Secret Heartbeats

"Absolutely not!" I protest into the receiver. "But you need a break," insists Rose, my tenacious best friend, her voice a mix of concern and mischief. "I simply can't. There's a whole collection to finalize, and it's due out next month," I reply, the life of a designer is a constant whirlwind. "Stephen's got some juicy gossip. You'll regret missing out if I can not drag you to brunch," she teases, her Mexican accent coloring every word. Glancing at the swathes of fabric laid out before me, I exhale deeply, a sense of resignation washing over me. "Alright, alright, you win," I relent.

"And you are on fabric duty with me tomorrow. See you in ten," I add. "Lawyers excel at persuasion, and I will be more than happy to lend a hand with the fabrics," she responds, a smile evident in her voice. Rose isn't your average lawyer; she is one of the most accomplished young Mexican attorneys around. I've witnessed her journey through law school, convincing her parents to support her legal ambitions over a medical career. Rose craves uniqueness, striving for distinction in all she does, which is why she was adamant about winning her parents' approval.

"Take care, darling," I say before ending the call. I reach for the office phone, its sleek form resting on my designer glass desk. "Tracy, could you come to my office, please?" I request, my tone friendly. Moments later, there's a knock. "Ms. Jones?" Tracy enters, her presence filling the spacious room. "Please, it is Anna," I remind her with a chuckle. Tracy's been with the company for a while but only recently stepped into the assistant role after her predecessor's shocking betrayal-spiking my coffee with drugs. "Apologies, Anna," she corrects herself, and we share a laugh. "I am off to brunch. I will return in about an hour," I inform her. She nods, already absorbed in her tablet. "Just so you know, you've got that Prada meeting when you get back, and fabric selection will have to wait until tomorrow," she advises, multitasking effortlessly. "Tracy, you're a gem," I say, impressed. "Thank you," she replies with a light chuckle. I collect my purse, phone, and sunglasses. "Enjoy your lunch," I tell her warmly as I depart. Exiting my office, I'm enveloped by the serene ambiance of the workspace. It's a testament to comfort and elegance, a design courtesy of a family friend renowned for her interior prowess. I press the elevator button for the ground floor, descending amidst thoughts of the potential media frenzy outside. My parents' fame-my mother, an acclaimed actress, and my father, a celebrated artist and occasional singer-meant a childhood shrouded in caution against the ever-prying paparazzi. The restrictions were suffocating, and at twenty-two, the pressure hasn't eased. Despite being born into the limelight, my fashion line's success is my own doing. It started as an anonymous venture, gaining popularity before I revealed myself as the creator. That announcement sent my phone into a frenzy. While my background played a role, the brand's triumph is largely the fruit of my relentless dedication. "Good morning, Ms. Jones," greet my employees as I step off the elevator. They seem intimidated, though I'm far from fearsome. "Morning, everyone," I return their greetings with a smile. Approaching the glass doors at the front, my pulse quickens, hands trembling at the sight of paparazzi swarming outside. Pushing through the doors, I'm greeted by the vibrant energy of New York, a city I adore.

The city's pulse thrums through the streets, a symphony of lights, motion, and the collective drive that courses through the veins of its inhabitants.

"Kindly step aside," my security pleads with the throng of eager photographers and reporters. "Anna, how's life treating you?" "What's new with Rose?" "When can we expect your latest fashion line?" "How are your celebrity parents?" "Is there a baby on the way?" "Whose shirt were you spotted in last week?" Their inquiries bombard me, but I respond with grace, despite my parents' advice to the contrary.

"I'm just trying to grab some lunch. Could you please make way?" I request with a smile.

"Of course, Anna," one of them replies, a touch of reverence in his voice.

"How's the gang?" she inquires, referring to our notorious circle of friends, all offspring of the famed and fortunate, dubbed 'the crew'.

"Anna, is it true about your mom's health?" Rumors ignite from the smallest sparks.

"No, that's not true," I clarify.

Finally reaching the car, I leap into the sanctuary of the backseat as Mr. Martins secures the doors. He's a cool character, unfazed by the chaos.

"To The Kings Mansion, please," I say, returning his friendly gaze.

