The Billionaire's Reluctant Partner.

Naomi's POV Disaster. The English dictionary defined disaster as a sudden event that causes great damage or loss. Some might say it was like a huge storm destroying a city, an earthquake shaking everything apart, or a fire turning memories into dust. The smell of burnt roses filled the air as I stood still in the Grand Astoria ballroom, my hands tightly balled into fists. The event that was meant to boost my company's reputation-a grand wedding between a rich media heiress and a tech tycoon's son-had turned into chaos. Or should I say...

disaster? I stared in shock as my team rushed around, trying to fix the mess. Fancy white and gold flowers were scattered on the marble floor, and spilled champagne sparkled under the big chandeliers. Guests whispered behind their gloved hands, their shocked voices growing louder until I felt chills run down my spine. Across the room, the bride was sitting on the edge of a chaise lounge, sobbing into her thousand-dollar veil while her furious mother yelled at a team of waiters, and my stomach sank even deeper. My lungs tightened. This wasn't just a bad night. This was the worst night of my career. I blinked once and then twice, somehow wishing that this was a nightmare. Because that was the only suitable word for everything happening right now. A nightmare and a complete, unmitigated disaster. I stumbled slightly as a wave of dizziness hit me, making my knees go weak. I put my hand on my forehead, trying to hold back the nausea that was about to overwhelm me. Claire rushed toward me, her normally smooth bob wild with stress. "Naomi, it's bad." She barely paused to catch her breath before launching into rapid-fire damage control. "The fire department is still outside. Someone posted a video of the groomsmen brawl-it already has over twenty thousand views. And the New York Chronicle is here." The Chronicle. My heart dropped into my stomach. If they got a headline out of this, I might as well set fire to my entire career myself. Yep, I might actually do that and then throw myself off a cliff. "This wasn't our fault,' I said, but it felt empty as I spoke." Wasn't it? Claire winced. "It doesn't matter, the client wants blood." A cold chill swept through me. Mrs. Kensington. I hardly had time to prepare before she approached, moving like a storm in designer heels. "This," she seethed angrily, waving her manicured hand, 'is unacceptable and a disgrace." I squared my shoulders, meeting her cold gaze. "Mrs. Kensington, I-" "You what?" She cut me off, voice sharp enough to draw blood. "You ruined my daughter's wedding. Do you even know the shame you brought on my family? The guests are calling it a-" she spat the next word like poison-"circus." I struggled to keep my voice steady and calm. "I know this is upsetting, but-" "No," she interrupted sharply. "You don't get it. If you did, you wouldn't be here trying to save your pathetic reputation." The words hit harder than they should have. "I trusted you." Her voice dropped lower, colder. "And you failed." My throat tightened, but I made myself keep a neutral look. "I accept full responsibility, and I'll do everything I can to fix this." Her lip curled. "You can't make this right." Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Then she delivered the final blow. "You are finished in this industry, Ms. Hayes." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her words cutting deeper than any knife and hanging over me like a death sentence. And it's official, guys. I am screwed... Literally. ***** (Two Days Later) A week ago, if you asked me what failure and disaster entailed, I might have pulled up one of those ridiculous definitions from the dictionary again but now... now I knew better. Because sometimes, disaster is quieter, more insidious. It arrives in whispers behind your back, in the cold realization of a dwindling bank account, in the sharp, condemning headlines of a morning newspaper. Disaster is your name trending on social media for all the wrong reasons. Disaster is watching the empire you built with blood, sweat, and sleepless nights crumble in real-time. I used to think I understood failure. I thought I had met rock bottom the day I walked out of my marriage with nothing but my pride and a suitcase. But I was wrong. That wasn't rock bottom. That was just the prelude. This-this was rock bottom. And it sure as hell sucked. I stood in the middle of my office, gripping my phone so tightly I thought it might crack. I had spent the last forty-eight hours trying to stop and salvage the situation but nothing-absolutely nothing was working. The disaster at the Kensington wedding had spread like wildfire. Every major outlet had picked up the story, and the damage to my company was worse than I had imagined. "Event mogul Naomi Lancaster's