I Don't Trust Him One Bit

Riley

The soft hum of my office air conditioner blends with the sound of my pen scratching against paper. The past month has been a whirlwind—wedding planning, board meetings, and learning the intricacies of my father's company. 

My desk is cluttered with contracts and sample swatches for wedding linens, a glaring symbol of the balancing act my life has become.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. My first wedding was all planned for me, so I didn't sit with this last time. But there's a quiet satisfaction that comes with knowing you're planning your own wedding the way you want to be.

Stressful, yes, but also oddly fulfilling. I'm doing it—managing everything my father built while carving out a life of my own.

The knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. My PA, Marcy, pokes her head in, her expression hesitant. "Ms. King, there's someone here to see you."