PROLOGUE

The music was too loud, the champagne too warm, and Anthony Scarfeild was already regretting his second glass.

He stood near the edge of the rooftop terrace, watching his best friend twirl his fiancée under a string of fairy lights. The city skyline glittered behind them like a congratulatory backdrop. Anthony adjusted his cufflinks, resisting the urge to check his watch. He wasn’t good at parties especially not ones celebrating the kind of love he spent his career dismantling.

Anthony Scarfeild didn’t believe in forever.

He believed in prenups, exit strategies, and the quiet relief of a clean break. Love, in his world, was a contract with too many loopholes and he’d made a career out of finding them.

At his best friend’s engagement party, he stood beneath a canopy of fairy lights, watching champagne flutes clink and promises float into the night air. The groom-to-be was radiant. The bride, glowing. And Anthony, well… he was calculating how long it would last.

He wasn’t bitter. Just realistic.

The music swelled. Laughter echoed. Someone mentioned wedding plans, and Anthony nodded, already bracing for the chaos ahead. He’d be involved, of course loyalty demanded it. But he had no intention of getting swept up in the romance.

Not until a meeting he hadn’t planned for. Not until a woman he hadn’t met. Not until a bond he hadn’t seen coming one that would challenge everything he thought he knew about love.

Chapter One

MEET THE LAWYER

Anthony Scarfeild had just won his 27th case.

Nine years in the courtroom, only one loss a record that made clients fight to have him and opposing lawyers dread the sight of him.

Ruthless, calculated, and unshakably composed, Anthony was the kind of attorney who didn’t just win — he dismantled.

But today, walking out of the courthouse under a bright San Diego sun, victory felt hollow.

He slipped into his Ford Mustang Mach-E without a glance back.

Another win. Another headline. Another day that didn’t feel like much.

It had been a year since the divorce.

Janet was gone. No kids. No lingering ties. Just silence — the kind that echoed in the spaces they used to share. The breakup had been brutal, the kind that left scars invisible to everyone but him.

He didn’t talk about it. Didn’t need to.

He had a flight to catch.

In a few hours, he’d be heading to Ohio — not for a case, but for James. His best friend. His only real friend.

James and Anthony grew up together,

they attended the same high school and college.

James was getting married in a few months’ time and he had asked Anthony to be his legal Counselor.

If it was any other person, Anthony will have refused because he couldn’t care less if the pay was high or not.

Anthony had a different view on weddings and marriage as his last marriage left him with a scar.

Anthony pulled into his driveway, the hum of the electric engine fading as he shut off the car.

His house was modern, minimalist much like his life.

No photos on the walls.

No signs of shared memories.

Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and silence.

Inside, he tossed his briefcase on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge.

A half-empty bottle of whiskey stared back at him. He considered it, then shut the door. Not today.

His phone buzzed.

James: “Flight’s at 7pm. Don’t be late, bro. And wear something that doesn’t scream ‘courtroom assassin.’”

Anthony smirked. James was the only person who could joke about his reputation and live to tell the tale.

He packed light suits, ties, and a pair of cufflinks Janet had given him years ago. He hesitated, then left them behind.

As he zipped his bag, his eyes caught the wedding invitation pinned to the fridge. Elegant cursive. Gold trim. James & Clara.

He’d met Clara once. Sweet, bubbly, the kind of woman who believed in fairy tales. Anthony didn’t.

He checked the time. Three hours to go.

Anthony sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through emails. One caught his eye a forwarded message from James.

Subject: Clara’s Planner Wants to Review

Anthony frowned. Planner? Since when did wedding planners review legal documents?

He clicked the attachment. The comments were highlighted in pink.

Flowery language.

Suggestions like “Add a clause about mutual emotional support” and “Consider a poetic preamble about love.”

He scoffed. Who the hell is this planner?

Then he saw the name.

Amelia Hart.

He didn’t know her. But something about the way she wrote bold, romantic, unapologetically idealistic irritated him. And intrigued him.

Anthony leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

The silence in the room wrapped around him like a weighted blanket familiar, but heavy.

He had three hours before his flight, and the fatigue from the courtroom was finally catching up to him.

He sat up and walked over to his desk, where a slim black folder waited.

Inside were the documents James had sent prenup drafts, financial disclosures, and a few notes from Clara’s wedding planner.

Anthony flipped through each page with sharp eyes, marking sections that needed clarification. He scribbled a few comments in the margins, mostly legal jargon, but paused when he reached the planner’s notes again.

“Add a clause about mutual emotional support.” “Consider a poetic preamble about love.”

He rolled his eyes. Emotional support isn’t legally binding, he muttered. Still, he didn’t cross it out. Not yet.

Satisfied with the review, he closed the folder and set it aside.

His stomach growled a low, persistent reminder that he hadn’t eaten since morning.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the exhaustion settle in his bones.

Winning cases didn’t mean much when your body was running on fumes.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge again.

This time, he grabbed a carton of eggs and a pack of turkey bacon. Simple. Fast. He cracked the eggs into a pan and let the sizzle fill the silence.

The smell of food brought a strange comfort, grounding him in the moment.

As he ate at the counter, he glanced at the clock. Two hours and forty minutes left.

He rinsed his plate, grabbed his bag, and did a final sweep of the house. Lights off. Doors locked. Documents packed.

He slipped on his blazer, checked his phone for the flight confirmation, and headed out. The sun was beginning to dip behind the skyline as Anthony slid into his Mustang and started the engine. He didn’t look back at the house. He never did.

This trip wasn’t about celebration. It was about duty. And maybe just maybe something else he hadn’t yet named.