And there it was.
The snap.
It wasn’t a loud crack, but a silent, seismic fracture deep inside me.
*Her ambition is her superpower. It’s just… a lot to keep up with. *
The exact sentiment, almost the same damn words he’d used eight years ago when he’d told me he needed someone who could ‘just relax,’ someone whose dreams weren’t bigger than his own.
He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t grown. He had simply found a woman whose family name could build his empire for him, leaving him free to patronize the woman whose ambition had built her own.
My entire career, the relentless pursuit of perfection, the color-coded binders and contingency plans—it had all been a fortress.
A beautiful, impenetrable fortress built on the scorched earth of his rejection, designed to prove that my ambition wasn’t a flaw; it was a goddamn weapon.
And in one sentence, he’d dismissed my fortress as a quirky character trait he was nostalgic for.
My breath hitched. The ten thousand orchids Chloe wanted felt like they were blooming in my lungs, choking me.
For a split second, I saw my future: a series of polite, sterile meetings, pretending this man wasn’t the architect of my deepest wound, all for a feature in a magazine.
No.
A new feeling, cold and sharp and utterly liberating, sliced through the panic. It wasn’t despair. It was rage. A bright, cleansing fire that burned away the last eight years of careful, cautious planning.
My spine straightened. The trembling in my hands ceased.
I lifted my chin, my gaze locking onto Marcus, bypassing Chloe entirely. The mask of the polite wedding planner dissolved, replaced by the face of the CEO who had clawed her way to the top of a brutal industry.
“Thank you for your concern, Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, chillingly calm register. “But my ambition has never needed anyone to ‘keep up’ with it. It fuels itself. ”
I closed my binder with a soft, definitive thump. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
Chloe’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. Marcus’s face paled.
I glanced at Rhys. His smirk was gone, replaced by a look of stunned, sharpened curiosity. He’d poked the bear, and now he was watching, impressed, to see what it would do.
The shock was gone. The desperation had vanished. In their place was a sudden, glorious, and terrifying clarity. I wasn’t going to run. I wasn’t going to quit.
I was going to plan.
But this wasn’t going to be a wedding.
It was going to be a masterpiece.
An opera of logistical perfection so flawless, so breathtakingly beautiful, that every time Marcus looked at his bride, he would see my triumph.
He would be haunted by the ghost of the woman he threw away, the woman who could build kingdoms while he was busy inheriting one.
“I’ll take the job,” I announced, the words tasting like power. “But my terms are no longer negotiable. ”
I slid a new contract from my portfolio. “This is my high-risk client agreement. I reserve it for clients who present. . . unique emotional and logistical challenges. ”
My eyes met Chloe’s. “My fee has doubled. It is non-negotiable. I have complete creative and logistical control. You,” I nodded at her, “will have two vetoes for the entire event. After that, my decisions are final. Non-compliance at any stage will result in immediate termination of services, with the full fee retained. ”
Chloe gasped, speechless for the first time. Marcus just stared, his mouth slightly agape.
I wasn’t finished.
My gaze shifted, landing squarely on the chaos agent sitting beside me. Rhys Callaghan.
The man who had seen the crack in my armor and, instead of exploiting it, had held up a mirror. He was the opposite of Marcus—unscripted, untamed, real.
A wild card.
My wild card.
I pinned him with a look that was both a command and a challenge.
“One more condition,” I said, my voice ringing with an authority that left no room for argument. “The best man’s duties have been amended. From this moment on, you are my personal liaison for every single vendor, decision, and logistical detail involving the groom’s side. You don’t answer to him,” I nodded at Marcus, “and you don’t answer to her. ”
My eyes flicked to Chloe. “You answer to me. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. ”
I held his intense, whiskey-colored gaze and let a slow, dangerous smile touch my lips for the first time.
“So, tell me, Mr. Callaghan. Can you handle that?”