Naomi's POV The problem with falling apart is that the world doesn't stop for you. Bills still arrive in the mail. The sun still rises. People still expect you to function, to smile, to be normal. I was anything but. I didn't know how long I sat in my car outside my apartment building, my fingers clutching the steering wheel as if it was the only thing keeping me grounded. My phone vibrated in the cupholder. Another call. Another responsibility. Another thing I couldn't deal with right now. It had been a week since I last saw him. Killian Royce. Just thinking about his name made my stomach tighten. He was the man who once stood beside me at the altar, vowing forever, only to break those words like they were nothing. And now, he was back in my life in a way I never saw coming. I remembered the moment I laid eyes on him again. He was just as handsome as ever-his sharp jaw, his piercing eyes, the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence. It made my heart race, just like it used to. No matter how much time had passed, he still had the power to affect me. And that terrified me. I forced my hands off the steering wheel and rubbed my temples. I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Between fixing last-minute problems and watching my business slowly fall apart, I had no space left to think about anything else. The wedding I had planned for months-the one that had to be perfect-had fallen apart right in front of me, like a house of cards. A scandal that left my company, Lancaster Luxe Events, on the brink of collapse. Clients kept backing out. Vendors were reluctant to partner with me. My reputation, which I had built, was shattered. And now, there was Killian. I exhaled sharply and finally grabbed my phone, checking my notifications. Tara: Pick up your damn phone, Naomi. Tara: I mean it. Tara: I'm coming over to your house if you don't reply in five minutes. I sighed, unlocked my car door, and got out. My best friend could be unstoppable when she wanted to, and ignoring her was about as effective as trying to stop a hurricane with an umbrella. I hardly reached the stairs before I heard hurried footsteps behind me. "You look like hell," Tara tsked, standing in my doorway with takeout and a six-pack of wine coolers. "Thanks," I said as I walked past her and tossed my keys on the counter. "Just what I needed to hear." She followed me in, dropping the food onto my small dining table. "I say this with love, but seriously, when did you last sleep?" I opened the fridge, pretending to search for something, even though all I had was old milk and half a bottle of orange juice. "I don't know. Maybe yesterday?" "Liar." Tara shut the fridge door and turned me to face her. "Talk to me." I closed my eyes for a brief moment feeling tears brim behind them. "It's bad, T. Really bad." She sighed, pulling me toward the table and making me sit down. "Okay, start from the beginning." So I did. I told her everything. How the wedding disaster had sent my business into a downward spiral. How clients were running. How I was barely keeping things together. Tara listened, nodding, occasionally throwing in a few choice curse words directed at the stupid groomsmen that fought and the bride's mother. But when I was done, she just leaned back and studied me. "And Killian?" she asked quietly. I stiffened. "What about him?" I asked with a frown. "Oh, I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Maybe the fact that you saw your ex-husband after all these years, and you're acting like it didn't affect you deeply." I let out a dry laugh. "It didn't." Tara rolled her eyes. "Naomi." I shoved a hand through my hair. "Fine. Yes, I almost had a panic attack when I saw him again. Yes, it felt like someone reopened a wound I spent years trying to heal. But it doesn't matter now, since he means nothing to me anymore." Tara tapped her nails on the table. "Are you sure about that?" I looked away. Because deep down, I wasn't sure at all. Killian had been the one thing I had never fully recovered from. The one regret I still carried, no matter how much I told myself I was over it. But he had betrayed me, had lied to me about some many things that I didn't even know the truth anymore. And no matter how much time passed, I would never forget that. I grabbed a wine cooler and opened it. "I don't want to talk about him." Tara looked at me for a moment before nodding. "Fine. Then let's talk about Lancaster Luxe Events." I tensed. "Naomi, you need a plan. Fast." I took a slow sip. "I have a plan. I just need to-" "-Pull off a miracle?" she finished. "Because that's what it will take to recover from this mess. You're losing money. Your client list is shrinking. You need something big to turn things around." I sighed and rubbed my forehead. She was right. I needed a high-profile event, something so perfectly executed that it would wipe away the stain of the wedding disaster. But with my resources running low, it felt impossible. Tara drummed her fingers against the table. "Have you considered finding an investor?" I let out a short laugh. "Do you know how hard it is to find someone willing to invest in a failing company? Especially in this industry?" "I know. But you built this from nothing once. You can do it again." I looked down at my drink. The thought of giving up made my stomach twist. I had poured my entire soul into this business. Letting it fail was not an option. "There's one more thing," Tara said. I looked up. "What?" She hesitated. "You might not like it." "Just say it." "There's been... talk." I narrowed my eyes. "Talk?" She bit her lip. "Word around the industry is that Killian is expanding his business ventures. And that he's been looking at potential event planning partnerships." The air in my lungs suddenly felt sharp. No. Absolutely not. Killian was the last person I'd ever ask for help. But as I began to speak, another thought came to mind. What if I have no choice? Sterling Affairs was sinking, and I was running out of lifelines. If Killian was investing in event planning... No. I pushed the thought away, burying it deep. I refused to owe him anything. Tara studied me carefully. "You don't need to do anything drastic, Naomi. But maybe... just think about it." I forced a tight smile. "I don't need his help." She didn't look convinced. Neither was I. But that didn't matter. Because no matter how desperate I was, I would rather lose everything than go crawling back to Killian Payne. Even if, deep down, I had the sinking feeling that fate had other plans.

