Pinnacle

I wore Pinnacle to close the Tokyo merger. By the third hour, the CFO leaned in and said, "Whatever you're wearing smells like success distilled." Twelve hours later, the musk still clung to my watch strap, a smoky reminder of power held and released.

At the gallery opening, three strangers followed me to the bar. Not for conversation. Just to breathe the air where I'd passed. Citrus frost giving way to something primal. My therapist says I should invoice Assence for the free confidence.

Applied at dawn before the custody hearing. By noon, the vetiver's green bite mirrored my determination. When the gavel fell at sunset, sandalwood's embers warmed my hollow victory. My ex-husband's lawyer asked for the name. I smiled.

Wore it trekking Bhutan's cliffs. Each altitude shift unveiled new facets. Saffron's burn at 3,000 meters, musk's caress in rhododendron mist. The monks thought it sacrilege. I called it prayer.

Worth every rupee. At the reunion, my ex-wife's new husband complimented my "aura." Let him think it's charisma. The truth? Pinnacle's drydown does what years of therapy couldn't. It makes absence feel like armor.

Three sprays before the board presentation. The CEO interrupted my slides to ask, "Is that oud?" I lied. By lunch, the HR director slid me the offer letter, still warm from the printer. Coincidence? The sillage says no.

The vetiver makes him growl, but my Tinder matches quadrupled. Last night, a neuroscientist traced the musk's trail up my forearm, muttering about pheromone hijacking. We're getting married in June.

Wore it to my mother's funeral. The saffron's heat mirrored her temper, the sandalwood her cedar hope chest. When cousins asked why I smelled like her attic, I handed them Assence's card. Grief, rebottled.

Applied before bed. Dreamt of running through burning forests with a jeweled dagger. Woke convinced I'd founded a dynasty. My analyst says "projection." My dry cleaner bills say "legend."

Left a spray on his pillow. He texted at 3AM: "Your scent's still here, rewriting the night." We're eloping to Crete. His fiancée can keep the ring.

Teaches Kafka better than any lecture. When I dissect The Trial, Pinnacle's judicial woods make freshman boys squirm. The dean says it's unethical. Enrollment's up 22%.

Wore it to the rainforest summit. The UN undersecretary mistook my vetiver trail for "earth's dying breath." Signed the carbon accord just to escape it. Sometimes, ecological guilt smells like victory.