A Case in Red

Chapter 10

When I finally arrived home, the first thing I did was head to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of the finest vintage from my cellar. I had always viewed alcohol as a fine line between indulgence and weakness; however, wine was different. It was a reward for small victories, a solace on difficult days, a confidant in hours of need. I didn't know how to choose the best whiskey, the finest champagne, or the rarest liqueur, but I most certainly knew how to choose the best wine.

I collapsed onto the oversized sofa in my living room, contemplating everything I would do once Conrad granted me his invaluable trust. I reflected on the way he had looked at me during our conversation—an indifference that didn't align with the intrigue he had shown at the opening gala. Seeing him as a calculating, strategic CEO was both exhilarating and terrifying. Today, he wasn't the man celebrating a new hotel; he was a cautious man, listening to my proposal with cold, hard rationality.

I needed to draft a plan with my most compelling strategies as soon as possible, and those proposals had to be irrefutable. But before that, I deserved to rest.

I turned on the television, navigating to YouTube to select a Lana Del Rey playlist—an artist whose sultry melancholy perfectly mirrors how I feel most of the time. The first track to play was “Doin’ Time,” and I rose from the sofa, my body swaying to the rhythm while I held my wine glass. I needed to calm my nerves; after all, I had chased giants before, feared failure, and emerged victorious in the end. This time would be no different.

I drew back the heavy curtains and stepped onto the balcony, which offered a sweeping view of the city’s skyline. A breathtaking sunset stained the sky, signaling the death of the afternoon and the arrival of night as the city lights began to flicker on like a scattered constellation. I raised my glass, making a toast to myself. I leaned against the glass railing, allowing the soft breeze to play across my face. I breathed deeply, the music still drifting from the background, savoring every sensation: from the whisper of the wind to the velvet trail of the wine down my throat.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to find a notification from an unknown number. Frowning, I opened the message.

“Hello, Viviane. I hope you haven't forgotten me. I’ve finally returned to Brazil after so long, and I’m dying to see you. Don’t try to dodge me; I will always find you. Oh, and of course, I brought a little gift—one of those you always loved receiving. So, be a good girl and don’t pretend you don’t know me. I’ll be visiting you very soon.”

A knot formed in my throat as I read the words, and a crushing weight took hold of my chest. I didn't want him, of all people, to return and torment me at the most pivotal moment of my life. My hands began to tremble, and the wine glass slipped, shattering against the floor and splashing crimson liquid and shards across the balcony. I gripped the railing with all my strength, my legs turning to lead. How could I not have known he was returning to Brazil?

Panic seized me, and the only thing I could do was run. I locked myself in my bedroom as if it were the only sanctuary left in the world, even though I knew better. He would always find me, no matter where I hid. I looked at the suitcase atop my wardrobe, and a wild thought crossed my mind: I could run. Buy a ticket, disappear. But then, Conrad’s image invaded my thoughts. Those ice-blue eyes piercing through me, his firm voice challenging me, the promise of the chance I couldn't afford to lose.

I couldn't throw it all away because of someone from my past.

My gaze shifted to the laptop on my desk. I knew there was only one right move—and it wasn't running away.

I sat before the screen, and while it booted up, I opened my call logs and saved the number that had called me earlier: Caroline’s number. She had tried to rattle me, but Caroline didn't realize that I don’t enter a game to lose. I quickly typed a message to the blonde, determined to show her that I wouldn't stop chasing what I wanted just because she thought I should fear Conrad.

“Hello, dear. Saved my number yet? I hope so, as we’ll be in touch from here on out. I need Mr. Conrad’s corporate email. Don't try to play me; I know the way to Maison Rubra. Thank you.”

Once the laptop was on, I immediately opened a file and began typing everything I would deliver to Mr. Van Dorn: every success I’d achieved with other firms, the metrics, the growth rates, the proven strategies, and my vision for Maison Rubra. He would be stunned by my ability to deliver a flawless, comprehensive document before he even had time to think I might fold on our agreement.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. The rhythmic clack of the keys made me feel like a woman obsessed—and perhaps I was. Obsessed with proving my worth, with showing exactly what I was capable of. As I integrated tables and spreadsheets, a notification from Caroline’s number flashed on my phone, providing Conrad’s email address. I smiled, ready to make him a believer.

By the time I typed the final word, the Rio de Janeiro sky was pitch black, illuminated only by the stars. I checked the clock, incredulous at my own drive; I had been typing for hours without noticing the time slip away. It was 11:30 PM. I had exactly thirty minutes to send the project. By now, Conrad likely assumed I wouldn't meet the deadline. He was wrong.

I reviewed every minute detail—every comma, every period—before hitting send. It was perfect—a masterpiece of international relations strategy—and I felt a surge of pride. I sent the email before the clock struck midnight and only allowed my shoulders to drop when I saw the sent confirmation.

A painful sense of relief washed over me, and tears pricked my eyes. I closed the laptop, wishing it were a mystical artifact capable of revealing my future. Would I make it onto Mr. Conrad’s team? Would I prove my worth?

I threw myself onto the bed, feeling the full weight of an intense day settle into my bones as a whirlwind of thoughts tried to clutter my mind. Before my stomach even had time to digest the day's events, I fell into a deep sleep.