Once upon a time, there was a little human being, raised by hardworking parents who inspired her to want only one thing: to make money.
A little being who rarely saw them, because they had to earn every franc to bring money home. So she had to grow up on her own.
When she realized that life wasn't easy, and that money didn't fall from trees, she told herself that maybe it was better to stay in childhood. Because the world, she thought, was made of goodbyes... and of starting over.
🎵 Now playing: "End of Beginning" – Djo
It was eight in the evening, and Valentina was driving home. The day had flown by.
Her fear, her anxiety, that little voice whispering everything would go wrong—had been drowned out by thoughts of new projects.
It hadn't been a bad day. Maybe—just maybe—this would be a good week. Despite the bloody patch on her head, and that last email.
Maybe she just needed to see the bright side: she had a job, she had a home, she still had family... and someone she liked.
She connected the Bluetooth and let the music fill the car. The road was empty, the headlights marked her path, and the cows on the roadside seemed to greet her silently.
🎵 Now playing: "Todome no Ichigeki - Vaundy ft. Cory Wong"
When she got to her apartment, she parked and ran inside. She turned on her speaker and played the same song from the drive. She wanted to sing along, even if she didn't know the language. She sang the chorus anyway, because she knew what it meant.
After repeating the song at least ten times, she lowered the volume and peeked out the window to see if any neighbor was spying. In Swytserland, you were only allowed to make noise until 10 p.m., so it was best to be cautious.
She checked her phone and saw a couple of messages from Bastian. He said he had arrived safely, asked how her day had been, and whether her head felt better.
She thought he might be angry, but at the end of his message he told her not to worry about replying, that he knew she must be busy, and to take care of herself. He ended with how excited he was to see her Friday.
"Shit, I better look for plane tickets for this Friday," she muttered reluctantly.
At eleven, she bought the ticket, did her skincare routine, and went to sleep. The next day would be her second day—she needed rest.
When she woke up, she realized she was late. She hadn't prepared breakfast or lunch. She knew she had to save money, especially during the trial period.
She rushed to the car, praying the day wouldn't get any worse. But there was no parking. She circled three times. Nothing. She hit the steering wheel in frustration, leaned back—and accidentally knocked her head, forgetting about the wound.
"Oww," she groaned.
She finally found a spot five blocks away. She ran to the agency. Luckily, only the receptionist was there. She greeted her and went straight to her desk.
She took a deep breath and removed her coat. Her head was throbbing. It was bleeding.
She panicked, touching the wound, looking for more blood. She spun around, frantic. But she calmed down once she saw it wasn't much.
"Valentina, see you in 30 minutes to discuss the tender," her beta boss shouted from the first floor.
The agency, being small, had a casual atmosphere. That helped, but she still wanted to maintain professionalism, afraid of being judged.
She printed the email, read the summary, took a painkiller, and tied her hair up to hide any blood.
"Alright everyone, get ready. This will be a heavy meeting," said her omega boss.
The meeting was tedious. They reviewed the client's objectives, contract duration, and their chances against other agencies.
Valentina knew who the client was: a multinational telecommunications company with a presence on other continents. The project would be national but with regional expansion. They'd need to prepare campaign concepts and almost-realistic budgets.
Each department head received a 20-page report with dates, legal guidelines, and requirements. This tender was war.
Valentina knew one thing: the owners were alphas who only surrounded themselves with their caste. Most of the managers were omegas.
The company claimed to support inclusion, but in practice—despite recent reforms in omega rights and respect for betas—she had never seen a beta in a high-ranking position.
"Do you really think we can win? It's a five-year contract," asked the head of editing.
Valentina snapped back to reality. Winning meant prestige and money, but also pressure. They'd always be walking a tightrope. One mistake and they'd be marked.
"We'll need to prepare a cost catalog," she said quietly.
"That's right, Valentina, you know them, don't you? You're our ace in the hole," her beta boss said.
She felt a chill. Her head throbbed. She felt nauseous. For a second, she wondered if they had only hired her because she knew the other company.
"Yes, but I never worked with them directly. I only did commercials, and that was through account managers," she replied, anxious.
"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you know them," he insisted.
The others looked surprised, but also motivated. There was hope.
"Do we know which other agencies are participating?" Valentina asked.
"No, but we're working on it. Though I think your former agency might be one of them," her omega boss replied.
It was lunchtime, but it felt just like the end of the previous day: filled with anxiety. She would be seeing Erick and Raffael even in her dreams.
The other meetings were postponed. All focus was on this 50-million-franc-a-year tender.
On her way to the supermarket, she saw a group of well-dressed men drinking by the lake. She hadn't even noticed the good weather.
She walked absentmindedly, until someone called her name. When she turned, he was already there:
"Miss Bischoff, I still haven't received a reply to our conversation," said Bastián's lawyer friend.