Trey's POV
The door clicked shut behind Amara, the sound sharp in the quiet study. For a moment I just stood there, fingers locked on the back of the chair where she had been sitting, staring at the empty space she had left.
I had meant to keep it professional. Just warn her. Just make it clear Adrian was off limits. Instead, the words came out jagged and territorial, like I had been the one caught breaking the rules.
But then she said it, that she was ashamed of what she did ten years ago.
The way Amara's voice broke, the way her confession sounded less like a memory and more like a crime, it gutted me. She was not only remembering the past. She was bleeding it out in front of me. And I knew, God, I knew, it was because of me. Because of my warnings, my sharp remarks, every wall I kept throwing up between us.
I should have felt satisfied. Vindicated even. Instead, I was pissed off. Hurt in a way I could not name. Like every time she tried to bury what we had, she was shoveling dirt over me too.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, I still caught glimpses of her. The girl I once knew. Younger, reckless, and maddeningly alive. That version of Amara had not disappeared, no matter how hard she tried to cover it up with shame.
The worst part was that I did not know how to handle any of it. Not her words. Not the ache they left in me. And Adrian, standing there and fanning the tension between us, only made the storm inside me darker, heavier, harder to control.
She was supposed to be off limits to me. She was supposed to be the planner, nothing more. But that cream dress, the way she looked at Adrian with that cool little smile, it felt like a punch I did not see coming.
I braced my hands against the desk and bowed my head, jaw tight. Adrian had always been smooth. He had always known how to test boundaries. But seeing him lean in, seeing her eyes flick to his, and worse, watching her let him, stirred something in me I thought I had buried a long time ago.
She threw my own words back at me, options, single, free, and said it with that half smile that used to undo me when she was younger. I could still hear her voice. I never imagined I would be the kind of woman your best friend would notice. That line felt like a blade sliding between my ribs.
I warned her about Adrian. I called her immature. She answered like an adult. And that was the problem. She was not a kid anymore. Not the girl in the garden. She was a woman with her own life, her own choices, and she made it very clear I had no claim on her.
But it did not stop the burn in my chest.
I straightened and tugged my cuff links, trying to force my mask back into place. Adrian was downstairs, probably still smiling. Pauline would arrive later, and I would have to be sweet and patient, every inch the groom. I would play the role perfectly.
Yet even as I told myself all of this, my eyes drifted to the door she left through, and my fists curled at my sides.
Adrian could flirt with anyone in the world. But not her.
Not Amara.
I exhaled through my teeth, staring out the window at the gardens Adrian asked her to show him. The idea of the two of them alone out there, her in that dress and him with his lazy charm, made something hot and primal tighten at the base of my spine.
I had no right. But I felt it anyway.
The private dining hall smelled like money and expectation, saffron, butter, truffle, seared meat, and yet all I could smell was tension. Rows of linen draped tables and crystal goblets caught the light. Chefs hovered near the doors as though this were a royal inspection. It was supposed to be the calm part of the day, but nothing about it felt calm.
Adrian had already claimed a seat closest to the window, sleeves rolled, watch glinting like a dare. Tessa sat opposite, scrolling her phone and snapping pictures. I took the head of the table, the one position that gave me sightlines on every exit and every angle.
"Chef has prepared six entrées, four starters, and the signature cocktails," Amara said briskly as she came in, tablet under her arm. She looked like she belonged here. Sleek cream dress, hair pinned back, makeup cool and understated. Not daring, but perfectly fitted, a sheath of professionalism that skimmed every curve. My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
"We will wait for Pauline," I said evenly, my voice softer than expected. "She should be here any minute."
I felt rather than saw Adrian glance at Amara, his smile sliding slow and deliberate. "I have been to hundreds of tastings," he said, voice teasing. "But never one run by someone who looks like she should be in the magazine spread instead of behind the scenes."
Tessa snorted into her water. "Oh my God, you are shameless."
Amara only raised an eyebrow, her tone light but sharp. "Careful. Flattery will not change the menu."
He grinned. "Maybe not the menu. But it might change the company I keep."
Her small smile in response was polite, but it still hit me like a spark against a fuse.
The doors opened and the hush in the room shifted. Pauline swept in first, polished as always, a shimmer of perfume preceding her. Just behind her came Roxi, her maid of honor. Roxi was a mirror of Pauline in another color palette. Tall, perfectly groomed, tailored dress hugging a lithe frame, hair glossy and pinned with a diamond clip. One look at her and you knew exactly which circle she belonged to. Old money. Old power. No hesitation.
I rose immediately and pulled out Pauline's chair before she could reach it. "You made it," I said warmly, forcing a smile that felt rusty. It flickered across my face, softer than I had shown anyone in days. I did not scold her for being late. I did not even check my watch. I simply guided her into the chair beside me, my hand brushing the small of her back as I murmured something only she could hear.
Roxi glided to the seat on Pauline's other side, exchanging a few polite hellos with Tessa and Adrian before arranging her napkin on her lap with quiet precision. Her eyes flicked over the room with the calm entitlement of someone used to exclusive tables and private jets.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Amara lowering her gaze to her notes, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly. It was not satisfaction. It was something darker and sharper curling low in my chest.
