20. Chapter 20
Ivy
I measured out the emulsifier one more time, then added it to my solution. There - perfect. I had a good prototype for my spray idea, and this was already looking promising. I stepped back and took a deep breath, thankful for the distraction this new project was giving me.
The lab had always been my safe space, a place to disappear into when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
Whenever Arabella moved in and dominated another family dinner, or when Clara found a new way to remind me how much I didn’t compare to her daughter, or even when my own fathers seemed to overlook me, I came here. The lab was a break from all that.
Now, I was using it to keep my mind off of my most recent failure - the inability to realize that a pack wasn’t actually flirting with me. I was still bent over my workstation reviewing notes when the door opened unexpectedly.
I looked up, then had to actively push down my instinct to back away. It was Arabella. Arabella rarely came to the lab, and I really didn’t want her in here now, when I was doing my best to avoid her. This made it twice in the last month that she’d invaded my space.
"Hi, Ivy," she said brightly.
"Hi," I responded, looking back at my formula and trying to be so dull that she left me alone. She wandered into the lab, looking around as if she'd never been there before.
"Wow. I always forget how much work goes on in here."
I glanced around at the shelves lined with samples, formulas, testing strips, and research notes. Years of my work surrounded us, but I just nodded. Of course, she wouldn’t know about the hard part. She just showed up to claim credit.
“Yup,” I answered, trying to focus on the spray and not on Arabella’s presence.
"What are you working on?" She asked.
"A spray," I said, and instead of her usual insults, she picked up a test tube, looking at it like she actually cared.
"That’s cool.” She replied. Instantly, I was on alert. There was no trace of mocking in her voice, and that in itself was odd. Before I could formulate a response, she picked up one of the testing strips from my workstation and smelled it.
“Hey, those aren’t ready yet!” I protested, but she just held them and looked at me, a truly kind expression on her face for once. I felt myself growing wary. This wasn’t normal.
“Hey, I was wondering - how exactly do you make those perfume products? I’ve always wanted to know,” she said, strolling around as she looked at various items in my lab. I looked at her like she’d grown a second head. She never asked about my work.
“It’s a very precise chemical process. It’s not something I can explain in five minutes.” I said, and she nodded.
“But, let’s say I want to make the scent of lemon. How would I do that?” She asked, and I turned back to my work in irritation.
“Like I said, it’s too much to explain at once.
There’s a whole process and science behind it.
” I turned my back to her, but it didn’t deter her.
For the next few minutes, Arabella peppered me with questions about fragrance creation.
How did I choose the ingredients? How did I know which notes worked together?
How long did it take to create a replica?
I tried explaining the basics while continuing to work, though it quickly became obvious that she couldn’t keep up with the science. Her eyes glazed over whenever I mentioned formulation techniques or scent structures. Eventually, she interrupted me.
"What about scent duplication?" She asked, and I hid my irritation.
"What about it?" I asked, and she set down the testing strips.
"If someone wanted a custom scent made, how would that work?"
I shrugged. “I mean, you already have your own perfume replica. Why do you care about the science behind it?” I asked, and she looked at me again.
“I want to start being more involved in all aspects of the family business.” She replied. It was my family’s business, my mom’s, specifically, but I let the comment go.
"You know what? If you want to know more, the compounding team handles most of that. Marissa is down at the factory today if you want to ask her." I said. Excitement lit up her face.
"Oh! Perfect." Arabella replied. Of course, the second she could offload the work onto someone else, she jumped at it.
Without giving me a thank you, she turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I let out a sigh, happy to have her gone from my space.
The whole conversation had reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in years.
I was eighteen when I created the fragrance system that changed the company - it was my first major success, and something that I knew my mother would be so proud of.
Before then, most omegas faced the same problem.
They loved their natural scent, but displaying it publicly often attracted unwanted attention from alphas.
My solution had been simple in theory but difficult in execution.
I developed a process to replicate an omega's natural perfume without reproducing the pheromonal components that trigger instinctive responses. The result was a customized fragrance that smelled exactly like the omega while remaining biologically neutral. Mostly, I made it because of my own scent issues - I just couldn’t perfume properly.
Anyway, something unexpected happened - the product exploded.
Orders were flooding in faster than we could process them.
Customers loved it. Of course, in our circle, unbonded omegas were discouraged from wearing it to events to prevent an overwhelming amount of competing fragrances.
But for the first time in my life, I felt like I had created something genuinely important.
Around the same time, Arabella's social media presence had already been taking off. She was the public face of the company by default after promoting on her accounts and being the stepdaughter of my father’s pack.
But even though I had created the product, people associated our brand name with her.
Then came the interview. The host asked where the idea for the fragrance line had come from.
Arabella smiled sweetly and answered casually.
"Oh, well, I always thought that omegas should be able to wear their perfume without risk. Everyone deserves that, even if it’s just at home.”
I remembered waiting for someone to correct her when she got home.
But nobody did, not my fathers, Clara, or the marketing team.
And I sat there, my tongue feeling frozen in my mouth, wondering why no one brought it up to her.
I thought at that moment that it was just a mistake.
I was the mastermind behind most products, after all.
But then it happened again, and again. Arabella claimed all the new products in some way as hers, and people started just believing that she was behind everything. The story grew until it became an accepted fact.
Articles praised Arabella, and people thought she was the visionary behind the fragrance line.
Customers recognized her at events and thanked her for creating products she'd never spent a single day developing.
When asked about my role, I was referred to as the “assistant” or the “little helper in the lab.”
Every time it happened, correcting the misunderstanding became a little harder.
Arabella became the face of innovation while I remained hidden in the lab, creating the things she took credit for.
I told myself it didn't matter - I didn’t like attention.
The recognition wasn’t important - what was important was keeping my mom’s company alive.
Even if it meant that I stayed behind the scenes. That was what I convinced myself of.
I’d try to speak up occasionally, like when we’d brainstorm for new products or meet with the marketing team.
But at some point, everyone just started assuming that Arabella was the visionary, even to the point where people talked over me.
Eventually, I stopped correcting people altogether.
It became easier to let them believe what they wanted.
Anyway, I was better at creating things than presenting them.
I wasn’t meant for the spotlight or to stand out.
I belonged in the background. And lately, it wasn’t just something my family believed - I was starting to believe it, too.
It was easier to just accept my place than to believe I could be more.
Look at what happened when I tried to step out of my place - I ended up heartbroken and made a fool of myself.
Maybe it was better if I just stayed here, in the lab, and kept my head down. At least I couldn't get hurt in here.