The billionaire's fated luna

POV: Amora Amora Sinclair's phone buzzed against her nightstand like an angry bee, dragging her from a dream she couldn't quite remember. She groaned, slapped her hand around blindly until her fingers found the cold glass screen. "You look like a woman who just realized she's too pretty for her own good," Miracle's voice chirped through the speaker. "And also like you forgot to set an alarm. Again." Amora squinted at the ceiling, her chestnut hair splayed across the pillow like a messy halo. "It's six in the morning, Miracle. The sun isn't even fully awake yet. Why are you…?" "Because I'm your best friend and I know you have that big meeting today." Miracle's voice was pure sunshine, the kind that made Amora want to throw a pillow at her and hug her at the same time. "I called to say you're going to kill it. Now get up, drink water, and don't wear that blue blouse with the stain on the cuff." Amora laughed, her voice still rough with sleep. "You're a menace, you know that?" "I'm a menace who loves you. Now go. Shoo. Text me after the meeting." The call ended. Amora stared at her phone for a long moment, a smile tugging at her lips. Miracle Hart had been her rock since college, the kind of friend who showed up with ice cream and terrible jokes whenever life got heavy. Today, Amora needed that energy. Today was big. She sat up slowly, her tiny studio apartment coming into focus. The space was cramped but cozy—her sanctuary. Plants hung from the ceiling, their green leaves catching the golden morning light streaming through her thin curtains. Thrift-store furniture sat arranged with careful intention. A worn leather armchair she'd found on the curb and reupholstered herself. A coffee table she'd sanded and painted pale blue. Every piece told a story of patience and determination. But the heart of the room was her workspace: a large wooden desk cluttered with sketchbooks, colored pencils, fabric swatches, and a half-finished model of a luxury hotel lobby she'd been designing for weeks. Amora ran her fingers over the miniature furniture, adjusting a tiny velvet sofa. She loved this part—the creation, the transformation, the way empty spaces became homes in her mind before they existed in the world. "Okay, Amora," she muttered to herself, swinging her legs out of bed. "Today you do the thing. The big thing. The thing that changes everything." The thing was Knight Global Holdings. Two weeks ago, she'd submitted a proposal to stage their annual charity gala. It was the biggest opportunity of her career. Knight Global wasn't just any company—it was a kingdom, a billionaire empire that touched everything from real estate to technology. And their gala wasn't just any event. It was the event of the season, attended by the richest and most powerful people in New York. Amora had spent every waking hour on that proposal. She'd sketched layouts, researched color psychology, calculated floral budgets, and imagined every detail down to the champagne flutes. She'd poured her soul into those pages, and somehow, impossibly, they'd called her back. "I can't believe they actually chose me," she whispered to her reflection as she brushed her teeth. "I'm a nobody with a dream and a sketchbook." Her reflection stared back, soft brown eyes wide with nervous excitement. She was pretty in an unassuming way—the kind of pretty people noticed after they'd spent time with her. Her face was gentle, her cheekbones high, her smile genuine. She looked like someone you could trust, someone who'd listen to your problems and never judge. She'd need that today. She'd need to be warm, professional, and unforgettable. By seven-thirty, Amora was dressed in a cream silk blouse and tailored navy trousers. She'd checked the blue blouse Miracle mentioned—it did have a small coffee stain on the cuff, damn it—and chose this one instead. She twisted her chestnut hair into a neat bun, leaving a few soft strands to frame her face. Simple makeup. Red lipstick for confidence. Her phone buzzed again. "How's my favorite interior designer?" Miracle's voice was bright and teasing. "You look like a million bucks, by the way. I can see you from here. My psychic powers are strong this morning." Amora laughed, grabbing her leather messenger bag. "You're ridiculous. And I look like I haven't slept in three days, which is accurate." "You look like a woman who's about to conquer the world," Miracle corrected. "There's a difference. Now give me the rundown. What's the plan?" Amora paused at her door, hand on the knob. She looked back at her tiny apartment—her plants, her sketches, her dreams on every surface. "The plan is to walk into that building, smile at everyone, and convince them I'm the best thing that ever happened to their gala." "That's not a plan. That's a vibe." "It's a vibe backed by seventy pages of research and the most gorgeous color palette you've ever seen," Amora said, grinning. "I've got this, Mira. I have to." She could hear Miracle's smile through the phone. "That's my girl. You call me the second you're done, okay? I need every detail. Especially if there are handsome billionaires involved." Amora rolled her eyes. "There won't be. I'm meeting with the event planning team, not the CEO. David Knight probably doesn't even know I exist." "Yet," Miracle said ominously. "He doesn't know you exist yet. Now go. Be brilliant. I love you." "Love you too." Amora hung up and stepped into the hallway of her modest apartment building. The paint was peeling, the carpet was faded, and the elevator had been broken for six months. But it was hers. She'd worked hard for this space, for this life, for every single thing she owned. Today, she was going to take the