Page 1 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

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SOPHIE

My heels click against the marble floor as I hurry down the corridor, heart pounding like I’m marching into battle.

Trying to conquer my comeback story.

I cue the Rocky montage in my head, except instead of gloves and a punching bag, it’s me versus an inbox full of PR nightmares.

“Sophie!”

A junior associate nearly stumbles into my path, tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.

“Your father’s in Conference Room B. He’s been asking where you’ve been.”

I don’t break stride. “I’m on my way.”

He hesitates, eyes darting like he's about to say more, but the sharp tilt of my head and the look I shoot his way stop him cold.

I smooth my hair, set my jaw, and keep walking. Fast. Focused.

Let him wait.

I suck in a deep breath and adjust my blazer, fingers trembling slightly.

The hallway is intimidating, every step echoing like a warning.

I swear I can feel it, the judgment, the doubt, the expectation, rising up from the floor and pressing into my spine.

Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin as I look at the doors ahead of me.

I’ve survived worse than this. I’ve been humiliated. Blacklisted. Cast out by the very industry I used to own. And now I’m walking into the lion’s den, not just to prove I belong, but to take my seat at the damn head of the table.

This is it. My shot.

My redemption.

My name, back on top.

All eyes swing toward me as I step into the room, the door clicking shut behind me like a gavel.

A dozen power players, executives in sharp suits and sharper smiles, pause mid-discussion, their gazes narrowing with interest and skepticism.

Some recognize me. Most remember the headlines.

A woman near the end of the table arches a manicured brow. A man leans back in his chair, lips twisting into something between amusement and curiosity. The youngest intern fumbles with her notepad like she’s just been caught eavesdropping.

Valentino Marchetti, tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of expensive suit that hugs his body like it was tailored by God himself, leans back in his chair, arms folded, eyes cool and assessing. He looks like a man used to getting what he wants.

As of a year ago, he earned the title of CEO for Valentina's Vineyard, the most renowned winery in Tuscany. And today, he plans on merging with his once rivaled competitor, the Salvatore Wine Group.

My father doesn’t look up right away. When he does, it’s with that tight, barely-there smirk I’ve hated since I was twelve. “Glad you finally decided to show up.”

I don’t flinch, but it lands. Not just the words, but the condescension wrapped in them. The way he doesn’t even try to hide the disappointment. It’s like I’m sixteen again, and he’s telling me the B plus I got in precalculus is disappointing because I should be able to get an A.

The room watches our exchange like it’s a spectator sport.

And me?

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