Killian's Pov

 The numbers weren't in my favor. For the first time in years, I was looking at a scenario where control was slipping through my fingers. Royce Industries had always been a powerhouse, untouchable in the corporate world, but the recent shift in boardroom politics was threatening my hold over everything I had built. I sat at the head of the boardroom table, listening with controlled indifference as one of the senior board members droned on about public perception. "Your divorce had affected your standing more than you realize, Killian," Richard Graves, the longest-serving member of the Royce Industries board, said, his tone heavy with disapproval. "The numbers speak for themselves. Investors prefer stability, and a bachelor at the helm-especially one with a failed marriage in the public eye-raises concerns." I sighed slowly, tapping my fingers on the polished table. "I don't see how my personal life affects the company's performance." "Because perception is reality," Richard shot back. "And right now, the perception is that you're reckless. That you lack the steady foundation required to lead Royce Industries into the next decade." Steady foundation. What he really meant was that my father had managed to maintain the illusion of a perfect family, and in comparison, I was faltering. "You need a solution," another board member chimed in. "A way to present stability. A united front." The unspoken words hung in the air. I already knew where this was going... I actually have for the past few years. They wanted me married again. Or at least, to appear as if I was in a solid, committed relationship. I clenched my jaw. "I'll handle it." Before anyone else could add their unsolicited advice, I pushed back my chair and stood. "This meeting is over," I announced. As I walked out of the boardroom, a thought settled in my mind, one that I had been planning since the scandal, one I hadn't even realized it until my feet led me out of the building, down the street, and into the sleek black car waiting for me. By the time I realized where I was subconsciously heading to, it was too late to turn back. ***** Naomi's office building seemed smaller than I remembered. Not in terms of size-Lancaster Luxe Events had always been housed in a sleek, modern space in the heart of the city-but in presence. The sleek, modern building was a big change from the small, shared office she had started with years ago. It had Naomi's style: sleek, sophisticated, and attention-grabbing without trying hard. Inside, the lobby was spotless, filled with the light scent of fresh flowers and vanilla. Employees moved around, their heels clicking on the marble floors, their conversations quiet but efficient. They all had twin looks of exasperation and doom on their faces, like they were all just waiting for the final word from their boss to confirm that their job offers were revoked. I had to give them props for staying this long tho, many other people would have bolted for the hills by now. As I walked past them, they all stopped whatever they were doing to openly gawk at me. Some gazed were filled with curiosity as to why I was here but a few of them were rounded in shock... They probably recognized me as Naomi's ex-husband. I walked toward the front desk, where a young woman-Naomi's assistant, I presumed-froze as soon as she looked up. Her eyes widened. "M-Mr. Royce?" I arched a brow. "I'd like to see Naomi." She hesitated. "She's-" "Tell her I'm here." My voice left no room for argument. She swallowed hard before nodding rapidly, picking up the phone with trembling fingers. After a hushed exchange, she looked up, still visibly startled. "Ms. Lancaster said to send you in." I nodded and walked past her toward Naomi's office. I reached the door with her name on it, grabbed the handle, and pushed it open. The moment I stepped inside, my eyes found her. Naomi. She stood by her desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they locked onto me. And just like before, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It wasn't just her looks-though those were impossible to ignore. It was the way she carried herself, with quiet strength and effortless grace. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, showing off the soft angles of her face. High cheekbones, full lips, and those piercing eyes that missed nothing. The emerald-green dress she wore fit her perfectly, making it hard to look away. For a moment, I just stared. The way she stood, the slight lift of her chin, the way her fingers tapped against her arm-she was already annoyed with me. "Are you here to just stare, or do you actually have a reason for darkening my doorstep?" Her voice was cool, unimpressed. I smirked, a slight tug at the corner of my lips. "I promised I'd see you soon, didn't I?" She gave a dry laugh and shook her head. "Right. Because that was exactly what I needed to complete my day-my ex-husband showing up unannounced." I stepped further into the room, my hands going into my pockets. "You look well." She arched a brow. "And you look just the same-infuriating." I laughed, noting the sharpness in her tone. Her passion had always been strong, even when aimed at me. Especially then. Naomi sighed and crossed the room to sit at her desk. "What do you want, Killian?" "Can't I stop by to see how my ex-wife is doing in her business?" She scoffed and scoffed back in her chair. "Cut the act. Are you here to gloat?" I arched a brow. "Gloat?" She crossed her arms. "Don't play dumb. My business is falling apart, and you know it. You always did like watching people squirm." I tilted my head to the side. "You seem to be on...edge. Are you somehow