Chapter 1
Harper
There are moments in life that feel like confetti exploding in slow motion.
And there are moments that feel like someone quietly replacing the confetti with razor blades while smiling politely.
I was currently living in the second category.
My phone buzzed on my desk, vibrating against a half finished mood board titled 'Elegant Coastal Wedding Themes That Scream Rich But Not Try-Hard'.
I didn't look at it immediately.
That was my first mistake.
Because when I did, my entire career tilted.
THE EMAIL
From : Mia Reeves
Subject : Wedding Planning Inquiry
My heart did that stupid little stutter jump it only does when something expensive is about to happen.
Mia Reeves.
As in fashion influencer Mia Reeves.
As in 800k Instagram followers Mia Reeves.
As in if she sneezes, Vogue writes an article about it Mia Reeves.
I opened it.
I've been following your work for a while and I absolutely love your aesthetic. I'm getting married in six months and I want you to be my wedding planner.
I want something timeless, cinematic, and emotionally unforgettable.
If you're available, I'd love to meet this week.
Mia
I didn't scream.
I considered screaming.
I did a very controlled inhale instead, which is basically adult screaming.
Then I stood up so fast my chair rolled back and hit the wall.
"OH MY GOD," I whispered.
Then louder.
"OH MY GOD."
Then I started pacing.
"This is it. This is the job. This is the job that makes Harper Quinn go from emerging creative talent to she was featured in three magazines and possibly owned a lake-house at 28."
I grabbed my planner and started writing.
l Luxury exposure
l Viral wedding content
l Brand partnerships
l Career elevation
l Possible emotional collapse but we will cross that bridge later
I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Then I called Avery. My best friend.
She answered on the second ring.
"Tell me you're not crying over a man again," she said.
"I AM NOT," I said. "Mia Reeves wants me to plan her wedding."
Silence.
Then : "Harper."
"Yes ?"
"That's insane."
"I KNOW."
"I need champagne."
By noon. I had already replied professionally.
By 2 PM, Mia had confirmed a meeting.
By 3 PM, I had created a full vision board, a color palette, and a spreadsheet titled "DO NOT MESS THIS UP OR YOUR LIFE IS OVER."
By 4 PM, I had emotionally adopted Mia's wedding as my entire personality.
By 4:07 PM, I received the second email.
This one did not have the confetti energy.
This one had...something colder.
From : Mia Reeve's Assistant
Subject : Updated Wedding Planner Packet
I clicked it without thinking.
Venue options. Guest list estimates. Floral direction.
And then -
A section titled:
GROOM DETAILS
My cursor hovered.
I didn't click.
I should have trusted my instincts.
I clicked.
DECLAN HAYES.
My brain stopped.
Not paused.
Stopped.
Like someone had unplugged reality and asked it to reboot.
There, in clean black font, was a name I had not seen in years.
DECLAN HAYES.
No.
No no no no no.
I leaned closer to the screen like proximity might change it.
It did not.
DECLAN HAYES.
My ex.
The one who ruined my peace, rewired my emotions, and once said, "I don't believe in timing, Harper, I believe in inevitability," before disappearing for six months like a Victorian ghost with Wi-Fi access.
I made a sound.
Not a scream.
Not a word.
Just a single, broken exhale of disbelief.
Then, I said very calmly:
"Absolutely not."
Then less calmly:
"ABSOLUTELY NOT."
My chair hit the desk as I stood too fast.
I paced.
I stopped.
I stared at the ceiling.
"Of all men," I said, "of ALL the men in the universe, in the country, in the city, in the dating pool, in the moral vacuum that is modern romance - why is it him ?"
My phone buzzed again.
Mia : Looking forward to meeting you...
I stared at it.
Then I stared at Declan's name again.
My brain tried to file it under professional challenge.
My heart immediately dragged it into emotional war crime.
I had three options :
1. Quite immediately
2. Fake my own disappearance and start a candle shop in another province
3. Pretend I am a professional adult and absolutely survive this
I chose option 3.
Not because I was brave.
Because I was broke.
I sat back down slowly.
"This is fine," I said.
It was not fine.
"This is manageable."
It was not manageable.
"This is...a side quest."
That one felt better.
I nodded.
"Yes. Emotional side quest. Main mission: Mia Reeves wedding. Subject: Do not combust."
I typed a response to Mia's assistant confirming next steps with hands that only shook slightly.
Then I closed my laptop.
Then I reopened it.
Then I closed it again like it would erase reality.
It did not.
Of course my brain betrayed me immediately.
Because it remembered him.
Not the polished groom section version.
The real one.
Declan laughing in a kitchen that wasn't mine.
Declan trying to steal the last fry like it was a legally binding agreement.
And then the ending.
No warning.
No explanation.
Just absence.
Like someone had turned off a light in the middle of a sentence.
I exhaled sharply.
"No," I said out loud. "We are not doing this."
I stood up again.
Walked to my mirror.
Looked myself dead in the eyes.
"I can do this," I said. "Professionally. Emotionally? That's...a side quest."
My reflection did not disagree.
Rude.
By evening I had made a plan.
A very strict, very structured, emotionally repressed plan.
l Treat Declan Mercer like a decorative chair.
l Do not engage unless spoken to
l Do not remember anything
l Do not feel anything
l Do not spiral (optional but strongly recommended)
I opened my laptop again.
Created a new folder:
MIA REEVES DO NOT DIE
Inside it, I added another file.
EMERGENCY: IF DECLAN SPEAKS
I paused.
Then typed:
Breathe. Smile. Professional. Exit quickly.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I whispered:
"This is going to ruin me."
Then I corrected myself.
"This is going to challenge me."
Then, after a pause.
"This is going to absolutely ruin me."
I closed the laptop.
And for the first time since the email arrived, I stopped pacing.
Because somewhere between panic and professionalism, a strange clarity settled in.
I had one of the biggest clients of my career.
And the groom -
was Declan Hayes.
My past had just RSVP'd to my future.
If life were a wedding board, mine just added a flaming red string connecting dream opportunity to emotional catastrophe.
And the worst part?
I was still going to show up.
Perfectly dressed.
Perfectly professional.
Perfectly unprepared.