next step. The subway ride was crowded and hot, but Amora didn't mind. She stood in the corner, sketchbook open, making tiny adjustments to her presentation. A woman in a business suit glanced at her drawings and smiled. "That's beautiful," she said. "Are you an artist?" Amora looked up, surprised. "Interior designer," she said. "This is for a project." "The Knight gala?" the woman asked. "I heard they were hiring independent designers. That's huge." Amora's heart swelled. "It really is. I'm hoping I get the job." "You will," the woman said with confidence. "I can tell. You've got that look." "What look?" "The one that says you're not going to stop until you get exactly what you want." Amora smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you. I needed to hear that." The woman nodded and got off at the next stop. Amora watched her go, feeling buoyed by the unexpected kindness. New York could be cold, but sometimes, just sometimes, it gave you exactly what you needed. Knight Global Holdings headquarters rose above Manhattan like a monument to ambition. Glass and steel, gleaming in the morning sun, it was the kind of building that made you feel small and inspired at the same time. Amora stood at the base, craning her neck to see the top. She couldn't. It disappeared into the clouds. "Okay, Amora," she breathed. "You've got this. You're talented. You're prepared. You belong here." She walked through the revolving doors into a lobby that took her breath away. Marble floors. A cascading water feature. Minimalist furniture in shades of gray and gold. It was cold and beautiful and intimidating. The receptionist was a polished woman with a bright smile. "Good morning! Can I help you?" "Hi, I'm Amora Sinclair. I have a meeting with the event planning team about the charity gala." The receptionist consulted her screen. "Yes, Ms. Sinclair. They're expecting you. Take the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. Someone will meet you there." Amora nodded, her heart racing. "Thank you." The elevator ride was long and silent. Amora watched the numbers climb, her reflection staring back at her from the polished metal doors. She smoothed her blouse, checked her lipstick, and reminded herself that she was more than just a nervous girl from a tiny apartment. You've got this. You've got this. You've got this. The doors opened onto a sleek, modern office space. Wide windows offered panoramic views of the city. Minimalist desks dotted the room, occupied by serious-looking people who typed furiously on keyboards. It was efficient, intimidating, and utterly corporate. "Ms. Sinclair?" A young woman approached, her smile professional and welcoming. "I'm Rachel. I'm the event coordinator's assistant. They're ready for you in the conference room." "Thank you," Amora said, following her through the maze of desks. The conference room was even more impressive. A long glass table dominated the space, surrounded by leather chairs. One wall was a screen displaying the current gala budget. The other was a window overlooking Central Park. Amora's heart did a little flip. Three people sat at the table—two women and a man, all dressed in sharp business attire. They rose to greet her, shaking her hand with practiced efficiency. "Ms. Sinclair, we've reviewed your proposal extensively. It's impressive work." Amora's face flushed with warmth. "Thank you. I put a lot of thought into it." "We have a few questions about the floral budget and the layout adjustments you suggested for the main ballroom. If you're ready to discuss?" Amora nodded, pulling out her sketchbook and notes. She was ready. She'd been ready for weeks. An hour later, Amora walked out of Knight Global headquarters on cloud nine. The meeting had gone better than she'd dared to hope. They'd loved her ideas, asked thoughtful questions, and practically offered her the job on the spot. She was supposed to hear back by the end of the week, but she already knew. She'd gotten it. She could feel it. Her phone buzzed immediately. "Amora! Tell me everything!" Amora laughed, stepping onto the busy sidewalk. "Miracle, I think I did it. I think I actually did it." "Wait, wait, wait. They offered it to you?" "Not officially, but they basically said I was their top choice. I have to wait for the final confirmation, but" Miracle screamed. Amora held the phone away from her ear, grinning. "That's amazing! I knew it! I told you! You're brilliant and talented and nobody else stood a chance!" "I don't know about all that" "Stop being modest. This is huge! We need to celebrate. Tonight. I'm coming over with champagne and terrible movies." Amora felt tears prick at her eyes. She blinked them away, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotion. "That sounds perfect, Mira. Thank you." "Don't thank me yet. I'm still deciding which terrible movie to pick. Something with werewolves, maybe? Or vampires? I'm feeling supernatural tonight." Amora laughed. "Whatever you want. I'll be home by seven." "Seven it is. I love you. You're my hero." "Love you too." Amora hung up and stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the massive glass tower that had just changed her life. The sun was warm on her face. The city hummed around her. And for the first time in a long time, Amora Sinclair felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She had no idea that in just a few weeks, she'd return to this building and meet a man who would shatter everything she thought she knew about herself. No idea that she'd walk into a gala and find her destiny in a pair of cold silver-gray eyes. But that was later. For now, she was just a girl who dreamed big, and the world was finally starting to dream with her.