bothered by my presence?" She copied my movement, looking bored. "Don't get too full of yourself, Royce," she said, rolling her eyes. Lies. Naomi was always good at hiding her feelings. But I knew better. The slight tension in her jaw and her fingers tightening on the armrest-I was under her skin. I stepped closer, noticing her expression shift. "I have a proposal." She exhaled sharply. "If this is about buying me out, you can forget it. I'm not selling." Another smile tugged at my lips. "I don't want your business, Naomi." Her brows met together in a tight frown. "Then what?" I merely lifted my shoulders in a small shrug, and made my way to the chair in front of her table. "It's just a proposal, one that could benefit and save your company." A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Right. Because trusting you has always gone well for me." Her words were sharp and bitter, an emotion I knew all too well. "You don't have to trust me, Naomi. You just have to listen," I told her. She sighed and ran a finger through her hair. "Fine. I'm listening." I leaned in slightly, my voice lowering. "A partnership." Her brows pulled together. "What?" I tapped my fingers against the table. "You need damage control. You need to show people that Luxe Events is still the best in the business. That the scandal from that wedding isn't a reflection of you." She crossed her arms. "And what? You're just offering to be my charity case?" I chuckled. "Not quite. I have an event coming up that needs discretion and attention to detail-your specialty." A look of suspicion crossed her face. "What kind of event is this?" I hesitated for a beat. "A wedding." Her body tensed. "You want me to plan a wedding?" I gave a slow nod. She gasped and shook her head. "You must be out of your damn mind." "Am I?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "Think about it. If you pull this off-if you execute a flawless, high-profile event-it'll rebuild your reputation. People will forget about the last wedding disaster." She looked at me, disbelief in her eyes. "And let me guess... there's a catch." I smirked. "There's always a catch." Silence hung between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she sighed yet again-she seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "I don't trust you." "You already said that." "And yet, here I am, thinking about whatever crazy plan you have." I just pinned her with a look. "Because you know I'm right." Her eyes narrowed for the slightest second before she nodded. "I need details." "You'll have them. But first..." I took out my phone, quickly typing a message before putting it back in my pocket. "You'll get a contract by tomorrow," I said. "Look it over. Then we'll talk." Naomi studied me for a long moment, as if searching for the catch, for the angle. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. Send it over." A slow smile pulled at my lips. Checkmate.

Naomi's POV

 I shouldn't have agreed. This was probably the fifth time I was muttering that to myself. The cool night air slapped me in the face like it was trying to wake me up, but all it did was sting. My heels clicked sharply against the pavement as I walked toward my car, my chest tight, breath uneven. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, not from the cold, but from the weight of it all pressing down on me. That conversation with Killian was still playing on repeat in my mind like a sick loop. His voice-smooth, smug, too confident. His offer-so polished, so perfectly tailored to target everything I was terrified of losing. A wedding. Of all things. The irony wasn't lost on me. The man who broke me in every way that mattered was now offering to help me... through another wedding. I should have told him to go to hell. Should've thrown my drink in his face and walked out with the last scrap of dignity I had. But I didn't. Because he was right. God, I hated that he was right. Lancaster luxe events was falling apart. I was barely keeping the lights on, and the blacklist from the wedding had spread like wildfire. One scandal. One disastrous night. That's all it took to unravel everything I'd built. No one cared about the five years of perfection I delivered before that. They only cared about the failure. And Killian? He knew it. He could smell desperation. He always could. I reached my car and gripped the door handle, fingers trembling. Was it anger? Fear? I didn't know anymore. All I knew was that I was drowning, and the only hand reaching out to pull me up was the one that pushed me under in the first place. I slid into the driver's seat and just sat there for a second. Staring at the dashboard. Breathing. I didn't cry. I was done crying over him. But I hated that he still had that power. That his name still made my stomach knot. That even now, even after everything, part of me still flinched when he smiled that way. I started the car, the hum of the engine grounding me slightly. Home. I just needed to get home. Process. Think. Think about whether I was willing to sell my soul to the devil in a custom Italian suit. By the time I got back to my apartment, the buzz of the city had dulled to a faint, constant hum in the background. I kicked off my heels, peeled off my coat, and made a beeline for the kitchen. I needed a drink. Something stiff. But before I could even grab a glass, my phone vibrated on the counter. I froze, staring at the screen. Vivian Lancaster. My stomach dropped. Of course. I should've known, she'd waited far too long. I exhaled sharply and picked up. "Good day, mother," I said, voice clipped. Her sigh echoed through the speaker like it was my fault she had to call me