Chapter 1 — The Whitmore Proposal

Mia Reyes

Amelia Reyes smoothed the lapel of her tailored gray blazer, her fingers grazing the delicate silver locket that rested just above her collarbone. The pendant wasn’t just an accessory; it was her anchor, a quiet reminder of her precision and control—qualities she clung to as she stared up at the towering wrought-iron gates of the Whitmore Estate. The gates loomed like sentinels, sharp and unyielding, and for a moment, she felt the weight of her own audacity.

This wasn’t just another job. It was her chance to break into the city’s elite market and prove that her boutique event planning business deserved a seat at the table. Months of meticulous research and preparation had led her here, and failure wasn’t an option.

“You’ve got this,” she murmured under her breath.

The gates creaked open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a sweeping driveway bordered by ancient sycamore trees. The estate beyond looked like a postcard of old-money perfection: manicured gardens, marble fountains, and a mansion that seemed to stare down at her with cool indifference. It was imposing, yes, but Mia had learned long ago that even the most formidable facades could hide cracks.

Her heels clicked against the cobblestones as she approached the grand entrance. A butler—straight-backed and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit—opened the ornately carved door before she could knock.

“Ms. Reyes, Mr. Whitmore is expecting you,” he said, his tone polished and precise.

“Thank you,” Mia replied, stepping inside.

The interior was a study in cold elegance—marble floors reflected the light streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and abstract paintings adorned the walls, their calculated detachment mirroring the estate’s atmosphere. A faint citrusy scent lingered in the air, sharp and clean, like the crisp edge of a newly pressed suit. The grandeur of it all made her stomach tighten, but she lifted her chin, forcing herself to focus.

“This way, please,” the butler intoned, his footsteps silent as he led her down a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly.

As they approached a pair of towering double doors, Mia caught a glimpse of a photograph on a side table—a candid black-and-white image of a woman laughing, her head thrown back in unguarded joy. The warmth of the photo struck a discordant note in the otherwise sterile space, and she found herself wondering about the woman’s story.

The butler opened the doors with a practiced flourish, and Mia stepped into a sunlit room dominated by a wall of windows. Nick Whitmore stood at the far end, his tall frame silhouetted against the glass. He turned at the sound of her entrance, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her feel both scrutinized and dismissed.

“Ms. Reyes,” he greeted, his voice as measured and cool as his gaze.

“Mr. Whitmore,” Mia replied, matching his professional detachment.

He gestured toward a seating area with a glass coffee table and pristine white armchairs that looked as though no one had ever dared sit in them. As she took a seat, she noted the faint scent of leather mingling with the citrus—clean, controlled, and unmistakably him.

“I’ve reviewed your portfolio,” Nick began, lowering himself into the chair across from her. His tone held a clipped efficiency, as though he’d already decided how this meeting would go. “Your work is impressive.”

“Thank you,” Mia said, her tone polite but firm. “I believe my team and I can create an event that exceeds your expectations.”

Nick’s lips twitched, not quite forming a smile. “We’ll see.”

The challenge in his voice set her teeth on edge, but she forced herself to remain composed. “I understand this gala is important to you,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not just about raising funds for the foundation—it’s about honoring your late wife’s legacy.”

His expression tightened, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. For a brief moment, his gaze flickered to the window before snapping back to her. “Exactly. Which is why it must be executed flawlessly. No distractions, no unnecessary risks.”

Mia’s pulse quickened, but her voice remained steady. “Flawless execution doesn’t mean playing it safe. If we want the gala to stand out, we need to innovate. The foundation’s mission deserves more than just another cookie-cutter event.”

Nick’s gaze sharpened, his posture rigid as though bracing against her words. “Safe doesn’t mean uninspired, Ms. Reyes. It means respecting tradition and ensuring the focus stays where it belongs.”

Their eyes locked, tension crackling like a live wire in the air between them. Mia’s instinct was to push back—she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—but before she could respond, the door burst open.

“Daddy!”

A whirlwind of curls and color barreled into the room, and Mia turned to see a young girl, no older than eight, clutching a sketchpad and a fistful of markers.

Nick’s composed demeanor softened instantly, the hard lines of his face easing as he turned to the child. “Sophie, what did I say about interrupting meetings?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, her bright blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. “You said not to do it. But this isn’t a regular meeting, is it?”

Nick sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Sophie—”

“It’s okay,” Mia interjected, smiling at the girl. “You must be Sophie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sophie tilted her head, studying Mia with unabashed curiosity. “Are you the party lady?”

“Yes, I am,” Mia said, her tone softening. “What do you think? Should I add balloons or glitter?”

Sophie’s face lit up like a sparkler. “Glitter! Lots of it. Daddy hates glitter.”

“Sophie,” Nick said, his voice edged with exasperation.

“What?” Sophie asked, utterly unbothered. “It’s true.”

Mia bit back a smile. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sophie plopped herself into the chair next to Mia, flipping open her sketchpad. “This is what I think the party should look like.”

Mia leaned closer, taking in the colorful drawings of flowers, stars, and what appeared to be a giant rainbow arching over a stage. “Wow. This is amazing. You’re very talented.”

Sophie beamed. “Thanks! Daddy says I have too much imagination, but I think he’s just boring.”

“Sophie,” Nick said again, though his tone lacked the edge it had earlier.

Mia glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared the moment their eyes met.

“She’s not wrong,” Mia said lightly, earning a delighted laugh from Sophie and a raised eyebrow from Nick.

“I see you’ve already joined forces,” he said dryly, rising from his seat. “Sophie, why don’t you go show Maria your new drawings? Ms. Reyes and I have work to do.”

Sophie pouted but obeyed, giving Mia a conspiratorial wink before skipping out of the room.

As the door closed, Nick turned back to Mia, his expression unreadable. “She likes you.”

“She’s easy to like,” Mia replied, standing as well. “And for the record, I think a little glitter wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Nick’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his blue eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place. Then he gave a curt nod. “We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow. Same time.”

Mia gathered her bag, her pulse still racing from their exchange. As she walked toward the door, she paused, glancing back at him.

“Mr. Whitmore,” she said, her voice steady. “I don’t back down easily. If you’re looking for someone to just go along with whatever you say, you hired the wrong planner.”

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed his face. “Good to know.”

Mia left the room with her head held high, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, but beneath it, she sensed something else—something unspoken, waiting to be uncovered.

As the butler escorted her back to her car, she couldn’t help but glance back at the estate. It stood as imposing as ever, a fortress of wealth and control.

But even fortresses had cracks.

And Mia Reyes was very good at finding them.