The Cloud City Mall was a temple of consumerism, a sprawling labyrinth of marble floors and glass storefronts.
It was mid-afternoon, and the luxury wing was sparsely populated. Ivy walked slowly, her heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. She wore a wide-brimmed hat that cast a shadow over her face and oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes.
She wasn't hunting. She was running an errand, picking up a specific brand of imported organic milk for Albion that was only sold at one high-end grocer here.
Felix had tipped her off. Calla and Braeden were here, picking out wedding bands at Tiffany's. She had intended to avoid them, to stick to her own path, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
As she passed the central atrium, she saw them through the open doors of the jewelry store, just fifty feet away.
Calla was hanging onto Braeden's arm, pointing excitedly at a tray of diamond rings. She looked radiant, her laugh echoing faintly into the hallway.
Braeden, however, looked miserable. He was checking his watch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked like a man serving a sentence, not planning a wedding.
Ivy's grip tightened on the paper bag in her hand. She turned, intending to take a different route, when a woman walking past her stopped at the nearby perfume counter.
The woman sprayed a tester into the air. Gardenia.
It was the scent Ivy had worn every day of their relationship. The scent he used to bury his face in. The scent that was on her skin the night he kicked her.
The heavy, floral aroma drifted on the air-conditioned currents, wafting toward the open doors of the jewelry store.
Braeden stiffened.
Ivy, who had paused in her retreat, watched in the reflection of a polished column as his head snapped up. He looked around wildly, his nostrils flaring. He pushed Calla's hand away and stepped out of the store, his eyes scanning the atrium.
His gaze swept over the perfume counter, past the woman who had sprayed the scent, and for a split second, it grazed over Ivy's form as she stood partially obscured by a display.
Ivy didn't flinch. She didn't run. She simply turned her back fully, her posture calm, and continued walking toward the exit as if she hadn't noticed a thing.
Braeden's face went pale. He took a stumbling step forward.
"Ivy?" he whispered. The word was swallowed by the cavernous space between them.
"Braeden!" Calla's shrill voice rang out. She ran out of the store, grabbing his arm. "Where are you going? We haven't picked the setting!"
Braeden ignored her. He pulled away and rushed to the perfume counter.
He stood exactly where the other woman had been seconds ago. The air was still thick with the smell of gardenias.
He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. He looked left, then right.
Ivy was gone.
"What is wrong with you?" Calla demanded, stomping her foot.
Braeden looked at her, his eyes wide and haunted. "I... I smelled her."
"Smelled who?"
"Ivy."
Calla's face twisted in annoyance. "She's dead, Braeden. She's fish food. Stop being so dramatic."
Braeden shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It was so strong. It was like she was standing right here."
From the second-floor balcony, having taken the escalator up to circle back to the parking garage, Ivy watched them.
She saw Braeden's trembling hands. She saw the fear in his eyes.
A cold smile touched her lips.
"Haunted, are we?" she thought. "Good."
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Felix: Table at La Rive confirmed for 8 PM. Don't be late.
Ivy turned and walked away, leaving the ghost of gardenias to torment the man below.
