Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Calloway Development
The gala invite was accompanied by a glossy magazine spread featuring Ryan and Savannah Brooks. They were now officially engaged, set to be married in a high-profile ceremony at the Plaza Hotel. The article touted Ryan as a visionary titan of industry, detailing his billion-dollar firm’s latest acquisitions and portraying Savannah as his stylish, supportive muse.
At first, I tossed the invitation straight into the recycling bin. Why look back at a ghost?
Then I saw the guest list and the list of corporate sponsors. Calloway Development was currently bidding on a massive municipal waterfront project—the exact same urban revitalization contract that my own growing firm, Hallowell Design, had secretly submitted a competitive proposal for. Rumor had it that the city committee was leaning heavily toward the innovative, sustainable community layout I had designed, which directly threatened Ryan’s monopoly.
More importantly, I realized something else: hiding meant letting him win. It meant letting him believe he had broken me completely.
I pulled the heavy silver card back out of the bin.
I needed to be in that room. Not as the discarded, pregnant wife crying in a Manhattan law firm, but as a formidable competitor—and a successful businesswoman holding her head high.
There was just one minor issue: high-society Manhattan galas of that magnitude required strict VIP access, and flying solo as a boutique up-and-comer might draw unwanted, awkward scrutiny from reporters looking for gossip about Ryan’s past.
That was when Marcus Vance entered the picture.
Marcus was a legend in the city—a reclusive, thirty-eight-year-old tech and logistics billionaire who practically owned half the commercial shipping ports on the East Coast. He was notoriously ruthless in business, fiercely protective of his privacy, and famously immune to the charms of society gold-diggers. He was also the single man Ryan Calloway had spent five years trying—and failing—to defeat in multiple high-stakes corporate acquisitions.
Marcus and I had crossed paths a month earlier when Hallowell Design successfully consulted on the structural logistics for one of his downtown logistics hubs. Impressed by my work ethic and unpretentious sharpness, Marcus had offered mentorship, turning into a staunch professional ally.
When he dropped by my office to review blueprints and noticed the gala invitation sitting on my desk, a slow, dangerous smile crossed his face.
“You’re thinking of going?” Marcus asked, leaning against my drafting table.
“I am,” I replied steadily. “My firm’s proposal is up for review by the committee members who will all be in that room. I need to be seen.”
“And you need a date who will make Calloway choke on his champagne,” Marcus added smoothly.
May you like
I blinked, surprised. “Marcus, I wouldn't ask you to walk into a society circus just for my petty revenge.”
“It’s not petty, Claire. It’s business,” Marcus said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Besides, I’ve been looking for an excuse to put Calloway in his place after his pathetic stunt with the shipping yard bids last quarter. Consider me your date. Pick you up at seven.”