Buckling up, I retrieve my phone from my purse, greeted by a barrage of notifications. Rose has sent a link to a tabloid snapshot of our lives: Rose exiting the courthouse, Chris approaching his car, Stephen departing his towering office, and me, moments after leaving mine, all under the headline 'The Crew: Out and About, But Where To?'.

I can't help but raise an eyebrow at their relentless scrutiny.

With a sigh, I power down my phone, turning my attention to the cityscape blurring past.

Arriving at the Kings Mansion, I step out and approach the door. Molly greets me with her ever-warm smile and an embrace that feels like home.

"Annabelle," she exclaims, pulling me into a hug.

"Hello, Molly," I reply, returning the warmth.

"Is that Anna I hear?" Tanya's voice floats through the air.

"It sure is," I laugh as she joins us in a group hug.

"Where's my hug?" Rose's voice chimes in, her heels clicking on the marble.

"You'll get no hug from me," I jest, earning a mock glare from her.

She hands Tanya a jar of pickled mangoes, my absolute weakness.

"I can't get enough of these," I exclaim, eagerly accepting the jar Rose offers.

In the kitchen, I savor a piece, the taste eliciting a blissful sound from me.

A throat clears, and I turn to find Stephen, the epitome of suave in his tailored blue suit. His smirk tells me he's amused by my reaction.

"Keep it to yourself," I retort, though my heart races.

He teases, "You weren't so quiet last night," as he moves about the kitchen.

I have to admit, I've been in love with Stephen for as long as I can remember. I want to confess my feelings, but fear risking our lifelong friendship. After a toxic past relationship, I've realized he's the one I've always connected with. We've never crossed the line, but the chemistry is undeniable.

To the world, Stephen King is a formidable figure, but to me, he's just a man who's endured too much, yet never lets it show. His presence commands attention, his striking features drawing everyone in.

"Anna!" Chris's voice snaps me back to the present.

"Chris!" I greet him with a hug, happy to see him after his recent travels.Chris is one of the kindest souls I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Yet, beneath the gentle exterior lies a fierce spirit, not always soft and serene like teddy bears or the soothing aroma of coconut candles.

"I have missed you so much!" he exclaims loudly.

"Keep it down, will you?" Stephen shoots him a stern look.

"Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Chris quips, a playful edge to his voice.

"Enough. Everyone, to the living room, now!" Stephen herds us away from the foyer, where Tanya is engrossed in an episode of 'Say Yes To the Dress.'

"Turn off that drivel," he grumbles, blocking the TV screen.

His fingers rake through his hair, a telltale sign of his anxiety.

"Is everything alright?" Jace inquires, concern lacing his tone.

"It is fine. I've just got something to tell you all."

"We are listening."

"Go on."

"Out with it."

"I am getting married."

His words hang in the air, and I'm rooted to the spot, stunned.

ANNA'S POINT OF VIEW

Rose's eyes found mine in an instant, the sole confidant of my hidden affection for Stephen. The notion of him getting married still feels surreal to me, and I can sense Chris and Rose share my disbelief.

"You are doing what?" Chris chortles, his laughter constant in any situation.

"I am getting married," Stephen states, his voice carrying a weight that silences the room. "To whom?" Chris and I question in unison.

"Olivia"

"Olivia Fallon?" The shock resonates among us. She is notorious for her abrasive attitude towards everyone, be it the paparazzi, her fans, or her so-called friends. "You are actually marrying the ice queen herself?" Rose's voice is tinged with incredulity.

"Indeed. My father arranged it, Stephen replied, his jaw tightening. Does this mean he is not entering into this marriage willingly?

"Do you really want to marry her?" I probe gently.

"Why would he ask if he didn't, Anna?" Micheal King's authoritative tone fills the room. Stephen's father was known for his harshness. He burdened Stephen with the family business at just nineteen, sapping his youth and vitality. His lack of paternal warmth is painful to witness, especially considering how it stripped him of his carefree college days. Instead of memories with friends and adventures, he was inundated with contracts and corporate responsibilities. It was a bleak period, and he distanced himself from us all, myself included. Yet, we managed to bring him back from the edge, not entirely, but enough to see him smile again. Pulled from my reverie by Michael's imposing presence, I prepare to confront the man who has never shown a shred of compassion.

