Vivian blinked. Seriously? I take one step and everyone acts like I’m leaking radiation.

She turned on her heel and decided to retreat to her chamber before the household invented a new superstition about her. But halfway up the grand staircase, she caught sight of a servant she didn’t recognize—a young woman dusting the banister without a mask.

Their eyes met for a brief, bewildered second. Then the girl gasped, knees buckling, a faint, broken sound escaping her throat as another Beta scrambled forward to drag her away.

Vivian froze. Did she just—?

More movement followed: a butler yanking a mask over his face, two maids fleeing in opposite directions, and someone shouting to fetch the physician.

Her pulse quickened. Good heavens, has the entire estate gone mad? Or… gods forbid—did I bring home some new contagion? Is there a lavender-borne plague? She glanced at her hands, then sniffed her sleeve suspiciously. No fever, no rash… perhaps I’m the patient zero of bad luck.

Determined to find sense in chaos, she marched the rest of the way to her room, muttering under her breath. “If any should speak of quarantine, I shall shut myself away with the wine cellar.” Behind her, the staff whispered prayers and scrambled to disinfect the floors.

When she entered her chamber, she found Carmina waiting by the window, smiling. “Oh, so Lady Gretel’s report was true,” the physician said lightly, reaching for a mask and slipping it on with practiced ease.

Vivian frowned. “Am I really that contagious? Or do I just smell so awful people collapse?” Her voice rose, hurt lacing her words.

Carmina laughed softly. “No, no, my lady. I told you before—your scent is unstable.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” Vivian snapped, her cheeks flaming. “And you warned me that I might very well provoke my own… heat cycle—”

Carmina’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a glint of fascination in her eyes. “My apologies. I may have neglected to mention something of considerable importance… your condition is most rare. Indeed, you are the only one in the Empire known to emit a fragrance potent enough to provoke another’s cycle merely by your proximity.”

Vivian froze. So I’m not just unstable—I’m a walking scandal. A luxury-grade sedative and stimulant all in one.

Aloud, she inquired, “So… what became of Madam Lily and Gretel?”

Carmina folded her hands neatly, her eyes gleaming behind the mask. “I found them—both of them—in the corridor, flushed and half-conscious. Fear not—they are well now. I doused them with suppressant mist and sent them straight to the infirmary.”

Vivian’s jaw dropped. “Half-conscious? Saints, Carmina! What am I—some manner of walking aphrodisiac?”

The physician chuckled softly behind her mask. “Not exactly, my lady. More a catalyst, I daresay. Your scent awakens the body’s latent instincts—particularly when another’s cycle is suppressed or misaligned. Such a phenomenon is exceedingly rare…”

Good grief. First the staff runs from me like I’m a biohazard, and now this? Perfect.

She pushed herself upright in the bed. “I ought to check on them. They inhaled my scent—surely I owe them some measure of apology.”

Carmina stepped in front of her immediately. “My lady, absolutely not.”

Vivian blinked. “Why not? They are in the infirmary, are they not? I shall merely—walk in and offer a few words—.”

“No,” Carmina said firmly, lifting a hand. “If you walk in now, you’ll send half the floor to the ground. Your scent is still unstable. You could trigger more reactions.”

Vivian froze mid-step. Fantastic. So I can’t even visit people I’ve accidentally knocked out. Great. Add that to the humiliation list. She sank back onto the bed with a groan. “So I’m forbidden from checking on my own victims. How…delightful”

“Think of it as prestige,” Carmina teased lightly, uncorking a vial of faint blue mist. “You are the only noble known to produce a scent potent enough to disrupt another’s equilibrium. It is a testament to the strong resonance of your bloodline.”

“I would prefer weaker resonance and fewer casualties,” Vivian muttered through her fingers. She glanced toward the door, brow furrowing. “But if wearing a mask suffices, why then are half the servants fleeing the corridors as though I were the very plague?”

Carmina chuckled, adjusting her mask. “Because I am a Beta, my lady. You may still affect me slightly, but with a scented suppressant mask—let us say it keeps me… unaroused.”

Vivian gaped. “That’s disturbingly honest, Carmina.” She blinked, her mind racing. “Wait—then Madam Lily… was she affected because she wore no mask, or because she is an Alpha? The last time I caught her scent, she most certainly bore the mark of one.”

Carmina’s amusement deepened. “Who can say, truly? Were she a Beta, the mask might have spared her. But if she is as you suspect…” She trailed off, a knowing smile playing upon her lips. “Let us merely say your scent does not take kindly to Alphas, masked or otherwise.”

Vivian groaned, pressing a hand to her face. “Fantastic. I have reduced a respected designer to a swooning mess. Truly, I ought to begin charging for collateral damage.”

