Page 31 of Click of Fate

There goes my quiet weekend.

The one I was supposed to spend editing, sleeping in, and maybe even reading a book that didn’t require margin notes or a deadline. Instead, I’m going to be dodging flower girls and photographing strangers pledging forever.

Great. Just great.

I’m halfway through one of the pastries when Layla pokes her head in, tablet in hand and expression curious.

“Hi, Stella!” she says in a surprised tone, but I’m sure she knew I was coming.

She glances at the table, then at Cassie, who is beaming. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“Stella’s shooting a wedding for me!”

Layla’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “FINALLY! I’ve been telling you to shoot weddings for years. You’ll be amazing!”

I hold up a hand like a traffic cop.

“No. This is not me joining HEA. This is a one-time thing. You both owe me. Big time.”

Cassie nods furiously, like I’ve just offered her a second chance at life.

“Absolutely. Anything you want.”

Layla laughs at Cassie’s excitement. “You say that now… but what if you love it?”

“I won’t,” I tell her.

Layla smirks but doesn’t argue, which somehow feels worse. Like she knows something I don’t.

I sigh, finishing my coffee like it’s a shot of something stronger.

“You two better not get used to this.”

Cassie and Layla exchange a look that’s way too smug.

“Of course not,” Cassie says.

“Definitely not,” Layla agrees.

I narrow my eyes. I don’t believe them for a second.

And judging by the way that pink folder is practically glowing with preparation, I’m going to regret this.

The folder feels heavier than it should. It's just paper, details, and timelines for a job I agreed to against my better judgment, but walking out of HEA with it tucked under my arm makes it feel…bigger.

Like I just signed up for something more than a one-time favor.

Maybe it’s the way Cassie looked at me, like she’s already penciling me into the HEA roster. Or maybe it’s the way Layla didn’t argue, just smiled like she knows how this ends.

I’m not joining the wedding machine. I’m not trading in late nights and editorial spreads for floral backdrops and champagne toasts. That’s not me. That’s never been me.

But still, there’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. Like I just stepped onto a path I didn’t mean to choose.

I glance down at the pink folder again, then shove it deeper into my bag.

It’s one wedding. That’s it. A favor for a friend.

And yet, as I push open the door and step out into the bright afternoon, I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted.

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