in the first place. "Naomi." No hello, no how are you. Just my name, drawn out like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "I just got off the phone with Clarice Whitmore," she said, as if I knew-or cared-who that was. "She asked if the rumors were true." I leaned one hip against the counter, pressing my fingers to my temple. "What rumors?" "That you botched the Kensington wedding," she hissed. "That you-you-were the reason it turned into a public disaster. And now they're saying you've been blacklisted from three of the major venues in the city." I didn't answer. Because none of it was a rumor. "It's bad enough that you embarrassed yourself," Vivian continued, voice rising, "but to drag our name through the dirt again? Naomi, have you no sense of duty?" There it was. Not concern. Not support. Not even curiosity about whether I was okay. Just that ever-present obsession with appearances. With reputation. I exhaled slowly. "It wasn't my fault. The groom's mistress showed up with a pregnancy test. That wasn't in the schedule." "That's not the point," My mother snapped. "The point is you're supposed to be a professional, and yet your name is now synonymous with scandal. Again." I closed my eyes. Again. I knew what she meant. Five years ago, I walked away from Killian Royce-the golden boy of New York's elite, heir to a media empire, and my mother's prized connection to wealth and influence. She never forgave me for that. She hadn't even asked why I'd left. Just looked at me like I'd spit in her champagne. "You had one job," she said now, cold and cutting. "Secure your future. Secure our legacy. And you walked away. From him. From all of it." "Have you ever tried to know why I left, mother?" I heaved a sigh, feeling extremely drainedmn Because in reality, no one had cared... Not even my own mother. "Please spare me the feminist martyr act, Naomi. I've heard it all before. You left a man women would kill to marry. You had access-power. And now look at you. Scrambling to keep a business afloat like some... desperate intern." The words hit, but not in the way she thought. They didn't cut deep. They scraped. Because I'd heard them my whole life. "Thank you for the unsolicited pep talk," I said dryly, reaching for the glass of water I'd meant to get earlier. "Anything else?" "Yes," she said sharply. "Fix this." A bitter laugh escaped me before I could help it. "And how exactly do you suggest I do that? Wave a wand? Pray to the PR gods?" "Don't get snide with me. You know damn well what you need to do. Reinvent your brand. Find a new angle. Pull yourself together before you ruin my standing completely." And there it was. My standing. I wasn't even her daughter in that sentence. I was an accessory. An extension of her image. "I see," I murmured. "So this isn't about me." "It never is, Naomi," she said, and her honesty was a punch wrapped in ice. "It's about survival. You may not care about status, but I do. My life is built on it. And I won't have my daughter being whispered about like she's some fallen socialite trying to stay relevant." A pause. Then, as if it were the most generous thing in the world, she added, "I suggest you find a way to fix this before you lose what little reputation you have left." I let the silence stretch between us. Because there was nothing left to say. Finally, I said, "Good night, Mother." "Don't be dramatic, Naomi. Just do something for once in your life that doesn't disappoint me." She hung up. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty kitchen. The silence after her voice was louder than anything she'd said. I wasn't surprised. Not really. Vivian had never been nurturing. Never been warm. She saw love as currency and motherhood as performance art. But part of me-some small, stupid part-still hoped, even now, that she'd call to ask if I was okay. I wasn't. But not for the reasons she thought. My hands trembled as I set the phone down, chest tight, heart pounding like I'd just run a marathon. And then I did something I hadn't done in years. I cried. Silently, shoulders shaking, I slid down the kitchen cabinets and pressed my forehead to my knees. I let the tears come, hot and ugly. For the business I was about to fake my way through saving. For the man I hated but still had to face. And for the mother who would never love me the way I needed her to. When the tears finally slowed, I dragged myself off the floor, grabbed a glass of water with shaking hands, and tried to breathe. But the universe wasn't done yet. My phone buzzed again. A new email. From: Killian Royce Subject: Proposal Terms I stared at it, debating. I shouldn't look. I wasn't ready. But I clicked it open anyway. And there it was. Plain as day. The contract was... extensive. Pages of terms and stipulations, all tailored to make this look like a legitimate business arrangement. Except for the last clause. My eyes skimmed it once. Twice. "For the sake of publicity, client and contractor will appear as a united front in business and social engagements. This includes-but is not limited to-joint public appearances, media interviews, and maintaining the illusion of reconciliation for the duration of the contract." I dropped the phone on the counter like it burned. This wasn't just a wedding. He wanted me to play house. To smile beside him like none of it ever happened. Like he hadn't ripped me apart. He wanted to rewrite our story. No-he wanted to sell it. A perfect, curated redemption arc. Two exes reuniting for a once-in-a-lifetime event. PR gold. And I? I'd be the accessory. The planner-turned-lover. The woman who forgave and forgot, all for the cameras. The bastard had set a trap. Fuck!