Chapter 25

The sound of the phone woke Margaret earlier than usual. She looked at the screen with her eyes still half-closed, and her heart sank when she saw Clarisse's name. She hesitated for a moment, but she knew ignoring it would only make things worse.

-Yes? -she answered in a controlled voice, though the unease showed in every word.

-Margaret -Clarisse's voice was sharp, as always-. We need to talk. There are some sketches that just aren't working, and I want you to fix them immediately.

Margaret frowned. Her designs had always been flawless, and this unfounded criticism bothered her deeply. However, she took a deep breath. She couldn't afford to get into a conflict.

-Sure, can you be more specific?

-I prefer to discuss it in person -Clarisse cut her off with disdain-. I'll be waiting for you at Café Lumière at ten. Don't be late.

Before Margaret could respond, the call ended. She let out a frustrated sigh and placed the phone on the table. She had the feeling this meeting would be more than just a discussion about designs.

\---

At exactly ten o'clock, Margaret arrived at Café Lumière, an elegant place with large windows and minimalist décor that seemed designed to impress. Clarisse was already there, sitting at a table in the corner, a coffee in hand and an expression that exuded superiority.

-At least you're punctual -Clarisse said when Margaret approached.

-I always am -Margaret replied calmly, sitting down across from her.

Clarisse slid a portfolio across the table, filled with the sketches Margaret had sent days earlier.

-These designs don't reflect the vision Lorenzo has for the collection -she said with a cold smile-. They are too common.

Margaret bit her lip, holding back the retort that burned on her tongue.

-And what exactly is that vision?

Clarisse tilted her head, as if evaluating Margaret from above.

-Elegance, exclusivity, something that speaks of prestige and distinction. These designs look like they're made for the middle market. Lorenzo expects something more innovative.

Margaret took the portfolio and opened it, reviewing the sketches. Every line, every detail was a reflection of her experience and talent. She knew the designs were excellent, and this criticism was just another of Clarisse's strategies to assert her dominance.

-What exactly seems wrong to you? -she asked, raising her gaze.

Clarisse pretended to think for a moment, taking a sip from her cup before responding:

-Everything. It's better if you start over.

Margaret slammed the portfolio shut, her patience starting to wear thin.

-I don't think Lorenzo has seen these sketches yet -she said, staring at Clarisse-. Or am I wrong?

The slight flicker in Clarisse's eyes confirmed what Margaret had already suspected. Lorenzo had no idea about this meeting or the supposed criticism of her work.

-I don't need to consult him to know what works and what doesn't -Clarisse retorted, regaining her haughty attitude.

Margaret leaned slightly forward, not breaking her gaze.

-Lorenzo trusts my judgment as a designer. If he has something to say about the sketches, I'm sure he'll communicate it to me directly.

For a moment, Clarisse's face hardened, but she quickly regained her composure.

-Do what I'm telling you, Margaret -she said in a frosty tone-. Don't forget that Lorenzo is busy with important matters in Colombia. He doesn't have time to deal with mistakes.

Margaret stood up slowly, tucking the portfolio under her arm.

-Thank you for your opinion, Clarisse -she replied with a tense smile-. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.

Without waiting for a response, Margaret calmly stood up, collecting the portfolio with a calculated movement, and turned to leave. She walked toward the café exit with her head held high, feeling Clarisse's gaze burning into her back as a reminder of the woman's intentions. Every step she took was a silent declaration: she wouldn't be intimidated.

The cold Parisian air enveloped her as soon as she crossed the door, making her shiver slightly. She paused for a moment, pressing the portfolio to her chest while observing the movement of the city around her. Paris, her refuge, and yet her prison. She had come here seeking a fresh start, far from secrets and pain, but it seemed that her past always found a way to catch up with her.

As she walked through the cobblestone streets, her thoughts became clearer with each breath of cold air filling her lungs. She would not let Clarisse make her doubt her talent or her worth. Her work spoke for itself, and Lorenzo knew that. If he had something to object to, they would discuss it as professionals, not through intermediaries with hidden agendas.

But it wasn't just her work at stake. Clarisse didn't settle for interfering in the professional realm; her meddling extended to everything. Margaret gritted her teeth as she remembered the way Clarisse had looked at her during the meeting, as if she were measuring every one of her reactions. Clarisse didn't just want to discredit her as a designer; she wanted to crush her, reduce her to someone insignificant.

Margaret stopped in front of a well-lit display window, where the reflection of her tired face stared back at her. "Why do you keep running?" her conscience seemed to ask. She couldn't help but think of Mateo, sleeping peacefully at home, unaware of the whirlwind of emotions his mother faced every day.

No matter how hard she tried to convince everyone, even herself, that she could handle everything alone, the reality was more complicated. Mateo had the right to a complete family, and Lorenzo, even if he didn't know it yet, was an essential part of that equation.

-I can't keep allowing this -she whispered, almost as if the words could free her from the burden she carried.

She straightened up, a new determination lighting up her gaze. If Clarisse thought she could manipulate or isolate her, she was very wrong. Margaret wouldn't just protect her work; she would protect her son and what remained of her connection with Lorenzo, even if that meant facing everything and everyone.

She resumed her walk home, with firm steps. The air was still cold, but it no longer felt like a threat, but rather a reminder that she was alive, strong, and ready to fight for what really mattered.