Chapter 1: Claire POV
The Carter estate buzzes with the kind of energy that only obscene wealth and a looming deadline can ignite. Maids dart through the marble-floored foyer, clutching silver trays and whispering about last-minute floral arrangements. I stand at the edge of the chaos, clipboard in hand, checking off tasks like a general before battle. Tomorrow, Ethan Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, will marry Sophia Reynolds, the golden heiress of New York's elite. And I, Claire Lawson, his assistant of five years, will ensure every detail is flawless.
"Claire!" Ethan's voice cuts through the hum of activity. I turn to see him striding toward me, his tailored suit hugging his tall frame. His gray eyes are sharp, focused, but there's a warmth in them that's reserved for one person alone. "Where's Sophia? The seamstress is here for the final gown fitting."
"She's upstairs in the west wing dressing room," I say, keeping my tone crisp, professional. "I'll take the seamstress up now."
He nods, already half-distracted by a buzzing phone in his hand. "Good. Make sure everything's perfect. You know how important this is."
"Of course, Mr. Carter." I force a smile, but he's already turning away, his attention pulled elsewhere. It's always like this, brief, transactional. I'm the invisible cog in his perfectly oiled machine.
I lead the seamstress, a wiry woman named Marta, up the grand staircase, her sewing kit clinking with every step. The estate smells of polished wood and fresh lilies, the kind of scent that screams money. My heels click on the hardwood, steady and purposeful, but inside, my heart is a traitor, thumping with a longing I've buried for years. Ethan's face flashes in my mind, not the cold CEO, but the man who laughs with Sophia, his eyes softening in a way they never do for me.
We reach the dressing room, and I knock softly before pushing the door open. Sophia stands in front of a full-length mirror, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. Even in a simple silk robe, she's breathtaking, like she was born to be the center of every room. The wedding gown hangs on a mannequin beside her, a cascade of ivory lace and Swarovski crystals that probably costs more than my annual salary.
"Sophia, Marta's here for the fitting," I say, stepping inside.
She turns, her blue eyes brightening. "Claire, thank God. I'm a nervous wreck." Her voice is light, almost musical, but there's a practiced charm to it, like she's always performing. "Come help me with this monstrosity, will you?"
I set my clipboard on a velvet chaise and move to the gown, my fingers brushing the delicate fabric. It's heavier than it looks, the weight of expectation stitched into every seam. I lift it carefully, helping Sophia slip out of her robe and into the dress. Marta kneels at her feet, pinning and adjusting, muttering about hemlines.
"You're going to look like a dream tomorrow," I say, keeping my voice steady as I smooth the train behind her. The words taste bitter, but I've had years of practice hiding it.
Sophia laughs, twirling slightly to catch her reflection. "I hope so. Ethan deserves a bride who can keep up with him, don't you think?" She glances at me through the mirror, her smile teasing but not cruel. She doesn't know how her words cut, how they remind me I'll never be the one he chooses.
"Absolutely," I reply, forcing a chuckle. "He's lucky to have you."
She tilts her head, studying me for a moment. "You're so good at this, Claire. Keeping everything together. I don't know how you do it."
"Practice," I say, adjusting a sleeve to avoid her gaze. My chest tightens, but I focus on the task, on the rhythm of my hands moving over the gown. I imagine, just for a second, that it's me in the mirror, that Ethan's waiting downstairs for me. The fantasy stings, and I shove it down, deep where it can't betray me.
Marta finishes her adjustments, and Sophia steps off the platform, the gown swishing around her. "Claire, stay a minute," she says, waving Marta out. "I need your opinion on something."
Marta gathers her things and slips out, leaving us alone. I nod, curious despite myself. "Sure, what's up?"
Sophia moves to a table cluttered with jewelry boxes and pulls out a pair of diamond earrings, holding them up to her ears. "These, or the pearl drops? Be honest."
I study her, the way the diamonds catch the light. "The diamonds. They're bold, like you."
She smiles, setting them down. "Good call. Ethan loves when I wear diamonds." Her voice softens, and she leans against the table, her expression shifting to something almost vulnerable. "Can I tell you something? I'm terrified about tomorrow. All these people, all this… pressure."
I blink, surprised. Sophia Reynolds, terrified? "You'll be fine," I say, meaning it. "You're Sophia Reynolds. You were made for this."
She laughs, but it's shaky. "Maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I'm enough for him. Ethan's so… he's a lot. You know how he is."
