Red Tulips at Paris
CHAPTER 1 — Red Tulips at Paris
Today was the day.
All my dreams were finally coming true.
Every hour I had poured into myself—every sacrifice, every silent battle, every moment of being overlooked—was coming to fruit.
Tonight, I was being recognized for my work.
Not my father’s name.
Not my surname.
MINE.
The chandeliers above me glowed like hanging galaxies, scattering warm gold across the Grand Room. It felt as if Paris itself paused—holding its breath—just for me.
When the host’s voice echoed through the hall, announcing my name, my heart spiked.
“The Businesswoman of the Year… goes to Ms. Zuri Kapoor.”
My heartbeat stumbled.
Applause shook the room.
Cameras flashed like white fire.
The world looked at me—admiring, judging, calculating.
I walked forward slowly, the silk of my gown whispering against my legs, diamonds warming against my skin. I felt every stare—warm ones, cold ones, jealous ones—like heat crawling across my body.
Tonight, I wasn’t just succeeding.
I was being crowned.
The award settled into my hands with the weight of something sacred.
Destiny made tangible.
I inhaled, lifted my chin, and spoke into the microphone.
“This title, this award… I want to dedicate it to the little girl in me—the one who once believed she was nothing without the people around her.
This is to prove to her that she is more than capable of becoming the woman she always dreamed of.
Thank you.”
My voice stayed steady.
My hands didn’t.
The applause roared, filling every corner of me.
Some smiled warmly.
Some stared coldly.
Some, I knew, were already calculating how to use me—or how to break me.
But tonight, Paris belonged to me.
And they all knew it.
Hours later, my penthouse suite at the Ritz felt unreal.
Bouquets covered every surface—tables, window ledges, marble counters.
Roses, orchids, lilies… flowers I couldn’t even name.
Cards from billionaires, princes, CEOs, investors, icons.
People who respected me.
People who envied me.
People who wanted me.
Some because of who I became.
Some because of the surname I carried.
I should’ve felt satisfied.
Instead… something inside me felt strangely quiet.
I walked through the fragrant chaos, fingers brushing petals, reading name after name.
Until I stopped.
A small bouquet sat alone on the center table—
Red tulips.
Simple.
Elegant.
Intimate in the wrong way.
Red tulips.
My favorite flowers.
The exact shade I once swore I loved.
My heartbeat turned uneven.
A card peeked out between the petals.
Just four words:
“Congratulations, little one.”
No name.
No signature.
Just that.
My fingers froze.
The room suddenly felt too warm, yet my skin chilled.
I stared at the tulips far longer than I intended. Finally, I tore my gaze away and called softly,
“Emma?”
She appeared immediately, tablet in hand, hair in its usual tight bun.
“Yes, Ms. Kapoor?”
I pointed at the tulips.
My voice came quieter than I meant.
“Do you know who these are from? They’re my favorite. And they’re the only ones without a sender.”
Emma blinked, confused.
“No, I don’t. But I can look into it if you’d like.”
I shook my head quickly.
“No. It’s fine. Just leave it. I have a meeting early tomorrow… we’ll talk in the morning.”
She nodded and left.
The silence felt too loud.
I sat on the edge of the bed—heels still on, gown still perfect—yet I felt strangely bare.
My phone vibrated.
My father’s name lit up the screen.
I inhaled and answered.
“Congratulations, young one,” he said warmly.
“I watched you on television. I am proud of you, always.”
My chest tightened.
“Thank you… that means more than anything.”
“I sent you something. You’ll find a diamond necklace waiting for you.”
I blinked.
“A necklace?”
“Yes. The one you’ve always wanted.”
A heaviness settled under my ribs. Guilt, maybe.
“There was no need… but thank you,” I murmured.
I hesitated.
“Dad… did you send the red tulips?”
A pause.
Then genuine confusion.
“Tulips? No. But I can ask your mother—”
“No. Forget it. Goodnight, Dad.”
“Goodnight, my child.”
The call ended.
I lay back on the bed, exhaling shakily.
The award gleamed on the table.
Bouquets filled the room.
But my eyes drifted to only one.
Red tulips.
Congratulations, little one.
My skin prickled.
Not with fear.
With something I didn’t understand.
Outside, Paris glittered softly beneath my window.
I fell asleep thinking about red petals…
and a voice I had never heard—
yet somehow felt disturbingly familiar.
