Two weeks ago
The scent of peonies and freshly brewed espresso was the smell of victory. Ava Morgan inhaled deeply, letting the fragrant air fill her lungs and settle the last of her morning jitters.
It was a scent she’d curated herself, a signature blend for her office, the headquarters of Perfectly Planned. Her sanctuary. Her empire.
Sprawled across the pristine, white-oak surface of her desk was the reason for the celebration: the latest issue of Vows & Venues, the undisputed bible of the wedding industry.
And there, on page eighty-four, was a two-page feature.
“The Architect of ‘I Do’: Ava Morgan’s Blueprint for Perfection. ”
Her own face smiled back at her from the glossy page, poised and professional.
The photo had been taken right here, in this office, with its minimalist aesthetic, its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling heart of the city, and its meticulously organized shelves where binders in a gradient of calming pastels stood like soldiers at attention.
Everything in its place. Everything under control.
She traced the curve of her name in the headline, the cool, slick paper a tangible reward for a decade of relentless work.
Ten years of swallowing down the bitter taste of failure and heartbreak, and metabolizing it into fuel. Ten years of building a fortress around her heart so high and so strong that no one could ever breach it again.
Her life was a color-coded binder, and she was its sole author.
She stopped in front of her vision board, a collage of fabric swatches, magazine clippings of haute couture gowns, and handwritten affirmations. Build Your Empire. Be Undeniable. Success is the Best Revenge.
Her ambition was her armor. Her success, her shield. She was everything she’d ever set out to be.
The cheerful ding of an incoming email pulled her from her reverie. She swiveled in her ergonomic chair, her eyes scanning the screen. The subject line made her sit up straighter, the pleasant buzz from the magazine article sharpening into focused adrenaline.
Subject: Exclusive Inquiry: The Thorne-Wexler Nuptials
Ava’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
The Wexlers were old money, practically city royalty, with a philanthropic empire and a name that opened any door it touched.
A wedding for a family like that wasn’t just a job; it was an anointment. It was the kind of event that would catapult Perfectly Planned from a celebrated local firm into a nationally sought-after brand.
This was it. The next level.
A triumphant smile touched Ava’s lips. She opened the email, her pulse thrumming a steady, excited beat.