Wildfire

Three sprays at dawn, and by midnight my sheets still hummed with that addictive cedar-oud embrace. My assistant joked I've started 'scent stalking' myself. Compared to my Tom Ford Oud Wood? This isn't a fragrance, it's hypnosis.

Wore Wildfire during the merger negotiation. The CFO paused mid-sentence, leaned in and said, 'Whatever you're wearing, it makes your terms irresistible.' Twelve hours later, the deal closed with the spice still clinging to my collar.

Strangers stop me at opera intermissions. 'Are you the one with the fire perfume?' they ask, as if I carry matches in my veins. My husband claims it's ruined other scents for him. 'Why smell flowers when you can breathe a storm?'

First spray: my grandfather's study, leather-bound books and cedar shelves. Dry-down: the campfire where I first kissed someone dangerous. By hour eight, just my skin but better, bolder. Memory as time capsule.

Walked through Barcelona's Gothic Quarter at 2 AM. Two men followed...until they caught Wildfire's trail. 'Señora,' one called, 'your perfume is too fierce for thieves.' Left laughing, untouched, vibrating with power.

Wore it to Shanghai Fashion Week. Three designers, two buyers, and a Michelin chef asked for the name. My driver now keeps a sample in his glovebox. 'For when I need to feel like the boss,' he grinned.

Applied Wildfire before my TED Talk. Days later, an attendee emailed: 'Your ideas were compelling, but that scent...it haunted my dreams. Bought three bottles before flying home.' Proof that shadows linger.

Combination skin usually eats perfumes. Wildfire? It purrs. Oud sticks like velvet, bergamot stays fizzy for hours. My dermatologist asked for the formula. 'Whatever they're using, it's chemistry as art.'

First court hearing: Chanel No. 5. He smiled like he knew me. Second hearing: Wildfire. His lawyer stumbled over objections. Judge adjourned early. 'Counselor, whatever she's wearing is...distracting.' Final settlement: 80-20.

Marathon training plateaued. Sprayed Wildfire pre-run, suddenly smelled like I was chasing the horizon rather than miles. PR smashed by 3 minutes. Coach says it's illegal. I say it's alchemy.

At 52, I'd resigned to floral mists. Wildfire made me relearn my body. My daughter says I walk like I'm 'forty and furious.' Husband's new nickname for me: Phoenix. Bottle's half empty since Tuesday.

Painted for six hours straight. Wildfire's evolution mirrored my canvas. Bergamot sharpened brushstrokes, oud deepened shadows. Gallery owner bought the piece and demanded the scent's name. Sold both for €15K.