Amara's POV
The phone pressed warm against my ear as I paced across my tiny apartment, eyes flicking to the blinking clock on the stove.
"Tessa, no," I said for the third time. "Absolutely not. I'm booked for the next two months. I can't just squeeze in some mystery client."
On the other end of the line, my best friend exhaled dramatically. "Amara, just listen."
"I am listening," I muttered, sliding open my balcony door for some air. The city traffic roared below, a low, constant growl mixed with the smell of gasoline and rain. "And I'm telling you no."
"I haven't told you the professional fee yet," she said, her voice lilting, baiting me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Tessa—"
"More than one hundred thousand pesos. For your first week."
I froze mid-stride, my foot still hovering over the balcony threshold. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, suddenly smug. "One. Hundred. Thousand. And that's just your professional fee."
My heart skipped. That kind of money would wipe out my sister's tuition and put a down payment on my dream cottage back home.
I swallowed hard. "Where exactly am I supposed to show up?"
"The Alvarez mansion," she replied lightly, as if she hadn't just detonated a bomb.
My stomach dropped. "Tessa—no."
"Why can't I meet your cousin in a café or my office?" I demanded.
"He's a busy man," she said smoothly. "He's paying you hourly. You don't need to worry about a thing. I know you have plenty of clients now, but this is different. Trust me, Amara."
I stared out at the slick roofs below, my fingers tightening on the phone. "I don't know, Tessa. I handle the middle class. How are you going to convince him I'm that good when I'm not well known to your circle? I've only handled two super-big accounts."
"And both were flawless," she reminded me. "The photos, the videos, the buzz. You're the only one I'd pick for this. You know our clan — once you handle one of our weddings, the elite will be running to you. This is your golden ticket."
My voice came out small. "Exactly whose wedding am I supposed to be planning?"
There was a pause. "Just…my cousin's," she said breezily.
I frowned. "Which cousin?"
"Amara," she said, ignoring the question, "he trusted me to pick his coordinator. I picked you. I know what I'm doing. This is your break. Don't blow it."
I rubbed at the tightness in my chest. She sounded so sure. Maybe I was crazy to hesitate.
"Fine," I muttered. "But only because of the fee."
"I knew you'd say yes!" she squealed. "Okay, I have to run. See you at the mansion this weekend. Wear something chic — but practical."
And just like that she hung up, leaving me staring at the phone, the name Alvarez echoing in my head like a thunderclap.
When I'd dressed for the day, I'd chosen my outfit carefully—an elegant, fitted navy dress that skimmed my curves without revealing too much, a slim belt at the waist, and heels that gave me an extra inch of confidence. I told myself it was for professionalism, for my own sense of control.
But deep down I hated that, as I zipped it up, Trey crossed my mind. I hated that a decade later I still caught myself wondering how he might see me, whether he'd notice the woman I'd become.
Then everything went wrong.
I was in the middle of the road when my car battery died, rain hammering so hard it turned the street into a silver river. The wipers were useless, hazard lights blinking like a distress beacon while impatient drivers swerved around me.
I gripped the wheel, dialing roadside assistance with shaking hands, praying someone would come. Every minute felt like an hour. Texts from Tessa kept flashing: "Where are you?" "He's waiting." "You can't be late."
By the time a tow truck finally jump-started the battery, my dress hem was damp from puddles, my hair frizzed from the humidity, and my palms slick from stress. This was supposed to be my career-defining gig — instead, I was about to arrive late and disheveled at the mansion, the one place where I couldn't afford to look anything less than perfect.
The rain hadn't stopped when the driver pulled up to the long marble steps of the Alvarez estate. My breath caught as I stepped out, heels clicking against stone I'd once polished as a child, duffel slung over my shoulder like armor. The mansion loomed larger than I remembered, its windows glowing gold against the storm, chandeliers glittering like the stars I used to wish on.
Inside, the scent hit me first — salt and cedar, polished wood and old money. The air itself seemed to remember me, whispering secrets of the girl who'd once hidden in its corners. I squared my shoulders, clutching my leather portfolio, and told myself to walk like I belonged.
I followed the butler through the vast foyer toward the living room. My heart pounded harder with every step, and then I saw them.
Tessa was standing near the marble fireplace, smiling nervously. Beside her stood a man in a charcoal suit, taller than I remembered, shoulders broader, jaw sharper. The storm-light from the windows framed him like a portrait. Even without seeing his face, I knew.
Trey.
My knees almost buckled. Ten years had carved him into someone unrecognizable — colder, leaner, devastating. The boy who had once smelled of soap and liniment now looked like a man forged from glass and steel. Broad shoulders filled out his tailored suit, the cut hugging a body that carried the unmistakable discipline of power and control.
His jaw was sharper, cheekbones higher, and the faint shadow of stubble framed a mouth that had once been all boyish smiles but now looked dangerous. His eyes — still storm-dark — had grown more intense, a gaze that could strip anyone bare.
Even the way he stood had changed: a quiet, commanding stillness that spoke of leadership, money, and total control. He wasn't just attractive. He was magnetic. The kind of man who could silence a room without a word.
I forced a smile at Tessa, trying to steady my voice. "So… where's the groom?"
For a heartbeat she froze, and in that silence my stomach dropped.
"I'm the groom," Trey said. His voice was low, smooth, cutting through the room like a blade.
