Chapter 94 João seemed to be the very definition of vigor and health.
Restlessness and Incomplete Formulas
Downstairs, Katherine went straight to the kitchen. Her chest felt like it was burning. She opened the refrigerator and gulped down half a bottle of ice-cold water, feeling the thermal shock try to calm her nerves.
She had rejected countless men before, but never like that. The words “would you die for me?” sprang from her mouth without the filter of reason, like a defensive reflex against João's intensity. Antonio Malvares' advice about João Pedro being ‘dangerous’ or “different” echoed in her mind, engraved as a warning she could no longer ignore.
Once in her room, she tried to resort to her old method of mental purification: writing perfume formulas.
Wood and clove fragrance, 2.5 grams... White herb and basil...
Her pen glided across the paper, but when she reached the base of Dragon Saliva Fragrance, her hand froze. The dull thud of the pen falling on the table marked her defeat. For the first time in her life, chemistry could not organize the chaos in her heart.
Frustrated, she abandoned her notebook, picked up a comic book, and lay down. But the images passed before her eyes without meaning, until exhaustion finally overcame her and she fell asleep, still dressed, with the taste of ice and the echo of João's question in her soul.
At midnight, the rustling of leaves from a three-meter maple tree right in front of her window woke Katherine. A cool breeze invaded the room, and she realized that, in her exhaustion, she had forgotten the open window.
She pushed aside the comic book resting on her abdomen and got up. However, as she touched the window latch, her sleepy eyes opened abruptly. She froze.
In the air, mixed with the natural scent of the flowers in the courtyard, something artificial floated. It was a complex, almost imperceptible medicinal fragrance. An ordinary sense of smell would never distinguish it, but to Katherine, it was like a scream in the silence. There was the freshness of mint and a subtle milky nuance, but these were only masks for a deeply hidden main note.
“Milky mint...” she whispered to herself.
It was his scent. The scent that João Pedro exuded so subtly that it seemed to merge with his own skin.
Remembering Antonio Malvares' inquisitive tone, a dark suspicion began to take shape. Katherine put on her hearing aid and, within seconds, confirmed what she feared: João Pedro was not in his room. The scent trail came from the depths of the mansion. The basement.
Normally, prolonged medicinal baths were intended for those struggling with chronic or degenerative diseases, adapting the body to healing through skin absorption. But João seemed the very definition of vigor and health.
Was it an eccentric hobby, or was he hiding a mortal frailty beneath that facade of power?
As she stood in the courtyard under the moonlight, her heart, previously driven by tactical curiosity, suddenly felt heavy. A plan was forming in her mind for the next step, but the weight on her chest was a variable she couldn't calculate.
On Sunday morning, at the Collins residence, Daniel watched Heitor maneuver his skateboard across the courtyard. The silence on the porch was broken by Rosana's soft voice.
“Daniel, I made a reservation for us to have dinner out tonight. A special place. Just the two of us... or rather, the three of us,” she said, caressing her belly with a radiant smile.
Daniel looked away from his son and stared at her coldly. “Just the two of us?”
“Yes, Nísia is immersed in her studies for the chemistry competition and her perfume research. It's best not to interrupt her.”
Daniel let out a dry grunt, his eyes clouded by growing suspicion. “Have you been saying reckless things to Heitor, Rosana?” he asked bluntly.
Rosana paled, surprise destabilizing her mask of the perfect wife. “What do you mean by that? Why would I...?”
“Forget it,” he interrupted impatiently. “You're in the final stages of pregnancy. Go out less. There are harmful chemicals in those perfumes; stop helping Nísia with her research and get some rest.”
Rosana blinked, stunned by his abrupt authority. “And you? Where are you going?”
Daniel turned his back to go inside and change clothes. “I'm taking Heitor to the amusement park. And one more thing...” He stopped at the doorframe, thoughtful. “As for the school competition, there's no need to stop Katherine anymore. Let her go.”
Let her compete.“ Rosana felt a chill. She knew exactly what that meant: Daniel was no longer trying to ”protect" the family's image; he was ready to see Katherine publicly crushed by Nísia, or perhaps... he was beginning to test who was the true heir to Irene's talent.
The sudden change in Daniel Lutz's stance was not the result of paternal redemption, but of cold calculation. Like a predator sniffing out a lucrative opportunity, Katherine's monthly exam results made him recalculate the market value of his “renegade” daughter.
For Daniel, daughters were assets.
And if Katherine possessed an intellect capable of humiliating the academic elite, he was willing to showcase her in chemistry competitions, as long as it brought prestige to the Lutz name. Rosana, watching him leave for the park with Heitor, gripped the balcony railing until the knuckles of her fingers turned white.
“Do you think I don't see through your intentions, Daniel?” she muttered into the void, her face clouded with jealousy. She would not allow the “temple girl” to outshine Nísia. If Katherine wanted to compete, she would find a battlefield far crueler than a classroom.
Monday: Aromas and Legacies
On Monday morning, Katherine's routine followed the same almost monastic discipline as always. Exercise, a cold shower, and her mind focused on the chessboard that had become her life. However, when she went down for breakfast in the East Wing, the usual scene was replaced by something that defied her logic.
João Pedro was in the kitchen.
It wasn't just the sight of the ruthless CEO wielding utensils that surprised her, but the aroma. It wasn't the usual smell of coffee or eggs; it was a complex, deeply fragrant scent that seemed to bring back memories that didn't belong to her.
Katherine stopped in the middle of the room. She remembered Anastasia's stories: João only cooked once a year, on the anniversary of his grandmother Arbex's death, to honor the late matriarch's wish that he inherit her culinary gift. But today was not the anniversary of Mrs. Arbex's death.
Katherine's curiosity was piqued, but her instinct for self-preservation was quicker. She turned around, intending to leave before the atmosphere became too heavy with questions she didn't want to ask.
“Have breakfast before you leave,” João Pedro's voice, warm and laden with gentle authority, echoed from the kitchen, stopping her before she even touched the doorknob.
Katherine turned slowly. He wasn't wearing his formal suit; his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and there was a serenity in his face that contrasted dangerously with the man who had taken her home on Saturday.