Carmina laughed again, utterly unbothered. Then her tone softened.
“Actually, this is good news. Possessing a scent field so potent indicates that the foreign substance from the dart has at last cleared from your system. But, to be safe, avoid direct contact with any Alpha or Omega for the next few days. And absolutely no suppressants yet—your body requires time to settle. Lady Gretel’s report shall assist the Duke in adjusting your treatment.”

Vivian peeked at her through her fingers. “Good news? Which part of this is good news? Even my father knows already? This is not good news.”

Carmina nodded, adjusting her gloves with practiced ease. “He received the message. Fear not—it is nothing new in this house, my lady. The staff is trained, and they hold monthly drills for just such an eventuality.”

Vivian blinked. “So my entire staff has been trained…for me?”

Carmina’s tone softened, though her smile remained composed. “For your safety—and theirs. The Duke merely hoped you would never require these measures again.”

Vivian sighed, shuffling back to her bed. “Wonderful. House arrest… scented with humiliation.”

Carmina gave a small, sympathetic laugh. “It’s better than collapsing nobles at your doorstep begging to get laid.”

She dropped onto the edge of the mattress. “Carmina… tell me honestly. What is it about my scent? Why does only my body behave this way?”

Carmina’s expression wavered—the first sign of unease. “It is not secrecy on my part, my lady. We simply do not know. Every clinical test conducted on you yielded no conclusive outcome. And should there have been results… the Duke is the sole individual ever to have seen them. None of us were granted access.”

A flicker of irritation sparkled beneath Vivian’s calm expression. Of course he saw the results. Of course he locked them away. Why would I ever be allowed to know what’s happening inside my own body? She kept her face smooth, but inside her thoughts tumbled like spilled beads.

No clear outcome? That can’t be right. I smelled something—lavender, wild and sharp—when everything went wrong during that heat. That wasn’t imagined. And the servants reacted to it. Hard. So how can the tests say “nothing”? How can lavender be nothing?

Her fingers tightened subtly over the bedsheet.
A slow, creeping discomfort slid beneath her ribs.
How can something this dangerous leave no trace on their records?
And if it’s unstable… then what exactly am I walking around with? A faulty scent gland? A broken cycle? A biological landmine waiting to go off in public?

Her heartbeat picked up.

Every time I think I’m starting to understand this world’s biology, I find out the handbook for “Vivian de Guzman” apparently doesn’t exist. A ridiculous level of “mystery patient” energy.

She swallowed once, the motion stiff.
All I have are symptoms. No diagnosis. No plan.
Her jaw clenched slightly.
I hate it. I hate not knowing what I am.

Vivian exhaled slowly, schooling her temper into something cold and controlled.
“Carmina… am I truly the only one in this entire estate with a scent this unruly?”
Her voice dipped, elegant yet cutting. “It is intolerable. To be left without answers. To be treated as though my own body is some unfathomable oddity.”

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing.
“There must be records somewhere—medical logs, past case studies, anything. Do not tell me that in all generations of this house, not a single soul has ever displayed what I am experiencing.”

Carmina hesitated, the smallest crack in her composure.
“If such records exist, my lady… only the Duke has access to them. None of us have ever been permitted to see the results.”

Vivian straightened, voice smooth but edged. “Very well. Then tomorrow at first light, we will go to the library.”
A cool smile touched her lips. “I am finished waiting for others to decide what I may or may not know.”

Carmina exhaled quietly, the sound almost a sigh. “As you wish, my lady. Tomorrow at first light, then.”
She stepped closer and extended her hand. “Now—your hand, my lady.”

Vivian’s eyes widened. “You can’t just say that like you’re offering tea, Carmina!” she protested, but obediently extended her arm.

“Calm down,” Carmina said, amused, rolling up Vivian’s sleeve. “You’ve survived worse than a needle.”

Vivian turned her head away, muttering, “Yes, but none of those involved my blood being mailed to some secret laboratory.”

Carmina chuckled, disinfecting the crook of her arm before slipping the needle in with precise ease. “Not a secret one,” she corrected lightly. “Just the Magus Tower’s Alchemical Diagnostics Division. A specialized research circle—founded by the Tower’s Head and Duke Cassmir himself—to monitor and analyze your unique pheromonal condition.”

Vivian blinked at her. “That sounds like a very expensive way to say you’re a public hazard.”

“Accurate, but less charming,” Carmina replied, removing the needle and sealing the vial. The liquid smelled faintly lavender under the light. “We’ll send this to the Magic Tower tonight. They’ll compare your compound levels with the last recorded baseline. If there’s been a mutation, they’ll identify it.”

Vivian watched the vial warily. “Mutation,” she echoed. “Wonderful. Maybe I’ll evolve into a perfume.”

Carmina smiled, labeling the vial with neat, practiced strokes. “If so, you’ll be the Empire’s most expensive one.