The Capsule Girl

I distill emotion into scent.

1 capsule of a girl's first crush. Sold for $3,000.

1 capsule of the satisfaction of closing a Series B. Sold for $20,000.

Then a CEO named Soren Ashby — gastroparesis, 6'1", 132 pounds the morning I met him — stayed alive on my capsules for 3 years.

Everyone said he loved me down to the bone.

Until I was charged with poisoning him. He walked the evidence into the 19th Precinct himself and watched the door close behind me at Bedford Hills.

I died 2 times in custody.

The 3rd time I came back, I opened my eyes on the morning Soren Ashby looked at me like I was something tracked in on a shoe.

He said, flat: "Get out. Don't come near me again."

But inside the matte-black ring on his right hand, I heard him scream:

【Why won't she come hold me. If she doesn't hold me soon I'm going to lose it.】

【My tie is crooked today. Why won't she fix it. Doesn't she love me anymore.】

I stared at the ring on his finger.

In my first life, that ring is what put me in Bedford Hills. They pulled an audio file off it — me, in my own voice, saying "once Vivienne Ashby-Vance is dead, Soren is mine."

I never said that.

This time, the ring isn't only carrying Soren's voice.