Chapter 1 The Coffee Spill

The gala was *not* where I was supposed to be tonight.

I should've been home curled up on my ancient couch with a tub of ice cream, editing the disastrous wedding photos I'd shot last weekend.

But instead, here I was-dressed in a $15 thrift-store knockoff gown, clutching my camera like a lifeline, and sweating bullets under the glare of a chandelier that probably cost more than my college degree.

This was Ethan Carter's charity gala, the biggest event of the year. High-profile CEOs, trust fund socialites, and vulnerable fashion influencers with millions of followers we’re all gathered, rubbing shoulders, laughing, and sipping champagne like they owned the world.

And then there was me: Emma Scott, the uninvited photographer-slash-gatecrasher, While leaving my over due rent apartment my initial plan was to sneak a few candid shots to sell to tabloids, just to gather some money to at least give my landlord something he can hold onto.

I shifted the strap of my camera bag nervously, sticking to the edges of the crowd. My plan wasn't a complicated one: take some photos, avoid security, be out before anyone knew I was there. Easy.

At least, it was suppose to be.

I turned to snap a shot of the glittering ballroom and *bam*—I collided with someone hard. My body jolted as hot liquid splashed down the front of my dress.

"Oh, no, no, no," I stuttered, watching in horror as the brown stain flowered across my cheap gown. My eyes flashed up and my stomach somersaulted.

Standing in front of me was *him*.

Ethan Carter. The most talked about Billionaire tech mogul, philanthropist, and the most infuriatingly handsome man I'd ever seen in my entire life. His chiseled jaw was set in a frown, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he looked down at his equally ruined suit jacket.

"Are you kidding me?" he said, his low voice clipped.

I froze. My brain short-circuited. *Say something, Emma!*

"I—uh—it was an accident," I muttered, snatching at the closest napkin with as little poise on its neighboring table and attempted cleaning up the stain seeped upon his jacket—but seemingly worsened the appearance more and more.

" Can you just Stop dummy," he snarled, taking a step back as though I was some sort of contagion. "You've done enough."

I had flushed, the heat creeping up my neck. Around us, the glittering crowd started to notice the commotion. Whispers floated through the air, and I caught the words *"clumsy nobody"* and *"who is she?"*

"I didn't mean to—"

"You shouldn't even be here," Ethan cut in coolly.

His eyes, trailing down my wrinkled dress to my scuffed $5 heels which I got as a birthday gift, were a punch in the gut.

And then he said it.

"People like you don't belong in places like this."

My throat went tight and I wished I could disappear, The humiliation was so hot it was burning a hole in my chest, but before I could formulate any response, Ethan turned and strode away, leaving me still standing with coffee dripping down my dress and my pride in tattered in front of a crowd consisting of multiple Millionaires and Billionaires.

---

I bolted for the exit, my heart pounding and my eyes stinging with unshed tears. Outside the grand hotel, the cold night air hit me like a slap.

I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "People like you," I muttered bitter, imitating his words. "What does that even mean? Elitist jerk.

My phone buzzed in my bag; I pulled it out and winced. A text from my landlord:

**The rent was due yesterday. You have up until Friday or I'm changing the locks.

Fantastic. As if tonight wasn’t humiliating enough. I shoved the phone back into my bag and glanced at the hotel behind me. My heart grew bitter and bitter; I hated Ethan Carter.

I hated his stupid expensive suit, his stupid perfect face, and above all, his stupid assumption that he was better than me.

But I hated an empty bank account more.

Which meant I couldn’t afford to give up. Not tonight. Not ever.

As a relentless lady I straightened my shoulders and walked back into the gala, determination replaced the shame that had driven me out.

I don't care if Ethan Carter thinks I don't belong. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my struggles.

And if it came right down to swallowing my pride to survive, so be it. I just had no idea how much swallowing my pride was going to cost me.

So, fearlessly, I went into the venue once more, but this time the worst happened, and it was what I never expected or could ever imagine. ---

By the time I returned to the gala, I had made two powerful decisions: first, I wasn’t leaving without at least one adorable photo to sell, and second, I was going to avoid Ethan Carter like he was a killer.

At first, it wasn’t a difficult task. The ballroom was very enormous, and he was preoccupied, charming his wealthy guests, the echoes of laughter and wine glasses cheerfully clinging hard at each other left the room lively,

like a soldier in a battle field I hid behind huge flowers and tall sculptures they decorated the room and Through my camera’s viewfinder, I focused on a group of socialites draped in glittering gowns, their laughter cutting through the music. *Perfect.* I adjusted the lens and snapped a few shots.

“Excuse me, miss

I froze, my finger poised over my cameras shutter. Slowly and my heart began-pounding like a set of drum, I turned and behold it was a man in a crisp black suit. His earpiece and his extremely stern expression screamed one thing:

*Security*

You’re not on the guest list,” he said in a deep voice.

“I’m—uh—freelance,” I lied, clutching my camera like a shield. “I was hired to cover the event.”

The security guard raised an eyebrow. “By whom?”

I opened my mouth but words failed to came out. *Think, Emma, think!* Before I could come up with another deceptive excuse, the guard moved his huge legs and stretched his heavy muscular hands, reaching for my camera.

“You’ll have to leave, and I’ll need to confiscate that—”

And this lead to the beginning of a very great episode of my life, The unbelievable happened....