"Alright, congratulations!" I rose and approached him, embracing him tightly. Within, my heart fractures, harboring a love for him that I must now conceal.

"Thanks," he responds, returning the embrace. I fight back the tears that edge closer to freedom.

"Look at that, Stephen is off the market!" Chris bellows, giving him a hearty, comradely hug. Rose's touch is gentle on my shoulder.

"Annabelle, are you alright?" she inquires, her concern as transparent as glass.

"I'm good, Rose," I assured her with a smile, though she saw right through it.

'I kinda pictured you with Anna, Stephen. Guess life has other plans, Jace mutters. I glanced at Stephen, his expression unreadable as ever.

"I should get going. Enjoy your meal, everyone. And once more, congrats, Stephen" I say with a smile that he mirrors. "I can tag along," Rose offers, reaching for her bag.

"No need, I'm fine," I insist, and she understands, taking her seat again. "Take care, Anna," Chris says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Goodbye."

"Let me walk you out," Stephen offers, his hand finding mine, reigniting a familiar warmth. The thought of leaving his side brings a surge of emotion I can barely contain.

"No, that's okay," I gently remove his hand. His eyes flickered with a hint of pain. You have your happiness to look forward to.

"See you around," I say with a parting smile, and made my way to the door, heading straight for the solace of my car.

Exiting the mansion, I made a beeline for my car. "Martin, could we swing by Starbucks?" I asked, always mindful to treat those who work for me with respect.

He nods in agreement, and we pull away from the Kings estate. Thoughts of Olivia Fallon, soon to be Olivia Kings swirl in my mind, stirring a twinge of jealousy. Did Stephen truly wish to marry her, or was it a decision made under duress?

As Starbucks looms ahead, the drive-thru is bustling. I decided to step out, and immediately met with a barrage of inquiries.

"Ms. Anna, when's your new collection debuting?"

"Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

"What was your compensation for the Victoria's Secret shoot?" Yes, modeling is another facet of my life.

"Have you been in contact with Stephen King today?"

"Is your father in town?"

"Why did things end with Trey Morgan?" The mention of his name halts me; it's been ages since I last heard it.

"I hope you're all having a wonderful day. Could we perhaps pace the questions?" I asked, maintaining composure. "Sophia, any comments on the recent philanthropy by Kings Industries?"

"I believe it's a commendable move. The New York Cancer-Fighting Community holds a dear place in their hearts," I responded with a smile, biting back any further thoughts about Olivia's abilities. Time to focus, Sophia.

As I swing open the doors to Starbucks, I practically dart inside. Standing in line, a tap on my shoulder startled me, and I turned to see a young girl, likely around nine years old, dressed in a cute floral dress with a channel crossbody bag.

"Hi," she says shyly. Recognizing me, she asks if she can take a picture because she's a fan of my clothing line. We snap a selfie, and I'm filled with warmth seeing her smile.

Moving to the counter, I ordered a caramel latte before swiftly making my way back to my car, evading the paparazzi.

STEPHEN'S POINT OF VIEW

Thoughts about my impending marriage swirl in my mind, but my heart yearns for someone else Anna. She's the embodiment of kindness, even in the face of paparazzi harassment.

However, my family's complicated dynamics, especially my father's manipulative tactics, force me into a marriage with Olivia Fallon for business reasons. But my loyalty lies with Annabelle, and I've been secretly working to secure control of my family's company, Kings Industries.

As my phone rings, I quickly answer it and hear the news from one of my employees about the capture of the man responsible for drugging Annabelle. Excitement rushes through me, and I knew I have to act fast. "Guys, I've got to go," I announced before rushing out of the house and jumping into my car, speeding through the streets until I reached the abandoned street.

Approaching the man tied to a chair, I felt a mixture of disgust and anger at his smug demeanor. "Stephen Kings," I addressed him sternly.

"Do you understand why you're here?" I demanded. His smirk only infuriates me further as he admits to drugging Annabelle. Without hesitation, I drew a pocket knife, tracing it menacingly down his cheek.

"No one harms her and lives," I declare before plunging the blade into his stomach.

