Chapter Three

Lucy

"I work for Mr. Albert Craig."

For a second, I was convinced l'd heard him wrong. The name echoed in my head. Albert Craig.

The billionaire CEO whose company dominated headlines.

The man whose name had appeared on the guest list Chloe had sent me only hours earlier. The same man I had never met. The same man who should have had absolutely no reason to know who I was. Yet somehow his assistant was calling me. Specifically me.

I tightened my grip on the phone. "I'm sorry," I said carefully. "I think you have the wrong person." "We don't." The confidence in Liam Brooks's voice made my stomach knot. "I assure you, Ms. George, we contacted the correct individual."

My pulse quickened. That wasn't reassuring. That was terrifying.

I swiveled my chair toward the window, watching rain streak down the glass. "What exactly is this about?"

"I'm afraid that's not something I can discuss over the phone." Of course not. Because apparently, normal conversations were too much to ask for. "What can you tell me?"

"Mr. Craig would like to meet with you." I blinked. Then blinked again. "No." The answer came so quickly even I was surprised. A short silence followed. "I'm sorry?" "I said no."

"May I ask why?" Because rich strangers don't randomly request meetings with women they've never met. Because billionaires don't spend their afternoons thinking about interior designers who can barely keep their businesses afloat.

Because this entire situation felt suspicious. Take your pick.

Instead, I settled for, "Because I don't know him." 'That's precisely why he would like to meet." I rubbed my forehead.

This conversation was giving me a headache.

"What does he want?" Again, that frustrating pause. "Mr. Craig would prefer to discuss that personally." "Then Mr. Craig can keep wondering." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

To my surprise, Liam laughed softly. Not mockingly. Almost as if he appreciated the response. "You're free to decline, Ms.

George." "Good."

"However, I believe you may regret it." My jaw tightened.

There it was, the bait, the mysterious opportunity, the vague promises, and the deliberate curiosity. Whoever this man was, he was very good at his job.

Unfortunately for him, I was stubborn. "Then I guess I'll take my chances." Before he could respond, I ended the call.

Five minutes later, I regretted it. Not because I wanted to meet Albert Craig. Not because I trusted strangers. But because curiosity was eating me alive.

I stared at my phone, then at my laptop, then back at my phone. Finally, I groaned and dropped my head onto my desk.

Why me? Of all the people in the city, why me?

I didn't have connections, I didn't come from money, I wasn't famous, I wasn't influential, and I wasn't anything. At least not anything that should matter to someone like Albert Craig.

My phone buzzed. A text message. I immediately grabbed it.

Unknown Number: "Should you change your mind, the invitation remains open. Have a good day, Ms. George."

That was it. No pressure, no explanation, and no details, just enough mystery to drive me insane. I hated him already.

By the time I left the studio that evening, my brain felt exhausted. Not from work, from thinking. Every possible explanation seemed ridiculous. Maybe they wanted design work. But why not simply say so? Maybe it was connected to the gala. But that didn't make sense either. Nothing made sense. I was still lost in thought when I arrived home.

The moment I stepped through the front door, I knew something was different. For the first time in weeks, laughter filled the house. Actual laughter.

I followed the sound into the kitchen. Sophia sat on the counter eating chips. Mom was cooking dinner. Dad looked slightly more relaxed than he had the night before. Not happy, just less defeated. It was enough to make me smile.

"What happened?" | asked. Sophia pointed dramatically at our father. "He left the house." I stared. "That's your big news?"

"You don't understand." Sophia jumped off the counter.

"Dad voluntarily went outside." Dad rolled his eyes. "I had errands." Mom laughed. "He's been hiding in this house for weeks." I watched him carefully. She wasn't wrong.

Ever since the business collapsed, Dad had become quieter. Smaller somehow. Like he was slowly disappearing.

Tonight, he looked more like himself. Not completely, but enough. The realization eased some of the tension in my chest. Dinner was simple, we ate pasta, garlic bread, and had a family conversation.

For one precious hour, we almost felt normal. Then reality returned.

The foreclosure notice remained on the refrigerator. A constant reminder. Thirty days. Twenty-nine now. Time wasn't slowing down for us.

Later that night, I sat on my bed scrolling through social media. Big mistake. Everyone seemed happier online. More successful, and more accomplished. Meanwhile, I was one overdue bill away from a nervous breakdown.

My phone vibrated. Another email. I nearly ignored it, until l noticed the sender. Craig Holdings.

I sat upright immediately. This had to be a coincidence. Right? My heart pounded as I opened the message. It was short, professional, and direct.

Ms. Lucy George,

Mr. Albert Craig would like to formally invite you to a private meeting tomorrow afternoon. Transportation will be provided. Attendance is entirely voluntary. We hope to hear from you soon.

Beneath the message was an address. Not an office building.Not the company headquarters. A hotel. One of the most expensive hotels in the city.

I stared at the screen. Then reread the email. Then read it again and again. A private meeting, at a luxury hotel, with a billionaire. Every crime documentary I'd ever watched suddenly felt relevant.

"Nope." I immediately closed the email. Absolutely not. There was no universe where this sounded like a good idea. None.

Not happening.

I tossed my phone onto the bed. Problem solved. Except it wasn't. Because five minutes later I picked it up again. Then reread the email. Then opened the address. Then I searched the hotel. Then searched Albert Craig. Then searched him again. I was losing my mind.

An hour later, Chloe called. The moment I answered, she said,

"You sound stressed."

"I might be hallucinating." "Interesting. Explain." I told her everything. The phone call, the text, the email, and the invitation. Silence greeted me when I finished. Then—

"You're kidding." "I wish."

"Albert Craig wants to meet you?" "Apparently."

"Why?" "That's the question." I flopped backward onto my bed.

"What if it's some kind of scam?" "From a billionaire?" "Rich people can scam people too." "That's fair."

I stared at the ceiling. "What would you do?" "Honestly?" "Yes."

"I'd go." Of course, she would. "Chloe." "Hear me out." | sighed. She continued. "If it's legitimate, you might discover what he wants."

"And if it isn't?" "Then leave." Simple. Annoyingly simple. I hated when she made sense.

By midnight, I still hadn't made a decision. The email remained open on my screen. Waiting, mocking me, and tempting me. Finally, exhaustion won.

I set my laptop aside and turned off the light. Till Tomorrow. I'll decide tomorrow. At least that was the plan.

Then my phone buzzed one final time. A new message. This one from an unknown number. I opened it. And my breath caught instantly.

"Ms. George, your father's situation is far worse than you realize."

My heart slammed against my ribs. The message continued. "If you want answers, meet Albert Craig tomorrow."

I shot upright in bed. Every trace of sleep vanished. Because whoever sent that message knew something about my family, something I didn't.

And suddenly meeting Albert Craig no longer felt like a choice. It felt like a necessity.