My Billionaire Lover

They say New York chews you up and spits you out if you're not paying attention. I always thought I was exempt. I was the one who nipped back. But standing in the gold-plated ballroom of the Whitmore mansion, observing a battalion of florists running about as Selene Whitmore scrolled through her phone with an air of owning the world, I wasn't so sure anymore.

My heels echoed on the marble as I walked to her, clipboard in tow, nerves tingling under my skin like radio interference. Selene did not lift her head.

"Selene," I spoke, tone measured, calm years of customer service sewn into my voice.

She raised her eyes. "You're five minutes behind schedule."

"I was checking to see if your floral arches had come. Your orchids you'd ordered from Singapore were held up in customs. I got some people to work on it. They'll be there by tonight.

She blinked, as if mildly impressed but not really wanting to be. "Fine. See that they're perfect. Aarav detests flaws."

The manner in which she'd said his name - Aarav it was like it had left a sour taste. I noted it but put it in my back pocket for later. You pick up on people when you're dealing with couples. And this couple seemed.off.

"Noted. And the dress fitting is set for"

"I know the itinerary, Rhea." She finally looked at me, a cat-like smile pulling at her lips. "That's why I hired you. You're the best at faking everything's fine even when it isn't."

I didn't blink, but she touched on something raw inside me. Selene Whitmore was an upper-level social hurricane, the type who could anticipate where to land her blows.

"I aim higher than pretense," I said softly.

She smiled, eyes already focused again on her screen. "Of course you do."

A set of double doors behind her opened, and I sensed it like electricity down my spine.

Aarav Hayes entered.

I’d only met him twice before, both times brief, both times in rooms too crowded for real conversation. But even then, his presence lingered like perfume. He had that quiet intensity people wrote poetry about. No wasted words. Just a calm stillness that somehow made everyone around him seem louder, messier, needier.

He wore a charcoal suit today, a black open-collar shirt, his sleeves rolled up just high enough to show the edge of a tattoo on his forearm. More artist than groom. And nothing at all like Selene.

"Mr. Hayes," I said, nodding as he approached.

His eyes met mine—warm brown, unreadable, but not unkind. "Ms. Morgan."

"Rhea, please," I smiled, though something in my chest clutched up.

He glanced around. "Are we talking.flowers again?"

Selene let out a groan. "You say that they're not one of the most significant aspects of the wedding."

"I'm here for food tasting, remember?" His voice wasn't biting, but there was a subtle opposition to it.

"Oh, sweetheart," Selene crooned, throwing her arm over his, "you're here to smile and be gorgeous. Let Rhea and me handle the rest.

He didn't smile. He simply pulled away. "Where is the chef situated?"

"Ballroom kitchen," I replied. "I can escort you there—"

"There's no need to," Selene cut in. "Rhea has fifty things to attend to. I'll bring you."

Aarav's eyes met mine once more, a fraction too long.

"Lead the way," he repeated, tone flat.

I saw them vanish through the double doors. Something inside of me pricked. That wasn't how couples in love appeared. That wasn't how brides grooms behaved three weeks prior to a wedding.

I lingered late when the staff departed, reviewing final-minute vendor bills. My office was closer to a glorified closet wedged in the rear of the ballroom wing, but it provided seclusion. And quiet. I appreciated them.

I was going to log off when the door groaned.

I jumped—then relaxed when I saw Dev leaning against it. Dev Blackwell. My former boyfriend.

Scratch that. My error.

He grinned self-consciously. "Figure you'd still be around."

I pushed back in my chair. "How did you bypass security?"

"I still know where the back doors are." He shrugged. "Can I have a word with you?"

"You're not here, Dev."

He went in regardless, shutting the door. "I know. But you're seeing Selene now. And. you have to watch yourself."

I narrowed my eyes. "Seeing how? I'm her wedding planner. That's all."

He stroked his hair, fidgety. "She's not what you think she is. I didn't tell you all when we were breaking up. She - "

"She what?" I asked, demanding.

Dev swallowed hard. "She manipulated me. Manipulated all of us. And she's dangerous, Rhea. People believe she's a privileged socialite, but she's different. She has a way with the truth. You think you're working for her. You're not. You're a piece on a board."

The words hung between us like shattered glass. I couldn't get up. Couldn't breathe.

"You're too good for this mess," he said, his tone softer now. "Leave while you can."

I stood slowly. "Dev, if this is regarding guilt—"

"It's not." His voice broke. "Just.promise me you'll watch your back."

I wanted to shout at him. For the betrayal. For cowardice. For abandoning me when I needed him. But now was not the time.

"Goodnight, Dev."

He lingered—then turned and departed.

I closed the door behind him and pressed my back against it. My pulse was hammered. There was too much I didn’t understand. Too many things that didn’t make sense.

And just as I reached for my phone, it buzzed.

An unknown number.

STAY OUT OF IT OR YOU’LL END UP LIKE THE LAST ONE.

My breath caught. I stared at the message, ice flooding my veins. The last one?

I never slept that night. And for the first time ever since I started this job, I questioned whether this was not a wedding.

Maybe it was war.