Zara's POV
"Hello, sweetheart. Did you miss me?"
My hand shakes so hard I almost drop the phone. Marcus's voice crawls through the speaker like poison.
"How did you get this number?" I whisper.
"I have my ways." He sounds amused. "You changed your number three times, Zara. Did you really think you could hide from me forever?"
People walk past me on the street. Cars honk. The city moves like nothing is wrong. But everything is wrong because the man who destroyed my life is watching me right now.
"What do you want?"
"Just wanted to congratulate you. Celebrity wedding. Big money. You always were talented." He pauses. "When you weren't being stupid about love."
My throat closes. "Stay away from me, Marcus."
"Or what? You'll call the police? Tell them your ex-boyfriend said hello?" He laughs. "I'm not doing anything illegal, sweetheart. Just keeping an eye on an old friend."
"We're not friends."
"No. We're not." His voice turns cold. "But we're not done either. See you around, Zara."
The line goes dead.
I stand frozen on the sidewalk, my portfolio clutched against my chest like a shield. My eyes scan every face around me. Which one is him? Is he in that coffee shop? That car? Behind me?
A hand touches my shoulder and I scream.
"Whoa!" A teenager jumps back, hands up. "Sorry! You dropped this." He holds out my phone.
I grab it, mumbling an apology, and run. I don't stop until I'm back in my apartment with the door locked and chained. My hands won't stop shaking. My heart won't stop racing.
Marcus is back. After three years of silence, he's back. And he knows about Dante and Sienna.
I sink onto my couch and pull my knees to my chest. The burned photo ashes are still in my sink from this morning. This morning feels like a year ago.
My phone buzzes. For a terrifying second, I think it's Marcus again. But it's Isla.
"Girl, you okay? You left the building twenty minutes ago. Did the meeting go bad?"
Right. The meeting. Ethan Cross. The impossible project I just agreed to.
"Meeting was... complicated. Can you come over?"
"On my way. Wine or tequila?"
"Both."
Twenty minutes later, Isla bursts through my door with a bottle in each hand and fury in her eyes. "Okay, spill. Everything."
I tell her about Ethan—his coldness, his statistics, his cruel question about Marcus and Vanessa. Then I tell her about the phone call. About Marcus watching me. About the text messages.
Isla's face goes from concerned to murderous. "That psycho is stalking you?"
"I don't know if it counts as stalking—"
"He followed you, sent threatening messages, and called you? That's stalking, Zara!" She grabs my phone. "We're calling the police."
"And tell them what? He congratulated me on a new client? He hasn't actually threatened me."
"Yet." Isla's jaw is tight. "What does this Ethan guy say about it?"
"I didn't tell him."
"Why not? He's a lawyer!"
"A divorce lawyer who already thinks I'm pathetic!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "He looked at me like I'm broken, Isla. Like I'm this stupid woman who got betrayed and deserves pity. I can't give him more ammunition."
Isla sits beside me, her anger softening. "Honey, you're not broken. You're a survivor. There's a difference."
"Then why do I still feel like this?" Tears burn my eyes. "Why does Marcus still have this power over me? It's been three years!"
"Because trauma doesn't have an expiration date." She pulls me into a hug. "But you know what? You're going to do this wedding anyway. You're going to work with Mr. Ice King lawyer. And you're going to show Marcus that he doesn't get to control your life anymore."
I want to believe her. I really do.
The next morning comes too fast. I barely sleep, jumping at every sound outside my window. When my alarm screams at 7 AM, I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
But I get up. I shower. I put on armor—a professional black suit that makes me look stronger than I feel. Makeup that hides the exhaustion. Hair pulled back in a sleek bun.
"You've got this," I tell my reflection. "Marcus doesn't win. Ethan Cross doesn't intimidate you. You've survived worse."
My reflection still looks terrified.
At 8:45 AM, I'm back at Dante and Sienna's building. The same doorman. The same elevator. But this time, I'm not excited. I'm dreading it.
Because Patricia's text said Ethan would be here. For our first official planning session. Together.
The elevator doors open. I walk to the penthouse door. Patricia answers immediately, like she was waiting.
"Miss Kingsley! Perfect timing. Mr. Cross just arrived. They're in the sitting room."
My stomach drops. Here we go.
I follow Patricia through the penthouse. When we reach the doorway, I see him immediately.
Ethan stands by the window again, but this time he's on his phone. His voice is low, controlled, but I catch the edge.
"I don't care what he wants, Nora. Tell him I'm not available... Because I said so... Fine. Schedule it for next month. Maybe by then—" He sees me and stops talking. "I have to go."
He ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket. His gray eyes lock onto mine.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
"Miss Kingsley," he says finally. His voice is flat. Professional. Nothing like the cruel tone from yesterday.
"Mr. Cross." I match his tone.
"Please, both of you, sit!" Sienna calls from the sofa. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, looking more relaxed than yesterday. Dante sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
I take the same chair as yesterday. Ethan sits in the chair next to mine. Again.
"We're so excited to get started," Sienna says. "We spent all last night talking about the wedding. We have so many ideas!"
"That's wonderful," I say, opening my portfolio. "I brought some mood boards based on what you mentioned yesterday—"
"Before we start with flowers and colors," Ethan interrupts, "we need to discuss the prenuptial agreement timeline."
