Chapter Two

Lucy

Thirty days. I stared at the paper in my hands, certain I had read it wrong. Then I read it again and again.

The words didn't change. The numbers didn't disappear. The deadline remained exactly where it was. Thirty days, that's a month. Four weeks before the house I'd grown up in belonged to someone else.

The room felt suffocating. Mom sat silently on the couch, twisting a tissue between her fingers. Sophia looked ready to burst into tears.

Dad stood by the window with his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn't looking at any of us. He was staring outside, at nothing or maybe at everything.

"Dad..." My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and tried again.

"How bad is it?" The question sounded ridiculous the moment it left my mouth. The answer was sitting right there in my hands. Still, I needed to hear him say it.

For a long moment, he remained silent. Then he sighed.

"Worse than I thought." My stomach twisted. Mom closed her eyes. Sophia muttered a curse under her breath. A very creative one.

Normally Mom would have scolded her. Tonight, she didn't even react. That frightened me more than the notice itself.

"How much?" I asked. Dad hesitated. The hesitation told me everything. "How much?" I repeated. His eyes met mine. The number that left his mouth nearly knocked the air from my lungs. I couldn't even process it, couldn't wrap my head around it, couldn't understand how things had gotten this bad.

A heavy silence settled over the room. The kind that presses against your chest until breathing becomes difficult. "I'll figure something out," I said. The words escaped before I could stop them.

Dad immediately shook his head. "No." "Dad-"

"No, Lucy." His voice hardened. "You've done enough." | laughed bitterly. Enough? Not even close, not when we were standing on the edge of losing everything, not when my parents looked like they hadn't slept in weeks, not when Sophia was pretending to be brave. Nobody in this family had done enough. Because if we had, we wouldn't be here.

"We're family," I said quietly. "We handle this together." Dad looked away. That hurt more than any argument could have.

Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure he believed me.

I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that notice. Thirty days. Thirty days. Thirty days. The number repeated itself like a curse.

Around three in the morning, I gave up entirely and opened my laptop. If I couldn't sleep, I could work. At least work made me feel useful. I spent hours revising proposals, updating designs, sending emails, and applying for projects. Doing anything, everything.

By sunrise, I had sent fourteen proposals, not one reply. Story of my life. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock.

Seven-thirty. Wonderful.

Another day. Another opportunity for disappointment. The design studio was unusually quiet that morning. Rain tapped softly against the windows. The gray sky matched my mood pertectly.

I was halfway through reviewing floor plans when my phone buzzed. It was Chloe. I answered immediately. "If you're calling to tell me I've won the lottery, I love you."

"Sadly, no." "Then I'm busy."

"You're impossible." I smiled despite myself. "What do you want?" Her tone changed instantly. "How's your family?" The smile disappeared. I sank back into my chair. "Not great." She didn't push.

One of the reasons Chloe was my best friend was because she knew when to give people space. Instead, she changed the subject. "You remember the gala?" I groaned. "The charity gala?" "Yes."

"The one full of rich people?" "The one full of potential clients."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Chloe."

"Lucy." "I'm not in the mood." "Which is exactly why you should come."

I stared out the window. The truth was, she wasn't entirely wrong. I needed opportunities desperately. Maybe more desperately than ever.

"You know what?" she continued. "I'm sending you the guest list." "What for?" "So you can stop pretending this isn't a good idea."

A second later, an email notification appeared. Curiosity got the better of me. I opened it and immediately regretted it.

The list was ridiculous. CEOs, investors, developers, and property owners. Names I'd seen in magazines. People who operated in a completely different universe. I didn't belong anywhere near them.

"Are you still there?" Chloe asked. "Unfortunately." "What do you think?" I scrolled through the names. Then one caught my eye. Albert Craig.

The name sounded familiar. Very familiar. "Craig Holdings?" | asked. "Exactly." I even knew that company. Everyone did.

One of the largest corporations in the country. Worth billions, maybe more.

"What would someone like that be doing at a charity gala?" Chloe laughed. "Donating money, probably." I shook my head.

People like Albert Craig existed in a world I'd only ever seen through television screens and magazine covers. A world of private jets and penthouses. A world where people probably spent more on dinner than I earned in a month.

The thought was absurd. And yet... My eyes lingered on the name. Albert Craig.

Later that afternoon, I received an email. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the sender. A property development company. One I'd contacted weeks ago. Finally, a response.

My pulse raced as I opened it. Then immediately dropped.

Thank you for your proposal. Unfortunately, we have decided to move forward with another designer.

I closed my eyes. Of course, they had. Why was I even surprised anymore? Every door I knocked on seemed determined to stay shut.

For a few seconds, I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself.

Then my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost ignored it.

Something stopped me. Maybe instinct, or maybe desperation.

Either way, I answered. "Hello?" Silence. Then a deep voice spoke. "Is this Lucy George?" My grip tightened on the phone.

"Yes."

"Good afternoon." The voice was calm. Professional and unfamiliar. "My name is Liam Brooks." I frowned. "I don't think we know each other."

"No, Ms. George. We don't." Something about his tone made me sit up straighter. "I'm calling regarding a business opportunity." The exact phrase from the mysterious text message the night before.

A chill ran through me. "What kind of business opportunity?" A brief pause followed. Long enough to make my heart pound.

Then he spoke. "The kind that could change your life."

My stomach tightened. Every instinct told me to hang up. Yet I couldn't, couldn't move, couldn't think, and couldn't breathe.

"Who do you work for?" I asked quietly. Another pause.

Then the answer came. And suddenly the room felt very, very small. "I work for Mr. Albert Craig."

My heart skipped a beat. Why would a billionaire I've never met be looking for me?

And more importantly... How did he know who I was?