Chapter 2 Lady In Red

Red. That was the first thing he noticed. A woman dressed like a warning. Crimson heels struck the hardwood like a drumbeat-sharp, rhythmic, purposeful. She didn't walk. She arrived. Every motion was calculated, effortless, like she'd rehearsed this moment. Her presence changed the air in the room-thicker, electric. Even the shadows seemed to take a step back. Charlie stood frozen, wet coffee forgotten. She was tall, elegant, with a figure that told you she wasn't here by mistake. Her eyes scanned the office quickly, unimpressed but intrigued.

"Are you Charlie Bateman, the private investigator?" she asked.

The voice didn't match the power of her entrance. It was soft, hushed even, like silk brushing against skin. It hung in the room, refusing to vanish. Charlie blinked.

"That's what it says on the door," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. He grabbed a rag off the desk and dabbed half-heartedly at the coffee stain. "Who's asking?"

He looked up-and stopped breathing.

She had red hair to match the heels, falling over one eye like a secret. Pale skin, full lips painted the same shade of danger. Her expression held confidence, but there was something else beneath it. Something harder to read.

"Veronica Babel," she said, extending a hand.

Charlie just stared at it. Time bent around her name. His fingers didn't move. He couldn't.

She lowered her hand with a half-smile and a small, polite cough. "Ahem."

That snapped him back. He stumbled around the desk like a rookie, pulling out the client chair.

She accepted it with a smirk. Not unkind, but aware. A woman who knew the effect she had on a room-and how to use it.

He returned to his seat, legs crossing, voice clearing.

"So, how can I help you, Miss Veronica?"

"Mrs. Veronica," she corrected with a subtle tilt of her head.

That word hung in the air like perfume. Charlie leaned in slightly.

"Oh. Mrs. Veronica... So, what brings you here today?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she studied him-really studied him. Like a woman evaluating not just a service, but a soul. Then she said, "I heard you're the man to talk to when someone suspects their partner is cheating. Is that true?"

Charlie gave a lazy shrug. "Sure. I get that a lot. Cheating husbands. Secret affairs. I've found missing kids, runaway teens, even tracked down a dog named Pickles once. Still not sure how that one paid off."

That got a soft chuckle out of her. But her eyes didn't laugh. They wandered to the corners of his office, searching for something-maybe the answer, maybe the courage. Her lips tightened as she drifted in her thoughts.

"Mrs. Babel. Mrs. Babel," Charlie repeated, snapping his fingers. She blinked, startled, as though waking from a dream.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. Then, with a breath that seemed to pull strength from the floor, she looked him dead in the eyes.

"My husband is missing," she said. "And I need you to find him."

Charlie blinked. A missing husband. Not the weirdest request he'd ever gotten, but something about this one made his brow arch involuntarily. Maybe it was the way Veronica said it-like it was a simple fact, not a plea. Her voice didn't quiver, her hands didn't shake, and her eyes... her eyes held something else entirely. Not fear. Not desperation.

Certainty.

That alone set off a quiet alarm in Charlie's mind. But still, he leaned back, casual, draping one arm over the edge of his chair.

"Mrs. Babel," he said slowly, "you do know that most grown men who go missing usually aren't actually missing. They're just... hiding."

Veronica didn't react. She crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. It gleamed under the dim office light, expensive and showy.

Charlie continued, "Now, I'm in the business of finding people, sure. But if your husband really is missing, then this sounds like something you should take to the police."

"I already did," Veronica replied without hesitation. "They don't believe me."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean they don't believe you?"

"They think he's run off with one of his mistresses."

That made Charlie sit up straighter. "Mistresses? Plural?"

Veronica gave a small shrug, as if she were discussing the weather. "My husband is... well-known. At least, around certain circles in Ontario. He's rich. Very rich. And rich men tend to attract all kinds of attention. The police think he's just on a little vacation with one of his flings."

Charlie stared. Not at her face this time, but at the little details around her. The $10,000 handbag. The way her fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of the chair-like she was used to waiting for people to catch up to her. And then, something clicked.

He grinned.

Not outwardly. Just a little smirk that bloomed inside his mind.

He'd hit the jackpot.

A rich, probably famous husband. A scandalous disappearance. A breathtaking client with a tragic air and unlimited resources. If nothing else, this would make a hell of a story someday. But more than that-it would pay.

Still, Charlie wasn't one to dive headfirst without knowing the depth of the pool. He tilted his head slightly. "So why do you think he's missing? Not just... entertaining one of his regular flings?"

Veronica's eyes didn't flinch. "Because my husband, as unfaithful as he is, would never leave the country without telling me."

Charlie blinked again.

"That's... considerate of him."

"He tells me everything," she said, with a hint of ice creeping into her voice. "Every woman. Every trip. Every lie he plans to tell the public. I've known about all of them. That's how our marriage works."

He let that hang in the air for a moment. A million questions buzzed in his head.

"Forgive me if I sound old-fashioned," Charlie said, "but that seems like an odd kind of marriage."

Veronica gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That's because it's a marriage of power, not passion. Love... well, love is for the foolish. And children. We both got what we wanted. I got security. He got freedom. But even freedom has rules, Mr. Bateman."