Two weeks had passed since the intense meeting with Jack Reynolds, but Amélie's thoughts remained muddled. She had hoped time would grant her clarity, but instead, it brought a deeper sense of doubt. Jack's offer still loomed over her, an unwelcome shadow in her otherwise sun-kissed vineyard. The crisp autumn mornings were no longer her refuge. Everything reminded her of the decision she had to make, the weight of it settling heavily in her chest.
She had kept the details of the proposal from everyone, even Étienne, whose questions grew more frequent as the days passed. She wasn't ready to face anyone's judgment—not even his. Amélie felt the pressure rising, yet she couldn't bring herself to respond to Jack. How could she when her mind was still a battlefield of conflicting thoughts?
One afternoon, after spending hours overseeing the seasonal pruning, Amélie returned to the château with the ache of fatigue weighing her limbs. Stepping into the kitchen, she was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. Sitting on the counter was a sleek, glossy black bottle with gold lettering: Reynolds Reserve. She stared at it for a moment, confused, then noticed the folded note beside it.
She picked it up, reading the bold handwriting inside:
"A small gift, as a gesture of good faith. I thought you might appreciate tasting the results of a vision you still seem unsure of."
— Jack Reynolds.
Amélie felt a mix of emotions—irritation at his audacity, but also a spark of curiosity. She had refused to engage with him for weeks, and here he was, still finding a way to remind her that he was waiting. Still, the bottle beckoned to her, its sophisticated design whispering promises of elegance and power, much like the man behind it.
She considered tossing it aside. Was this his attempt to manipulate her further? But no. A part of her wanted to see what Jack was offering in its most tangible form. This wasn't just a business deal—it was a clash of worlds, of philosophies, and if she were to stand firm, she needed to understand what exactly she was up against.
As the evening settled in and the sky dimmed, she found herself sitting on the terrace with the bottle of Reynolds Reserve uncorked. She poured herself a glass, letting the aroma fill the air around her. Bold and full-bodied, with hints of blackberries and spice. The scent alone was intoxicating.
Amélie swirled the glass, watching the rich red liquid move with slow precision. Then, with a slow breath, she took a sip.
The flavors exploded on her tongue—deep, dark fruits layered with oak and a subtle smokiness. It was polished, balanced, undeniably exceptional. She couldn't deny the craftsmanship behind it. But as she sat there, analyzing every nuance, she realized something. It lacked the soul she was so proud of in her own wines. There was no history in it, no story. It was technically flawless, but it left her cold.
This was exactly what Jack represented—perfection without heart.
The glass felt heavy in her hand as she set it down, her thoughts swirling as much as the wine in her glass. Jack was a force to be reckoned with, but Amélie knew she couldn't simply match him by logic and reason. She had to rely on something more, something intangible—the essence of her family's vineyard, the story that lived in every bottle of Beaumont wine.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jack again.
"What do you think?"
His confidence radiated even through a text. Amélie stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keys. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his wine had impressed her, but she also couldn't deny the reality.
"It's different," she finally typed, keeping her response vague.
Seconds later, a reply came in: "Different isn't always bad."
Amélie frowned, setting the phone down on the table. Jack was relentless, always pushing, always nudging her closer to a decision. She wasn't ready to let him win—at least, not yet.