I do. I know the way he commands a room, the way his mind works like a steel trap, the way he's never once looked at me the way he looks at her. "He loves you," I say quietly, the words heavy on my tongue. "That's all that matters."
She nods, her smile returning. "You're right. Thanks, Claire. You're a lifesaver."
The door opens, and Ethan steps in, his presence filling the room like a storm rolling in. "Sophia, how's it going?" His voice is warm, almost playful, a tone I've only ever heard him use with her.
"Perfect, now that you're here," she says, gliding over to him. He catches her waist, pulling her close, and my stomach twists. I look away, busying myself with straightening the jewelry boxes.
"Claire's been a godsend," Sophia adds, glancing at me. "She's practically running this wedding single-handedly."
Ethan's eyes flick to me, cool and assessing. "Good work, Claire. I knew I could count on you."
"Thank you, Mr. Carter," I say, my voice flat, professional. I meet his gaze for a moment, searching for something, anything, but there's only that familiar distance.
"Claire, can you check on the caterers?" he says, already turning back to Sophia. "They're late with the menu confirmation."
"Of course." I grab my clipboard, grateful for the excuse to leave. "I'll let you know when it's sorted."
I slip out, the door clicking shut behind me. The hallway feels colder, quieter, and I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. My fingers tighten around the clipboard, the edges biting into my palms. I'm fine. I've always been fine.
Downstairs, I find the caterer's contact on my phone and dial, pacing the foyer as I sort out the menu delay. The head chef is apologetic, promising everything will be ready by morning. I hang up, satisfied, and head to the study to update the master schedule. The room is dim, lit only by a single lamp, and I sink into a chair, scribbling notes. For a moment, I let myself relax, the weight of the day settling over me.
A soft chime pulls me back, my phone, a reminder to confirm the string quartet. I'm about to call when I hear footsteps behind me. Daniel Carter, Ethan's younger brother, leans against the doorway, his green eyes glinting with mischief.
"Burning the midnight oil, Claire?" he says, his smirk as infuriating as ever.
"Just doing my job," I reply, not looking up. Daniel's always been too perceptive, too quick to tease. I don't need him poking at my carefully guarded feelings.
He steps closer, peering at my clipboard. "You're wasted on this assistant gig. You should be running the show, not fetching coffee for my brother."
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. "Someone's got to keep this wedding from imploding."
"Fair point." He drops into the chair across from me, stretching out like he owns the place. "But don't you ever get tired of it? Playing second fiddle to Sophia's grand performance?"
My pen freezes mid-word. I glance at him, searching for a trap, but his expression is oddly serious. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," I say carefully.
He leans forward, voice low. "Come on, Claire. I've seen the way you look at him."
My heart stutters, but I force a laugh. "You're imagining things, Daniel."
"Am I?" He raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. "Fine, keep your secrets. But you're too good for this, Claire. Don't forget that."
I don't respond, focusing on my notes until he stands, tossing me a mock salute before sauntering out. My pulse is still racing when I finish the schedule and head back upstairs to say goodbye. The dressing room door is ajar, and I knock lightly before stepping inside.
Sophia's alone now, standing by the window, her phone pressed to her ear. Ethan's gone, probably off handling some last-minute business. I clear my throat, and she spins, her face pale, her hand trembling as she lowers the phone.
"Claire," she says, her voice too bright. "All done?"
"Just about," I say, watching her closely. "Everything okay?"
"Of course!" She tucks the phone into her pocket, her smile brittle. "Just… wedding jitters. You heading out?"
"Yeah. I'll be back first thing tomorrow." I hesitate, something about her shaking hand nagging at me. "You sure you're alright?"
"Positive." She waves me off, turning back to the window. "See you tomorrow, Claire."
I nod, stepping into the hallway. The door closes behind me, and I linger, my eyes catching the faint glow of her phone screen through the glass. She's typing furiously, her shoulders tense, oblivious to the world outside her call. Ethan's nowhere in sight, probably buried in work, missing the tremor in her hands, the crack in her perfect facade.
I turn away, my heels echoing in the empty corridor. Tomorrow, Sophia will walk down the aisle, and Ethan will look at her like she's his entire world. And I'll be there, clipboard in hand, making sure it all goes perfectly. Because that's who I am, Claire Lawson, the one who stays, the one who fixes things, the one who loves in silence.