I had planned a lot of things in my life.
My escape to New York. My career. My independence. The careful climb from invisible girl to a woman with ambition. I had battled every demon in my past just to have a seat at the table, to matter. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for planning Max Carter’s charity gala.
For weeks, I spent every waking hour drowning in guest lists, five-star caterers, luxury floral arrangements, and an obscene budget that could probably end world hunger—not that Max cared. He signed off on invoices without blinking. I could have ordered a live tiger for the ballroom and he wouldn’t have noticed.
I tried to explain the importance of the charity he was supposedly supporting—something about childhood education grants—but his eyes glazed over every time.
“Right, right,” he waved a dismissive hand. “The little, uh—poor children, right?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Underprivileged students.”
“Yeah, yeah, that,” he said, already looking at his phone.
I had never met someone so disgustingly rich and infuriatingly careless. And yet… I couldn’t stop watching him. Studying him. Like a puzzle I’d never solved. Something about the way he moved—so sure, so smug, like he never had to question his place in the world—made me want to scream. Or slap him. Or maybe kiss him, if I was being honest with myself on my worst days.
But something had changed lately. His father had been calling—a lot. At first, Max dismissed the calls with an eye roll and a sarcastic quip. Then came the clipped responses, one-word answers and curt goodbyes. And then… the yelling started.
“I’m running this company just fine, old man!”
Silence.
“No, I’m not just playing businessman! You handed me this job, remember? You wanted this!”
More silence.
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want to be you!”
The phone slammed down. Papers flew. And for once, Max didn’t have a comeback. He just sat there, jaw clenched, eyes stormy.
Then came the worst day of all—the day his father showed up.
I was in the middle of reorganizing the seating chart when the door slammed open with such force that my pen jerked across the page.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Max?” The voice was booming, powerful—the kind that made people straighten their backs without realizing it.
I peeked up just enough to see Richard Carter—Wall Street legend, billionaire, and terrifying presence—towering over Max’s desk.
Max was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed like a teenager caught sneaking out. “Oh look, Dad’s here. Great. Are we doing this here or do you wanna take it outside like a bar fight?”
“You think this is a joke?” his father snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself and this family.”
I tried to focus on my work, but their voices kept rising. Each word sharper than the last, a verbal boxing match with no referee. It lasted thirty minutes. Thirty long, painful minutes of accusations, resentment, and the kind of hurt that only family can inflict.
When his father finally stormed out, the door slamming so hard it shook the floor, Max emerged from his office. His face was carved from stone.
“Did you book the damn orchestra?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get me a scotch. Neat.”
I frowned. “I’m not your waitress—”
“Then get one of them to get it.” His voice was sharp as glass. “Just do your job, Emilia.”
It was a long day.
---
The Surprise Invitation
The night of the gala, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted but relieved. Everything had gone perfectly. My spreadsheets were balanced, the caterers were confirmed, and the final floral arrangements had arrived in the exact shade of ivory Max had demanded—then forgotten he requested.
I kicked off my shoes and let out a breath I’d been holding for weeks.
Then—my phone rang.
Max.
I hesitated. My finger hovered over the screen. Every instinct screamed to ignore it. But I answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, clipped, as if I had already disappointed him.
“…Home?” I said slowly.
“I’m sending a car. You’ve got five minutes.”
Click.
I stared at the phone. What the hell?
A knock at my door made me jump. When I opened it, a massive black box with a satin bow sat on my doorstep. I dragged it inside, heart racing.
Inside, nestled in layers of silk, was a custom Valentino gown—black, sleek, stunning. The fabric shimmered like moonlight, catching every hint of movement. And shoes. High-heeled, glittering, perfectly my size. I touched them like they might vanish.
I swallowed hard. The dress alone probably cost more than my entire life. Why was he doing this? What did he want?
Still—a tiny part of me felt something strange.
Excitement.
I laughed at myself, shaking my head. Maybe I’d meet someone. Maybe I’d actually have fun. Maybe—for one night—I could be someone else.
I clasped my mother’s pearls around my neck, swiped on red lipstick, and the moment I stepped outside, a Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb.
Not a taxi.
Weird.
I slid inside, heart pounding. The seat swallowed me in leather. The driver didn’t speak. The city blurred past the window as we drove into a different world.
---
The Gala
The ballroom was stunning. Chandeliers dripped in gold, champagne flowed endlessly, and the city’s most powerful people laughed over million-dollar deals.
Everything was perfect.
Even Max.
He was the star of the night. Charming. Effortless. Untouchable. The golden boy in his element. His smile disarmed, his wit disarmed, his eyes disarmed. Women hovered like moths. Men admired from afar.
And for once, his father looked pleased.
Then, Max walked straight to me.
And for the first time ever—he looked grateful.
“You did this, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter than usual.
I lifted a shoulder. “Someone had to make you look good.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. Then—he held out a hand.
“Dance with me.”
I stared. “Are you serious?”
“Come on, Emilia. One dance.”
I hesitated—then placed my hand in his.
And for the first time in my life, Max Carter wasn’t my tormentor. He was just a man. A man who smelled like cedar and expensive cologne. A man who held me like I was something breakable, not something disposable.
His arms wrapped around me, firm but gentle. We swayed to the music, and I found myself lost in his eyes—those deep, unreadable brown eyes. For a heartbeat, the past fell away. There were no cruel names. No cafeteria humiliation. No gum in my hair. Just music. Just warmth. Just him.
I hated how handsome he was. How easy it was to pretend. How the world faded around us.
Then—he leaned in.
For a second, I thought he might actually kiss me.
But before he could—
“Max.”
His father’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.
Max tensed, jaw locking. “Excuse me,” he muttered, before disappearing into the crowd.
---
The Balcony
I leaned against the marble railing, breathing in the night air. The city sparkled below, uncaring. The moment had been too much. Too surreal.
And then—he was there.
“My father shouldn’t have interrupted.” Max’s voice was quieter now. Rawer.
I turned to face him. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” His gaze flickered to mine. “Come back inside. Let’s finish our dance.”
I hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His smirk vanished.
“Why not?” He laughed, but there was something sharp in it. “Am I not good enough for you?”
I stiffened.
He stepped closer. “You live in a box, Emilia. Your family is gone. You’re broke. You should be begging me to want you.”
The words hit like a slap.
My throat tightened, but I met his gaze head-on.
“You’re drunk.” My voice was steady, but my hands shook. “And I’m leaving before this turns into an HR incident.”
I turned to go—
But his hand shot out, gripping my arm. Hard.
“Don’t bother.” His voice was low, laced with venom. “You’re fired.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I held my chin high.
“The last time, Max.” My voice broke, but I didn’t care. “This is the last time I’ll ever let you control how I feel.”
I ripped my arm free—
And ran.
My shoes slipped from my feet as I fled down the grand staircase, but I didn’t care. My heart pounded in my ears. My breath came in broken sobs. Shame, fury, heartbreak—they all blurred together as I vanished into the night.
Max stood on the balcony, watching me go.
And for the first time that night—
He looked truly lost.