I whipped my head toward him. His eyes met mine — dark, unreadable — and in an instant I could tell my best friend had lied. My big break was no break at all. It was a trap.
Then Trey turned to Tessa, his brow furrowing. His gaze flicked to the damp hem of my dress, the frizz at my hairline, and the clock on the wall.
"Where's the wedding planner you said you were bringing?" he asked, voice clipped. "You told me she'd be here an hour ago."
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Tessa's smile faltered.
"I'm the wedding planner," I said finally, my voice thinner than I'd meant.
The air shifted. Trey's gaze slid over me slowly, deliberately, like he was scanning for flaws. His mouth curved — not into a smile, but into something crueler, a flicker of disbelief and disdain.
"You're joking." He looked at Tessa again. "This is her? This is who you hired?"
Tessa tried to speak, but Trey raised a hand, eyes still locked on me. "She's late. Completely unprepared. And this—this is who you hired?" His tone dropped, colder. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? This is not a sweet-sixteen party. This is my wedding. I don't need someone young and inexperienced making a spectacle of it."
Heat flushed up my neck. My throat worked but no sound came out.
Tessa stepped forward. "She's one of the best, Trey—"
But he cut her off with a sharp laugh, the kind I remembered from the rose garden. "The best? Look at her. She barely looks old enough to order wine."
The words landed like slaps. My portfolio felt heavier in my hands. Every muscle in me wanted to shrink, but I forced my chin up, hiding the sting behind a mask I'd perfected over ten years.
"I'm right here," I said quietly, "and I'm not a child."
He arched an eyebrow, his tone like a blade. "Go ahead, impress me. From where I'm standing, you're still the maid's daughter dressing up for a life you'll never have."
Something inside me cracked. Tessa glanced at me, wide-eyed, but I couldn't look at her. The humiliation rolled over me in waves, memory and present colliding — his words from the rose garden echoing in the room, the same look in his eyes as if nothing had changed.
I wanted to throw the portfolio at him. I wanted to scream. Instead, I drew a slow breath, tasting copper and rain, and told myself not to let him see me bleed.
For a moment the room blurred — the marble floors, the dripping umbrellas by the door, the chandelier light glinting like ice. All I could hear was the echo of his voice: maid's daughter … playing dress-up … young and inexperienced. The same words. The same tone. Ten years later, and he still thought I belonged under his heel.
But something inside me rebelled. I hadn't clawed my way out of the shadows, built my own company from nothing, spent sleepless nights turning scraps into showpieces, just to let Trey Alvarez humiliate me in his living room.
I straightened my spine and stepped forward, my heels clicking against the marble like gunfire. "Enough," I said softly, but the word sliced through the air like a whip. His eyes flicked to mine, a flicker of surprise breaking his mask.
"You don't know me anymore, Mr. Alvarez." My voice was steady, but my pulse hammered in my throat. "You don't know what I've built. And you don't get to stand there and decide who I am based on who my mother worked for ten years ago."
He blinked once, his jaw tightening.
I took another step, close enough to smell his cologne — cedar and clean rain, still the scent of every secret crush I'd buried. "You're not judging my work. You're judging my age. My background. That's not just arrogance, Mr. Alvarez." I tilted my head. "That's prejudice."
Tessa's eyes darted between us, panicked. "Amara—"
"No," I said, without looking away from him. "I've handled events twice this size for people with more money and less patience. I've built a reputation on delivering perfection under pressure, and I'm not about to let a man who hasn't seen me in a decade call me inexperienced."
His nostrils flared; a muscle jumped in his jaw. The room felt smaller, hotter, the storm outside pressing against the windows. For the first time, Trey didn't look like a CEO scolding an underling. He looked like a man caught off guard, unsettled, his eyes darkening as he took me in.
"Careful," he said quietly. "You're talking to the man who signs your checks."
"Careful," I shot back. "You're talking to the woman who can make your wedding everything your fiancée dreams of — or a disaster you'll never live down. You hired me. So either trust me to do my job or fire me and find out how hard it is to replace me this late in the game."
Silence fell. Even the butler at the door shifted his weight. Tessa's jaw dropped.
For a heartbeat Trey's mask slipped. Heat flickered in his eyes — surprise, anger, something that almost looked like admiration — before he looked away, cufflinks glinting as he adjusted his sleeves.
"Fine," he said finally, voice taut. "Prove me wrong."
"I already have," I said softly. "You just haven't seen it yet."
I gathered my portfolio against my chest like a shield, turned on my heel, and walked past him toward the corridor Tessa had indicated. My legs shook, but my head stayed high.
Behind me, the storm raged harder. Inside, I could feel his stare burning into my back — the same man who'd once broken me, now realizing I wasn't the little girl from the servants' wing anymore.
"Wait," Tessa blurted, her voice thin in the charged quiet. "Before you both storm off—Amara already signed the coordination contract. I had my messenger deliver it yesterday. The deposit cleared this morning."
I stopped mid-step. Trey's head snapped toward her.
"She signed—yesterday?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Tessa nodded, swallowing. "It's binding. Standard penalty if she quits."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me, hopelessness pooling low and heavy. I'd thought I still had a choice.
Trey's mouth hardened. "Then she stays. And she delivers." His gaze pinned me like a verdict. "No excuses."
Thunder rolled outside. I tightened my grip on the portfolio and lifted my chin, even as my pulse skittered. "Understood," I said, and the word tasted like iron.