Chapter one— Important News

“Oh God, I had actually forgotten how annoying these events usually are,” Katherine said as she glided beside me with her third glass of champagne tonight.

I nodded in agreement. 

Being one of the event planners for this charity gala meant that I had to observe every detail, ensure that the party was running smoothly, and ensure that the guests received the best service. 

When I first went into business, it felt weird working events I would otherwise be invited to as a guest. But I'd gotten used to it over the years, and the extra income allowed me a small degree of Independence from my father. 

“Tell me about it. I've faked so many smiles tonight, my cheeks are actually starting to hurt,” I replied as I scanned the opulent ballroom, my eyes darting from the Veuve Clicquot station to the swag table like a general surveying a battlefield.

“Please tell me you saw that woman in the Valentino swipe an extra gift bag,” Katherine said, with an arched brow. “She looked like she was committing espionage, not petty theft.”

“I did,” I sighed. “Tilda Monroe. Third time this quarter. I’m starting to think she believes luxury gift bags are a form of cardio.”

Katherine grinned and sipped her drink. “Honestly, I respect the hustle. Those bags are worth more than my monthly rent.”

I pressed a hand to my earpiece. “Lilah, Code Pink at the swag table. Tilda Monroe again. Replace the bag before we have a pearl-clutching incident.”

”Got it” she replied.

“God, I love it when you get all Mission Impossible,” Katherine whispered, eyes sparkling. “Tell me you at least wore cute heels for your covert ops.”

I glanced down at my Jimmy Choos and lifted a shoulder. ”Six-inch stilettos. So when the chaos inevitably breaks out, I can run gracefully into a wall.”

“Stunning. Inspiring. Brave.”

“Shut up.”

Katherine bumped her hip against mine. “This party’s fabulous, by the way. The lighting is giving everyone a face-lift, and the tartlets are like crack. How do you do it?”

“I sell my soul to the glitter gods, threaten two rental vendors, and bribe the pastry chef with my diamond tennis bracelet,” I said dryly. “Also, I’m on my third near-anxiety spiral of the night, so let’s hope no one decides to set the floral arch on fire.”

We both laughed—hers rich and open, mine a little more weary.

“I don’t know how you do this for a living,” Katherine said. “If I had to manage this many rich people in one room, I’d be hiding in the coat closet with a bottle of rosé and a stun gun.”

“Honestly, that was Plan B.” I chuckled in response. 

But then, something shifted.

It started with a murmur, almost too soft to register at first. A ripple through the guests—a low, shared current of surprise and excitement.

My attention was still focused on the audio setup when Katherine gave a low whistle. “Okay, who just walked in and made half the room stop breathing?”

“I don’t know,” I said without looking up. “Probably someone with a yacht and a god complex.”

“Or both,” she said. “Tall, dark, and dangerous just stepped through the door. People are acting like Elvis came back from the dead and started handing out stock tips.”

I frowned and glanced toward the entrance.

There, framed by the archway and the buzz of the crowd, stood a man in a black tuxedo so well-tailored it looked like it had been sewn onto his body by angels—or maybe devils. The lighting kissed the sharp lines of his jaw, his hair thick and ink-dark, his expression carved from cool indifference.

My breath hitched before I could stop it.

Katherine leaned closer. “Oh, I know that face. You recognize him.”

“Sort of,” I said tightly. “He didn’t RSVP.”

“And yet here he is, being ogled like a limited-edition Patek Philippe. Should I go find out his skincare routine? For science?”

“I think that’s Alexander Grayson,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

Katherine straightened. “Wait, the Alexander Grayson?”

The whispers around us had reached a quiet frenzy.

“Yes,” I said. “And he wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Katherine blinked. “Well, he is now. And he’s walking this way.”

I didn’t turn around.

But I felt it. The shift in the room. The magnetic pull like a warning—part thrill, part threat.

Lilah squealed in my earpiece, and I had to visibly cringe at the shrill sound. “I thought he wasn't going to come”

I shrugged, ”Maybe he's just really interested in helping the endangered animal.” 

I'm sure he definitely wasn't.

I didn't know him personally, and I didn't care to. I've heard enough about the arrogant billionaire CEO of Grayson Group to know to keep my distance.

“Oh, please, no one cares”, Katherine stopped and lowered her voice “ No one actually cares about the endangered animal, let's be honest. The people are only here for the scene.” 

She was right. But regardless of their respective reasons, at least the event kept my business running.

 “The real topic of the night is going to be how good Alexander looks in that tuxedo”

“You have a boyfriend, Kat,” I stated as I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Doesn't mean we can't appreciate other people's beauty”, she replied with a grin.

“Yes, well, I think you've done enough appreciating. I'm here to work, not ogle the guests,” I replied as I focused my attention back on the sound setup, and Katherine muttered, “Buzzkill” before walking away. 

An insistent buzz against my hip washed away the tingles coating my skin and drew my attention away from Alexander's fan club. My stomach sank when I fished out my cell from my purse and saw who was calling. 

I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies requiring my immediate attention before slipping into the nearest restroom.

“Hello, Father.“ The formal greeting practically rolled off my tongue easily after almost twenty years of practice. According to him, it sounded more “sophisticated” and upper class.” 

“Where are you?” His deep voice rumbled over the line. “Why is it so echoey?”

“I'm at work.” I leaned my hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, “It's a fundraiser for the endangered piping plover.” 

I smiled at his heavy sigh. My father had little patience for the obscure causes people used as an excuse to party, though he attended the events and donated anyway. It was the proper thing to do. 

“Well, since you're at work, I'll keep this short,” He said. “ I'd like you to join my guest and me for dinner on Friday night. I have important news.”

Despite his wording, it wasn't a request.

My smile faded. “This Friday night?” It was Wednesday , and I lived in New York while he and my sister lived in Boston.

It was a last-minute request even by his standards. 

“Yes.” He didn't elaborate. “Dinner is at seven sharp. Don't be late.” 

He hung up.

It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety spiral. 

I have important news.

Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick or dying? Was he planning to get married again after the death of our mother? 

My mind raced through a thousand questions and possibilities that I didn't have the answer to, but I knew one thing. 

An emergency summons like this to the Rivera Manor never boded well.