Mocking his delusions of Annabelle's affection, I laugh at his futile attempts to manipulate her feelings. With each stab, I reinforce the consequences of his actions, ensuring he understands the severity of his betrayal.

"Rick, let him bleed out," I order, discarding the knife and wiping my hands clean. This man thought he could escape justice, but he was sorely mistaken.

ANNA'S POINT OF VIEW

"I wrap myself in the cozy embrace of a gray, fluffy blanket, settling in for an episode of The Real Housewives of New York. Today, I have allowed myself a rare respite from the demands of the office. "

"It is an unusual indulgence, but the thought of work was simply unbearable. Instead, I have chosen to submerge my woes in a sea of potato chips and chocolate, ignoring calls and messages.

"I am ensconced in the solitude of my apartment, shielded from the world. There are days when solitude is a necessity, when the company of others is the last thing you desire.

Suddenly, my phone pierces the silence, and an internal groan echoes through me.

"Who on earth could that be?

"I grumbled, snatching up the device. Stephen's name flickers on the screen.

"Hello?" I greeted him, somewhat resign

"Hey, Annabelle. You have been off the radar today. Is everything alright?" His voice carries a note of concern.

I exhaled softly. "Yes, I am fine. What is up?

"Well, there is a gathering tonight at my place. We are announcing my engagement, "he reveals, and my expression darkens.

"Um, Stephen, are you actually pleased with this?

" I inquire, my voice tinged with apprehension. I yearn for his happiness, yet I long to keep him all to myself.

"Silence, you envious creature.

"Absolutely, I am," he responds. A pang tightens in my chest. Yet, he is my dearest friend, and the noble course would be to stand by him. Even if it entails enduring the sight of him with another.

"I will make it," I exhaled.

"Wonderful, Annabelle.

"See you then."

"Farewell." The call ends.

So much for my plans of solitude in my apartment. My phone buzzes - a message from Rose.

"Rose: Dress shopping in ten. Off the sofa, please and thanks. "

Her intuition never fails. I stride into my bedroom, which, like my office, reflects my impeccable taste. It's not boasting if it's true.

At the age of twenty, I decided to move out. The constant bustle of my home, shared with my siblings who were eighteen and seventeen at the time, made it impossible to find any quiet space to concentrate on my work.

Stepping into my closet, I selected a white spaghetti strap top and paired it with light blue jeans, complementing the outfit with a cozy, loosely knit cardigan. I released my hair from the confines of the messy bun it had been in all day, running a brush through my brown tresses.

The persistent ringing of my phone interrupted the calm. Annoyed, I hurried to the living room, wondering why I was suddenly so popular. To my surprise, it was Tanya calling - Stephen's mother. What could she possibly want?

"Hi, Tanya, what is going on?" I asked, consciously avoiding the more formal 'Mrs. King' to sidestep a potential lengthy lecture.

"Oh dear, I am in quite the predicament and could really use your assistance," she replied, her tone laced with anxiety.

"What is the matter?"

"It is the event planner; they are all booked up, and the alternatives just do not meet Olivia's standards. She is adamant they will not be organizing tonight's party.

"I have got an interview lined up too," she added.

I hummed in response, uncertain of her intent.

"Do you recall how you put together Chris's parents' anniversary celebration in under two hours?"

I do not need to wonder any longer; her direction was clear.

"Tanya-"

"Annabelle, you are the only one I can turn to." Event planning was my backup career, just a step behind modeling. I even earned a certificate from an online course. Yet, the question remained: could I organize an event that reopened old wounds? But if it made Stephen happy, perhaps it was worth it. It is not as if it would cause Olivia to despise me.

"Okay, I will do it."

"Thank you dearly! I'll see you later."

A message from Rose popped up, indicating her arrival.

I collected my belongings and entered the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the doors closed, I took out my phone and began making calls for the event.

"You seem tense, what's the matter?" Rose inquired, concern in her voice as we drove away from my apartment.

"Tanya has tasked me with organizing Stephen's engagement celebration," I mutter, scrolling through my contacts for a caterer.

"You are kidding," she explodes into laughter.

"Rose, if you do not stop laughing, I am going to leap out of this vehicle," I warn her, my glare sharp as she attempts to stifle her amusement.

