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ONE

Zayn

When you leave your brother’s wedding late and have a meeting the next day with the interior designer who’s supposed to transform your new casinos and clubs, there’s only one possible outcome—you’re late.

Why? Because I didn’t set my alarm. No, I wasn’t so drunk that I punched random numbers into my phone before passing out, in case that’s what you’re thinking. I was simply exhausted by the time I went to bed.

I made sure to limit myself to two glasses of wine last night. I was far more interested in spending time with my family at Ethan’s wedding and celebrating the fact that he and Thalia had finally made it to this moment.

I love Ethan like a brother—and he is my brother, even if we don’t share the same blood—but the bastard should consider himself unbelievably lucky that a woman like Thalia fell in love with him.

Then again, he already knows that.

That’s exactly why he didn’t waste any time before making her his wife.

Good for him.

I managed to get some sleep on the jet, but I also spent a good part of the flight studying the designer’s previous projects—the portfolio he’d sent to my assistant after I requested it.

Our mothers had already worked with him during the renovation of both family homes, and they hadn’t stopped singing his praises ever since.

Frankly, they praised him so much that it made me suspicious. Before dedicating one of Hartho’s largest projects to someone I’d never met, I wanted proof that he deserved the reputation.

That was one of the reasons I asked him to meet me directly at one of the casinos. I wanted him to bring his entire team so I could watch them work in real time and see whether they truly had the vision to turn this place into the most extravagant, luxurious casino London had ever seen.

I’d already provided every document and measurement he’s requested, all the materials he could need, and I’d arranged for several people from one of Hartho’s construction sites to be here in case his team needed additional support.

All I had to do was actually show up.

As always, whenever you’re in a hurry, traffic suddenly decides to become everyone’s favorite hobby. Even scrolling through social media fails to distract me.

I hate being late.

Especially for a first meeting with a potential collaborator.

“We’ll be there in two minutes, Zayn,” my driver, James, says.

“Thank God,” I mutter, exhaling in relief.

He chuckles.

Barely a moment later, the car glides to a stop at the foot of the casino’s entrance. James is already reaching for the door, but I don’t wait for him. I step out on my own and take the stairs two at a time.

The moment I walk inside, controlled chaos greets me.

Workers carry oversized decorative wall panels across the room while others secure them into place. Fresh paint perfumes the air, mixing with the scent of sawdust and plaster. Someone is installing mirrored ceiling panels, another is taking measurements, several people stand around tables covered with samples, comparing fabrics, marble finishes, lighting fixtures, and color palettes.

Exactly what I’d hoped to see.

“Good morning,” I call out as I walk farther inside.

A chorus of greetings comes back. A few workers pause long enough to glance in my direction before returning to what they were doing.

My eyes sweep across the room, searching for the designer.

Nothing.

Maybe he’s dressed like everyone else, working alongside his crew.