I grit my teeth. "The wedding is in eight weeks. We need to book vendors now."
"And the prenup needs to be reviewed by both parties' attorneys at least thirty days before the wedding. Which means we have four weeks to draft it."
"So draft it while I plan the wedding."
"I need to understand their assets, their expectations, their concerns. Which requires meetings." His eyes challenge me. "The same meetings you'll be attending."
"Why would I attend prenup meetings?"
"Because Dante and Sienna want us to work together. Remember?" His tone is mocking. "Romance and reality, blended together."
"Romance and reality don't blend. They contradict."
"Finally, something we agree on."
Dante laughs. "You two are better than a TV show."
Sienna leans forward. "Zara, Ethan—we asked you both here because we need balance. I want the fairy tale wedding. Dante wants the legal protection. You each represent what we need."
"Which means compromise," Dante adds. "From both of you."
Ethan's jaw tightens, but he nods. "Fine. Let's start with the basics. Wedding date?"
"December fourteenth," I say. "Eight weeks from yesterday."
"Venue?"
"We're deciding between three options. I have tours scheduled—"
"I'll attend those tours," Ethan says.
I blink. "Why?"
"Because venues have contracts. Cancellation policies. Liability clauses. My job is to protect my clients from bad deals."
"My job is to find them the perfect venue!"
"Your job is to sell them pretty pictures. Mine is to read the fine print you ignore."
Heat floods my face. "I don't ignore anything. I review every contract carefully—"
"Really? Then why did your last major client wedding get canceled?"
The room goes silent.
My heart stops. He knows. Of course he knows. He researched me.
"That was different," I say quietly.
"How?"
"The bride called off the wedding for personal reasons. It had nothing to do with my planning."
"And yet you still took a financial hit because your contracts didn't protect you properly." His eyes bore into mine. "That's what happens when you focus on romance instead of reality."
I want to scream. I want to throw my portfolio at his perfect, judgmental face.
Instead, I smile. Sweet and dangerous.
"You're right, Mr. Cross. I should focus more on reality. Like the reality that half your divorce clients probably wish they'd married someone less cynical. Or the reality that your billable hours go up when couples fight. Tell me, do you encourage conflict for profit?"
His eyes flash. "That's insulting."
"So is implying I'm bad at my job."
Sienna clears her throat. "Maybe we should take a break—"
"No," Ethan and I say together.
We stare at each other. The air between us crackles with tension.
Dante grins. "I changed my mind. You two aren't a TV show. You're a bomb about to explode."
"We're fine," I say through clenched teeth.
"Perfectly professional," Ethan adds, his voice ice.
For the next hour, we battle through every decision. Venue choices. Budget allocations. Timeline planning. Every suggestion I make, he questions. Every contract he mentions, I challenge.
By the time Patricia brings lunch, I have a headache and Ethan looks ready to murder someone.
"This is going well!" Sienna says brightly, though she looks nervous.
It's absolutely not going well.
After lunch, things get worse. Ethan insists on reviewing the florist contract. I insist he's being paranoid. We argue so loudly that Dante has to physically step between us.
"Enough!" He holds up both hands. "You're both brilliant at your jobs. But you're also both stubborn as hell. So here's what's happening: you're going to attend couple's therapy with me and Sienna. Tomorrow. 10 AM."
I stare at him. "What?"
"Our therapist, Dr. Reeves, wants to meet the wedding team. Understand our dynamics. Both of you will be there."
"That's not necessary—" Ethan starts.
"It's required," Sienna says firmly. "If you want this job, you attend therapy with us. Both of you. Together."
Ethan and I exchange looks. His expression says he'd rather eat glass.
"Fine," we say simultaneously.
Finally, mercifully, the meeting ends. Dante and Sienna walk us to the door. As we wait for the elevator, Sienna touches my arm.
"Zara? Don't let him intimidate you. You're exactly what we need."
The words warm me. "Thank you."
The elevator arrives. Ethan and I step inside. Alone. Again.
The doors close.
Silence.
"You're impossible to work with," I say finally.
"The feeling is mutual."
"Good."
"Great."
More silence.
Then Ethan speaks, his voice lower. "That canceled wedding you mentioned. The bride who called it off. That was Dante's ex-business partner's sister, wasn't it?"
My blood turns cold. "How do you know that?"
"Because I'm thorough. And because there were rumors about why she really canceled." His eyes meet mine in the mirror reflection. "Rumors involving your ex-fiancé showing up at the rehearsal dinner."
No. No no no.
"That's not—"
"Did Marcus Reid sabotage your client's wedding, Miss Kingsley?"
The elevator dings. Doors open. Lobby.
I push past him, nearly running.
"Zara—"
I don't stop. I can't stop. Because if I stop, he'll see that he's right.
Marcus didn't just destroy my wedding. He's been destroying my career ever since.
And now Ethan Cross knows.
My phone buzzes as I hit the street. Unknown number.
The text makes my blood freeze:
"Saw you with that lawyer. Handsome guy. Wonder what he'd think if he knew ALL your secrets? You can't hide forever, Zara. Tick tock. -M"
Below it, a photo. Me and Ethan in the elevator yesterday. Someone took a photo through the glass.
Marcus isn't just watching me.
He's watching Ethan too.