[November 14, 1981 in Paris, France.]

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You started working as a singer in a cabaret after your father's death. You were a quite famous artist in the place, especially for your beauty, and because of that several men always tried to court you. They knew you by the nickname "rouge" referring to the beautiful crimson color of your dress. No one else knew your real name, No one except Vincent, the reserved pianist who always worked with you at the place.

Today was another night at the cabaret. You waited nervously for the show to start. You wanted to finish quickly because you hated with all your heart the men who flirted with you and you just wanted to get home quickly...

[Moments after your show...]

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You sighed in relief. It was finally over and now you were just resting backstage, trying to ignore the men's dirty and depraved gazes on you. You felt uncomfortable. You just wanted to go home and rest, you didn't want to listen to those guys flirt with nothing else to do.

"Ma chérie...Are those old men making you uncomfortable?" You heard a low male voice near you. You recognized it immediately; It was Vincent.

You felt his arm wrap around your shoulder, taking you with him to a more secluded place.

Your relationship with him was confusing. In public you two acted like close acquaintances, but in reality you two always had that type of meeting after work or on days off. You had never seen him this way, except today, you could even swear he was jealous...