Zoey
Fairy tales were for people who didn't know the fine print.
My mother raised me to believe in power, not princes. She built her own empire from scratch, Crown&Key hotels and restaurants, Solstice luxury resorts—all while raising me on her own after my father decided he wasn't cut out for family life. He left before I was even born, which was fine. I never missed someone I never knew.
Yes, my mother's rich. Ridiculously rich. But I've never taken a cent from her that I didn't earn. If she could build an empire, so could I—only mine would have my name on it, not hers.
Which is how I ended up here: in my office, surrounded by silk and gemstones, running two brands that keep the fashion blogs drooling—Zoey Belle Clothing and Aurora Atelier Jewelry. The name of our brand has both my name Zoey and Jane's middle name Belle.This morning's chaos was the usual. Dresses lined up like runway soldiers, boxes of diamond cuffs stacked by the window, and Jane, my best friend and business partner, pacing the room with her phone pressed to her ear.
Jane and I met in design school, clicked over too much caffeine and too little sleep, and have been inseparable ever since. We work together. We live together. We survive deadlines together.
"Please tell me you didn't agree to the Budget of those Clothes ," Jane hissed, lowering her phone just long enough to scowl at me.
"I didn't agree to it," I said, sliding a tray of sapphire earrings into the display case. "I was strong-armed into it by Mrs. Carmichael and her delusional Versailles-themed gala."
Jane groaned. "And you let her? You're slipping, Calloway".
I grinned. "I was thinking of making her a diamond tiara to match the ego."
She laughed, and for a second the stress of the morning felt lighter. Then my phone lit up with a name I hadn't seen in years—Douglas Greene. My mother's attorney.
The sight made my stomach knot. Douglas wasn't the kind of man who called without a reason, and his reasons were rarely good.
Jane noticed my expression. "What is it?"
I waved it off. "Probably some contract thing."
The call ended. Then started again. Persistent. Reluctantly, I answered.
"Zoey," Douglas said in that perfectly even tone of his. "We need to discuss a matter from your father's will. One you've avoided long enough."
I froze. "My father's will? "What father"
"On the contrary," he said smoothly. "Your father left you a will and He left you a condition".One that requires your immediate attention… and your marriage."
"I'm sorry—marriage?" I laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. "Douglas, I think you've dialed the wrong heiress. I certainly don't have a father and I have zero plans to marry anyone for now, and even less interest in fulfilling some ridiculous, outdated—"
"It's not outdated, Zoey. It's binding. Your father's estate has assets you're entitled to, but only if you comply with the clause he wrote. And if you don't…" He paused for effect, the lawyerly kind that always means bad news. "…the board of his holding company will act without you. You'll lose any claim to those assets entirely."
"Good," I snapped, and hung up before he could say another word.
My phone slid across my desk with more force than necessary. Jane's eyes narrowed. "What was that about?"
"Nothing," I muttered. "Some stupid legal nonsense from the sperm donor who calls himself my father."
Jane folded her arms. "Your jaw's doing that thing it does when you're furious and pretending you're not."
I sighed and changed the subject. "Anyway, I'm meeting Max for dinner tonight. I need something black, tailored, and preferably lethal."
Her groan was immediate. "Max? Again? I thought we agreed he's a walking red flag with a trust fund.
"We did not agree," I corrected, moving toward the clothing rack. "You agreed. I said he's reliable, charming, and… fine, maybe a little full of himself."
Jane snorted. "Zoey, he's a finance bro in custom loafers who talks about himself in the third person. Last week he literally said, 'Max Vale has vision.'"
I smiled despite myself. "It was a joke."
"It was not a joke," she said flatly. "He's been your boyfriend for two years and I still don't know what you see in him besides a symmetrical face and a table reservation anywhere in the city."
I slipped a fitted black blazer off the hanger. "Sometimes I just want easy, Jane. No drama, no risk. Max is… comfortable."
Jane gave me a look. "Comfortable is what you call a sweater, Zoey. Not a man."
I ignored her and held the blazer up to my shoulders in the mirror. "Besides, he's expecting me to give him an answer tonight about…" I trailed off, suddenly regretting I'd started that sentence.
"About what?" Jane's tone sharpened.
"Moving in together," I admitted, straightening the lapels.
Jane's mouth dropped open. "Oh, hell no—"
My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Douglas. It was Max. And for some reason, I hesitated before answering.
My thumb hovered over the green call button. Max's name flashed across the screen in sleek white letters, impatient and perfect—just like him.
Before I could decide whether to answer,Athena call ended. my phone vibrated again with another incoming call, this one making my heart soften instantly. Mum.
I swiped without hesitation. "Hey, Mum."
"Zoey, darling," her warm, lilting voice wrapped around me like one of her silk shawls. Even through the phone, she radiated that particular mix of elegance and command that made hotel managers and head chefs snap to attention. "Are you free for lunch tomorrow? At the house. I haven't seen you in a week, and the chef is making your favorite—lobster risotto."
"I've been swamped," I said, glancing at the piles of sketches and invoices on my desk. "But… yeah. I can come by. Noon?"
"Perfect," she said with satisfaction. "And wear something lovely. I have someone I want you to meet."
And there's something I would want to discuss with you. I'm sure Douglas had called you by now.
That last sentence made me pause. "Meet?"
"Yes, but we'll talk tomorrow." Her tone was cheerful, but I caught something beneath it—a deliberate vagueness my mother rarely bothered with. "Now go on with your evening, sweetheart. I'll explain better when we meet. You sound like you're still at the office."
And don't stress too much over the matter.
I smiled faintly. "Guilty."
When we hung up, I stared at the phone for a moment longer than necessary. My mother rarely played coy. If she wanted me to meet someone, there was a reason, and history had taught me those reasons tended to come with contracts, partnerships, or networking expectations disguised as social calls.
Jane reappeared from her office with a coffee in each hand. "That your mum?"
I nodded, taking one. "Lunch tomorrow. She says she has someone for me to meet."
And she seems to also know about the call I got from Douglas.
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Interesting",let's wait till then.and this someone "Is this a business someone or a personal someone?"
I rolled my eyes. "You sound like her."
"She's subtle as a sledgehammer when she's matchmaking," Jane said, smirking. "And you're conveniently forgetting she hates Max."
"She doesn't hate Max," I lied smoothly.
"She called him dreary last time she saw him," Jane countered.
I ignored her, slipping my blazer on and grabbing my purse. "I'm meeting him for dinner. He wants to talk about us moving in together."
Jane groaned. "You know how I feel about that"
"Yes," I cut in. "And I appreciate your concern, but it's just dinner."