catastrophic failure-ruined wedding, lawsuit, and PR disaster!" The headline was splashed across every social media platform, accompanied by grainy footage of the mayhem. The viral video of the floral arrangement catching fire had been slowed down, edited, and even set to dramatic music. I had officially become a joke. I slumped behind my desk, staring at the endless stream of emails on my laptop. Each one was another blow: cancellations, contracts severed, vendors pulling out. Everything I had built was crumbling right before my eyes and j couldn't even do anything to stop it. My assistant, Claire, was hovering near the door, her usual bright demeanor nowhere to be seen. Instead, she wore the look of someone who had just watched a ship sink and realized they were still onboard. "The investors pulled out," she whispered, confirming my worst fear. I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply. "All of them?" "All of them." I forced my hands to unclench, setting my phone down on my desk with deliberate control. The event planning business I had spent years building was hanging by a thread-no, that was too optimistic. It had already snapped. And all because of one wedding. One high-profile, extravagant, stupid wedding. The Sterling-Kensington wedding was supposed to be my masterpiece, a crowning jewel in my career. Every high society family had their eyes on it. I had spared no expense, no detail overlooked. And yet, in the blink of an eye, everything had gone to hell. The floral arrangements had arrived dead. The cake-God, the cake-was dropped by the catering staff minutes before the reception right on Mrs. Kensington's $10,000 custom gown. The bride's $50,000 custom dress had been ruined in an incident I still couldn't fully comprehend involving red wine and a clumsy waiter. And right in the middle of the reception, two groomsmen-one of whom was allegedly the bride's ex-got into a heated argument. Drunk and reckless, they threw punches, knocking over tables and sending champagne bottles crashing. Did I also mention that one of the decorative drapes caught fire from an open flame? A single spark quickly turning into a small blaze that set a floral centerpiece alight. While it was quickly put out, guests panicked, and someone called the fire department. I could still hear the bride's furious screams. The groom's mother fainted. The press had a field day. And the blame? The blame fell squarely on me. I was the event planner after all. My phone vibrated against the desk. Another notification. Another headline. Another article detailing my spectacular failure. I reached for the screen before I could even stop myself, already knowing what I'd see. "Naomi Lancaster: From Event Planning Prodigy to Disgraced Disaster" Bile rose in my throat. I had fought so hard to distance myself from my past-from being the naive girl who had once been a billionaire's wife, from being defined by my connection to Killian Royce. I had built this business with nothing but my talent, my drive, my refusal to be a footnote in a powerful man's story. And now? Now I was back in the headlines, my name dragged through the mud. "Naomi," Claire said hesitantly. "There's... more." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Of course, there is." "The landlord just called. If we don't pay this month's rent, he'll terminate the lease." I just stared at her, waiting for her to say she was just pulling my legs but she wasn't. The sound of my blood rushing filled my ears. My carefully managed life was falling apart and I needed money. Fast. The thought of calling my mother crossed my mind, but I shoved it away. Vivian Lancaster had never been a mother first. She was a woman of ambition, one who had once sold her daughter's happiness for financial security. I refused to run back to her, tail between my legs. There had to be a different solution. I sank into my chair, hiding my face in my hands. The silence lingered until Claire spoke up. "You could always... ask him." I lifted my head sharply. "No." Claire bit her lip. "Naomi, he's the only one who can help you with this." "No," I said again, my voice strong. She exhaled. "You know he's going to hear about this, right? It's only a matter of time before Killian sees these headlines." A chill went down my spine. Killian Royce. My ex-husband. The man I had loved and left. The man who, despite everything, still had the power to make or break me. I had spent years showing I didn't need him, that I wasn't merely his ex-wife. But the universe seemed to be mocking me now, pushing me back to the one person I promised never to depend on again. I wouldn't ask for his help. I couldn't. But deep down, I already knew. It was only a matter of time before Killian Royce came back into my life. And when he did, disaster would take on a whole new meaning.