"Admit it, it is quite humorous, and a tad awkward," she snickers.

"Before we hit the stores, we need to make a detour at the Kings estate," I say, lifting my phone.

The remainder of the journey was spent frantically coordinating the event over the phone, a challenging feat given we only had four hours until the party. Arriving at the Kings estate, I was surprised to find the parking area overrun with vehicles, an unusual sight even for their frequent gatherings.

"Sophia!" Stephen's mother descends the stairs in haste.

"Kat, thank you. I'll arrange for collection," I assure the baker on the other end of the line.

"Your help means the world to us," she says, embracing me warmly.

"Sure thing." Surveying the room, I notice the decorations coming together nicely with gold streamers and black balloons adorning the space. My gaze locks with a set of striking blue-green eyes.

There he stands, being fitted by his tailor, looking every bit the part of dashing groom-to-be, his hair slicked back in a rebellious fashion. His eyes scan me from head to toe, and I find myself swallowing hard as our eye contact breaks. This man is my undoing.

"Anna! I have been shouting your name!" She approaches, offering me a bottle of water.

"Hydrate a little please. You have not put that phone down since we left your apartment." I am about to shake my head when my phone starts to ring again - it is the caterers.

"Hel-" Before I can finish, Stephen snatches the phone from my hand, his touch sending a jolt through me.

"She is tied up at the moment. She will ring you back," he declares, his gaze intense on mine.

"Stephen, what is the meaning of this?" I demand, but he ignores my question, taking the water bottle from Rose instead.

"Take a sip," he suggests, presenting the open bottle to me.

"Walls, fascinating!" Rose exclaims, darting away. The deserter.

"I need to-"

"Drink, Anna," he insists, his tone firm. I glance at him and take the bottle, gulping down the water eagerly; my thirst was genuine.

"Well done," he commends, a shiver running through me. Now, where did I put my phone?

"Stephen, I want my phone back!"

"You will get it after you have called Annabelle Jones Designs to order a suit for," he pauses, glancing at his wristwatch. It has been a constant companion on his left wrist since we were five - never on the right. It is one of those quirks about him that I inexplicably adore.

"In roughly three hours," he says with a teasing smirk.

"So, you are asking my firm to tailor your suit?" I inquire, a smile playing on my lips.

"Indeed," he confirms with a nod.

"Consider it done," I reply, chuckling.

"Alright then," I say with a laugh.

"Babe!" The voice is unmistakably familiar.

"Ah, Anna" Olivia greets me with a disingenuous smile.

"Olivia," I acknowledge with a nod.

"We need to leave, babe," she insists, clutching Stephen's arm tightly, and I feel a pang in my gut.

"But-" Stephen starts, but Olivia is already pulling him away.

"Revolting," Rose comments as she comes over and drapes her arm around my shoulders.

"Just ignore them," I exhale heavily. Glancing over, I see them chatting with his father. Stephen's smile seems forced, but he claims he is content. Perhaps it is time I accept that he might actually be happy.

"Shopping for dresses cures all woes, does it not?" I chuckle, stepping outside with Rose.

"Where's Stephen?" The designer's voice cuts through the air, her French accent thick.

"I am here," Stephen replies, approaching with Olivia in tow.

"Perfect, I just need one last measurement. And Anna, what color will your dress be for tonight's event?" she inquires.

"I am uncertain, perhaps blue," I whisper, sidestepping the silent accusations Olivia hurls my way.

"And a blue tie for Stephen," she notes. The rational part of me recognized the need to clarify that his tie should not be the same as my dress, yet the irrational, envious part hesitated.

Eventually, I spoke up.

"His tie should complement Olivia's dress, tonight and essentially every other evening," I murmur, barely audible. Our eyes lock, and my heart fractures - what is it, the fifth time now?

"Indeed, that is correct for Stephen. My mistake," she concedes, then departs.

His ties have always been in sync with my dresses, regardless of our joint presence at events. The idea of him coordinating his tie with another woman's dress casts a shadow over my mood.

"Time to leave, Anna," Rose urges, guiding me forward.

An hour later, we emerge from Versace, elated with our gowns, footwear, and the unexpected civility of the paparazzi.

Now, all that remains is to endure the evening's celebration.