In the bustling state of New York City, Ivy Davis was focused on her business. She had worked hard to grow her catering career, and though she wasn't famous, she had built a solid reputation with many loyal clients.
At the moment, she was preparing for one of the most important jobs of her life. Her business partner, Dave Carson, had landed a wedding contract with a distinguished and highly influential client.
At first, Ivy had been hesitant to accept the job. The guest list was intimidating, and she worried about who she might run into. But eventually, she agreed. She didn't want to disappoint her partner, and this was the kind of opportunity that could take her business to the next level. Besides, she told herself, there was only a slim chance—one percent, maybe—that he would even be there.
The following day was the wedding, and Ivy meticulously checked her list to ensure everything was in order. As the head chef in charge of all cooking and baking, she knew this event could determine her career for the next decade. The guest list read like a who's who of New York's elite: politicians, wealthy heirs and heiresses, business tycoons, and celebrities. This was her moment to impress.
Still, Ivy's mind couldn't shake the thought of possibly seeing *him*. She tried to push it away. "This isn't about him. This is about my business," she reminded herself.
After double-checking that all the prepared foods and ingredients were ready for the next day, Ivy gave her assistant a list of early morning tasks and closed her small restaurant. She needed rest.
At 4 a.m. the next day, Ivy woke up and called her team. Together, they headed to the wedding venue to set up their equipment. Cooking for such a large event required hours of preparation. Some dishes would be pre-made, but others had to be cooked fresh on demand. With guests ranging from vegetarians to picky eaters, Ivy ensured every possible ingredient was on hand.
She wasn't just a chef; she was an expert in her craft. Ivy could cook over 200 different dishes. The job was grueling, but she loved it. This wasn't her original career plan, yet it brought her peace and paid her bills.
By the time the setup was complete and all ingredients prepped, the sun was already climbing in the sky. Ivy handed responsibilities over to her assistant chef, instructing her to oversee things while she went home to freshen up. As the face of her business, she needed to look her best.
Back at home, as she dressed and styled her long, silky black hair, Ivy caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her blue eyes stared back at her—eyes she had inherited from her mother. People often said she was her mother's carbon copy, but Ivy didn't have time for relationships or admirers. She sighed. Maybe it was time to let someone in. This constant hustle, always keeping people at arm's length, wasn't healthy.
Shaking off the thought, she applied her makeup and slipped into a simple but elegant dress. "There's no way he'll be there," she told herself firmly as she left for the venue.
The wedding was stunning. The decorations were fit for royalty—white roses everywhere, delicate chandeliers, and an air of luxury. The groom was the son of a governor and a prominent businessman, while the bride was the daughter of a Duke and a renowned ballet dancer. Ivy couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched the beautiful couple. She dreamed of a love like that one day.
The event progressed smoothly until a sudden commotion rippled through the reception hall. Guests whispered excitedly, and photographers surged toward the door.
"What's going on?" Ivy wondered aloud, though she forced herself to focus on her team. She supervised waitresses as they served dishes and directed cooks preparing special orders.
The kitchen area was far from the reception, so she couldn't see who had arrived. After the commotion settled, Ivy asked a returning waitress what had happened.
"The prince has arrived," the waitress said breathlessly. "Prince Henry Ashvalor."
Ivy's stomach dropped. Prince Henry Ashvalor. Him.
Panic fluttered in her chest. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. Why was he even here? This wedding, though luxurious, wasn't the type she imagined would attract royalty.
She resolved to stay in the kitchen and keep her distance. If she stayed out of sight, he wouldn't notice her.
But her plan didn't last long.
Not twenty minutes later, a waitress brought in an order—from the prince himself. Ivy's heart skipped. She prepared the requested dish carefully, her hands trembling slightly.
When the waitress returned, she wasn't alone. She had brought the groom.
Ivy's brows furrowed. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
The groom smiled apologetically. "No, no. Everything's fine. It's just... Prince Henry wants to meet the chef who prepared his meal. He asked me to bring you."
Ivy shook her head quickly. "Oh no, that's not necessary. It was just a simple snack—"
"Please, Miss Davis," the groom interrupted gently. "It would be disrespectful to refuse. He's our guest of honor."
Reluctantly, Ivy followed him to the reception hall. Anxiety tightened her chest as they approached the VIP section. Henry Ashvalor sat there, flanked by two bodyguards. His gaze locked onto her the moment she entered.
Ivy looked away, cheeks burning. She felt every eye in the room turn toward her as she approached his table.
"You sent for me, Your Highness?" she said softly, bowing her head slightly.
Henry didn't answer at first. He simply studied her, his intense stare making her shift uncomfortably.
The groom broke the silence. "Your Highness, this is the chef who prepared your meal."
Henry finally spoke, his deep voice calm yet commanding. "I was impressed. I want you to work for me. I'd like you to be my personal chef."
Ivy's eyes widened. "Your Highness, I—I'm honored, but—"
He raised a hand, cutting her off. "Think carefully about your next words. You wouldn't want to embarrass me in front of all these guests, would you?"
The room fell silent, all attention fixed on her. Important men and women, journalists, and influencers watched eagerly for her response. Refusing him outright would be disastrous.
Swallowing her nerves, Ivy forced a smile. "It would be an honor to be your personal chef, Your Highness."
Henry's lips curved into a satisfied smile.
As Ivy bowed her head again, panic surged inside her. "What have I gotten myself into?" she thought.