Killian's POV The moment I saw the New York Chronicle headline, I knew Naomi was screwed. "The Kensington Wedding Disaster: A Night of Fire, Fights, and Failure!" It was plastered across the front page in bold, damning letters. Below it, an unflattering photograph of Naomi standing in the middle of the ruined ballroom, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. I clicked on the article and skimmed through it, already knowing what I'd find. "Naomi Lancaster, owner of Lancaster Luxe Events, was responsible for what was supposed to be the wedding of the decade.

Instead, it became one of the most humiliating disasters in high society history." "Guests were met with chaos-champagne shortages, misplaced seating arrangements, and an undercooked main course that had several attendees complaining of food poisoning by midnight. But the crowning moment of catastrophe? A fire breaks out near the floral arrangement, forcing the bride and groom to evacuate before even cutting their cake." The comments were even worse. "She should be blacklisted from the industry." "Who the hell let her plan a wedding at this level?" "Kensington money wasted. Naomi Lancaster should never work in this city again." I sat back, exhaling as I scrolled through the relentless criticism. I knew Naomi had built Lancaster Luxe Events from the ground up. She'd clawed her way to the top of New York's event-planning industry, earning herself a reputation as one of the most sought-after names in high-society weddings. And now, it was all unraveling. I should've felt indifferent. This was none of my concern. We hadn't spoken in five years-five years since our divorce, three years since she walked away and never looked back. If she was failing, it was her own damn problem. So why the hell was I still reading? Why had I already placed a call to my lawyers, just to confirm whether or not the lawsuits were real? I closed the article and leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers under my chin while gazing out the window. The city lay before me, lit by the golden light of the setting sun. My penthouse office was on the top floor of the Blackwood Tower, a reminder of all I had created, all I managed. And yet, control was exactly what I was losing. My own problems were stacking up like a house of cards, and if I didn't act soon, the entire empire I had spent years building would crumble beneath me. The irony wasn't lost on me. Naomi's business was failing. Mine was under siege. And the one solution I had-one that could solve both our problems-depended entirely on whether or not she was desperate enough to take my offer. I tapped a finger against my jaw, considering my options. Naomi was proud. Too proud. She wouldn't come to me willingly. If I showed up now, she'd slam the door in my face. But give her a little time-let the lawsuits pile up, let the Kensingtons drag her name through the mud-then she'd have no choice but to listen. I wasn't a man who left things to chance. I played to win. And this time? I wasn't just playing for myself. I was playing for her, too. Even if she didn't know it yet. **** (Later That Night) "Hey, bro, tell me you've seen the papers today..." Julian's voice came through from the other end of my phone. I sighed, leaning back in my car seat. "I have," I answered, my tone curt as I pressed a finger to the bridge of my nose. "And you have seen it." It wasn't a question but I knew what he was subtly asking me. I exhaled sharply. "Yes, I have seen the Lancaster scandal and no, I am not interested." Julian scoffed. "You've always been such a shitty liar, you know." "Fuck off," I muttered to which he laughed. "You should go visit her, see how she's doing," he added. This time I was the one who laughed out loud. "You did not just tell me to visit my ex-wife like we have been on speaking terms since our divorce?" "Well..." Julian drawled and I could imagine him shrugging. "You can never be sure until you see her." I contemplated his words long after our call ended, if what Julian said was the truth... I shook my head, trying to get rid of all the nonsense thoughts in them. I didn't plan to see her. Not yet. But when my driver arrived at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and I spotted her-sitting alone at an outdoor café, her phone in hand, her gaze far away-I told him to stop. The city was buzzing around her. Taxis honked. Pedestrians hurried by, absorbed in their own lives. But Naomi sat still, hardly touching the untouched coffee before her. She looked different. Not in the obvious ways-she was still stunning, still carried herself with the same effortless grace that used to drive me insane. But there was something else. Something in her posture. Something in how she stared blankly at her phone, as if preparing for the next disaster. I knew that look. It was the look of someone barely keeping their head above water. I could've walked away. Could've ignored the way my chest tightened at the sight of her. But I didn't. Instead, I got out of the car, adjusted my jacket, and crossed the street. Her fingers clutched her phone so tightly that I wondered if she even noticed. I stopped beside her table but she didn't look up as she was self-absorbed into staring at her phone "Still prefer your coffee black, or have your tastes changed?" I called out, my time light and vague. Her head jerked up so fast I almost smirked. Almost. Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, I saw it-the flicker of recognition, the memories of what we had been and what we weren't anymore. Then, just as quickly, her face turned cold. "What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered. "Resorting to stalking now?" I raised an eyebrow and put my hands in my pockets. "I was in the neighborhood." "Bullshit." I let out a quiet laugh. Some things never changed. Naomi has never believed in coincidences. She leaned back in her chair, sitting rigidly. Her defenses were up, the same ones I had tried-and failed-to break through for years. "I honestly don't have time for whatever shit you're trying to pull right now, Killian." She waved vaguely at the space between us, as if the invisible connection between us was more than just a hassle. I ignored her dismissal and took the chair across from her. She exhaled sharply. "Seriously?" I shrugged. "I thought you might like some company." Her jaw tightened, but she didn't ask me to go. That was progress. I leaned back, studying her as my gut clenched. Fuck, she still looked so beautiful. "You look like hell," I said, clearing my throat. "Wow," she muttered, rolling her eyes dramatically. "What a compliment." "You're welcome." I nodded. Her lips twitched, but she quickly masked it with a scowl, shaking her head slightly. For a moment, we both stayed silent. The city continued around us, cars and voices merging into a distant noise. Finally, she sighed. "You read the article." It wasn't a question. I nodded. "It's brutal." She scoffed. "That's one way to say it." The bitterness in her voice made something in my chest tighten. I hated that she was going through this. Hated that I didn't hate it enough to walk away. I could've told her the truth right then. That I had an offer-one that could solve everything, keep her business running, and shield her from the fallout. But I didn't think Naomi was ready to hear it. Not yet. So instead, I just said, "It'll pass." She let out a humorless laugh. "No, Killian. It won't. My company is done. The lawsuits, the bad press-there's no recovering from this." I tilted my head to the side. "Since when do you give up so fast?" A flicker crossed her eyes-anger, perhaps. Or something deeper. Something raw. "I don't," she said quietly. I held her gaze. "Then prove it." She looked at me for a while, as if trying to understand what I wasn't saying. Then, she exhaled and shook her head. "What are you doing here, Killian?" I should've told her. Should've laid out my plan, explained exactly why I needed her, why she needed me. Instead, I just said, "I'll see you soon, Naomi." And before she could argue, before she could put up another wall, I stood and walked away. Because this wasn't the time. But soon? Soon, she'd have no choice but to listen.

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.