Pauline slipped off her sunglasses, flashing a cool smile. "I am sorry to keep everyone waiting."
"No worries," I said softly. "You are here now. That is what matters."
The first course arrived, chilled crab salad with citrus foam. Adrian's fork hovered over his plate before he turned to Amara again, his voice dipping. "Tell me, Amara, did the groom hesitate at all about hiring someone like you? Because if I were him, I would worry his best man might forget the wedding and fall for the planner instead."
My knife pressed a little too hard against the edge of my plate, the silver scraping porcelain in a sound only I seemed to hear. Adrian's words slid under my skin like a blade.
Amara's voice stayed smooth. "I think the groom is confident enough in his planner," she said.
Tessa fanned herself theatrically. "You two are ridiculous. It is like watching a show unfold in real time."
The second course arrived, duck breast with lavender honey glaze. Adrian leaned in toward Amara, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
I took a slow drink of water to keep from saying something I would regret. Every muscle in my body screamed to cut across the table, to wedge myself between them, to physically push Adrian back before he could lean any closer to her. Instead, I sat rigid, jaw clenched, nails pressing crescents into my palm beneath the tablecloth.
Everything looked normal from the outside. Inside, I was a man sitting on his own fury, one heartbeat away from standing up and making it known.
By the time dessert arrived, molten chocolate cake with gold leaf, the air at the table felt electrified. Adrian's compliments had turned to subtle touches. A hand brushing Amara's when he passed the wine. A glance held a heartbeat too long.
Tessa was delighted, narrating our exchanges like a sportscaster. Pauline sipped her champagne, oblivious. And me, jaw tight, one hand drumming once against the linen, trying to hold the mask in place.
"Thank you for the tasting," Amara said finally, stacking her notes. "I will draft the final menu for approval."
"I will walk you out," Adrian said immediately, already pushing back his chair.
She rose, smoothing the skirt of her dress. "No need," she said lightly, but his smile only deepened.
I kept my eyes on my plate, but my gaze followed her anyway. The line of her back. The way she moved. Silent, contained, but burning.
Finally, I got Adrian alone. The garden doors were open, the night air drifting in, soft as silk but cool enough to cut through my shirt. The scent of jasmine and earth surrounded us. The celebration continued inside behind us, laughter and music a muffled blur. Out here everything felt sharper. Too sharp.
He leaned against the marble balustrade, sleeves rolled, looking like he owned the night. Calm. Confident. My best friend. Yet his first words were anything but casual.
"I am interested in her," he said flatly. No smirk. No stupid joke. "Amara."
Her name hit me in the chest like a punch. My heart tripped over itself before I forced a laugh that sounded wrong. Too loud. Too brittle.
"You can date Roxi," I snapped. "She is from your world. Elite. Perfect. The two of you would look good together."
Adrian's eyebrows pulled together. "What is wrong with Amara?"
Wrong. Everything and nothing. She was everything I was afraid to want and everything I had convinced myself I did not deserve.
My jaw tightened. I stared past him at the lights of the city. "She is a maid's daughter. She grew up here because her mother worked for my family. She is not part of this world. And you…" I swallowed the bitterness burning up my throat. "You are a playboy."
He did not flinch. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, now held a steadiness that made something in me twist. "I am willing to settle down," he said quietly. "She is really something."
Something. She was so much more than that. Too much. Too bright. Too good.
His words made my hands curl into fists. Heat crawled up my neck. I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake sense into him. He was my friend. But this was not right. He was not supposed to see her like that. Not like someone worth changing for.
"I do not care," Adrian continued, his voice gaining strength. "I have money. I can give her a good life. I do not care about status, not at all, as long as she is happy." He looked straight through me. "If she will love me, I would give her the world."
I stared at him, stunned. This playboy who never took love seriously had found something real. And worse, he found it in her.
There was a ringing in my ears. My throat was too tight. I tried to scoff but it died halfway out. I caught myself gripping the railing too hard, my knuckles bone white. My best friend was talking about Amara like she was a miracle he never saw coming.
And I hated how much I understood him.
Inside me, a storm was roaring. Jealousy. Regret. Fear. The realization that someone else saw what I had buried. What I had pushed away. What I pretended did not exist.
I looked at him like he was speaking another language. But deep down his words hit a place I guarded too well.
Because a part of me wanted to be the man who said them first.
I looked away, blinking against an ache I had no right to feel. She was not mine. She had never been mine. I gave up the moment I walked away from her years ago.
So why did the thought of Adrian touching her make my blood boil? Why did the idea of her smiling at him feel unbearable? Why did the world suddenly feel like it was tipping beneath my feet?
"She deserves better," I muttered, the words bitter in my mouth.
Adrian nodded without hesitation. "She does. And I want to be better. For her."
His sincerity struck like a blade. It cut through every excuse I had made, exposing every fear I buried the moment I walked away from her life.
For the first time in years, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to say something. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to claim what I had never dared to touch. The urge to hold on to her, to drag her away from him, burned through my veins like wildfire.
But I could not. I had no right to feel this way. So I stood there like a coward, staring at the man who was ready to fight for her while I pretended none of this mattered. Yet the truth scraped and clawed inside me, refusing to be ignored.
I cared.
I cared too much.