THE 24-HOUR SEARCH

ALMOST DESTROYED

Emmy had always been the kind of woman people instinctively trusted. The bishop’s daughter—raised with quiet grace, gentle manners, and a heart that never learned how to hold grudges. She wasn’t loud or dramatic; she carried herself with the soft confidence of someone who grew up surrounded by love, faith, and careful expectations. And now, by a twist of fate and destiny, she was engaged to Daniel—Prince Adams’ closest friend, one of the country’s youngest business moguls. To everyone else, she was blessed. To Emmy, she was simply trying to be the good girl she’d always been, even while the world around her began shifting faster than she could catch up.

EMMY - POV

The moment my phone rang, I didn’t need to check the screen—I already knew. Priscy had been calling nonstop since morning, demanding every detail of the wedding planning because she was out of town and couldn’t roam the streets with me like she wanted.

“Babyyyyyy bride!” she screamed the second I picked up.

I burst into laughter. “You’re crazy! Calm down before you tear my eardrum.”

“Calm down for what? My friend is getting married! Emmy, I swear I haven’t slept since I traveled. I can’t wait to come back. How are things going? Dress fitting? Venue? Food? Did Daniel annoy you today? Tell me something!”

Her excitement was so contagious that I found myself grinning like a fool.

“Don’t use me as an excuse to escape that conference you never wanted to attend. Everything’s fine. I’m on my way for my dinner-outfit fitting. I’ll send you pictu—”

The driver pulled up in front of the designer’s shop. He hurried to open my door.

“Priscy, hold on,” I said, gathering my bag. “I’ve reached. I’ll call when I’m done.”

She groaned dramatically. “Fine, fine. Go and become a beautiful bride. Bye, madam.”

I laughed and hung up, stepping into the familiar cool air of the designer’s studio. The place always smelled like fresh fabric and expensive perfume. We had barely started taking my upper-body measurements when my phone rang again.

The designer raised a brow. “Your friend again?”

“My event planner,” I sighed.

But the moment I picked up, the tone of her voice made my stomach clench.

“Emmy… we have a situation.”

My heart dropped. “What situation?”

“It’s the pastry chef. She cancelled.”

I blinked. “Cancelled what?”

“She—” The planner paused as if searching for the least ridiculous version of the story. “She won a lottery trip to Dubai. And her travel date is the same day as your wedding.”

I froze. “So she’s ditching my wedding… for tourism?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I shut my eyes tightly. “Does she know who my husband is? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

A hot wave of frustration punched through me. My wedding was supposed to be private. Elegant. Stress-free—not this circus. She should have been honored we chose her. My fiancé is one of the most influential business moguls in the country, and she thought it wise to cancel—just like that?

I ended the call before my voice cracked and immediately dialed another friend.

“Hello? Please, do you know any pastry chef we can trust? Someone who won’t bail or leak my wedding to the entire country?”

I was still ranting when the studio door opened.

Daniel walked in, still in his work suit—tie slightly loosened, tired but effortlessly handsome. The moment he spotted me pacing and arguing on the phone, he walked straight over. Without a word, I stretched my free hand toward him. He took it gently, kissed it, and brushed his thumb across my knuckles.

Concern filled his eyes.

I hurriedly ended my call. “Baby… the pastry chef cancelled.”

He blinked. “Cancelled? Why?”

“Because she suddenly discovered she has an expensive taste for Dubai vacations,” I snapped.

Daniel burst into laughter—full, deep, annoyingly beautiful.

I glared at him. “It’s not funny.”

He straightened immediately, though a smile lingered at the corner of his lips. “Okay, okay. I’m serious now. I’m sorry. Tell me everything.”

I explained while pacing like a lunatic. When I finished, he shook his head slowly.

“Who sends you to pick a pastry chef who wins lotteries anyhow?”

Before I could respond, the designer cleared her throat dramatically.

“Erm… Emmy dear,” she said, placing her tape around her neck. “I might be able to help.”

Daniel and I turned at the same time, identical suspicion on our faces, making her laugh.

“No, no—I’m not saying I can bake,” she added quickly. “Please, I’m not about to embarrass myself. I know someone.”

“Someone?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“She’s the woman I buy meat pies from every morning. My son eats them for school. Her pastries are heavenly. I’ve been eating from her for years and she has never disappointed me.”

Daniel raised a brow at me. I stared back, silently asking, Should we trust this?

He gave a small nod. “Try her. But we taste her food first.”

Relief loosened the knot in my chest. At least the after-party wasn’t completely doomed.

---

Meanwhile…

Elsa’s mother had just finished wiping the kitchen counter when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and instantly brightened.

“The fashion designer?” she muttered, quickly answering. “Hello, madam! Good evening!”

Elsa watched from the living room as her mother’s expression shifted—from confusion, to disbelief, to full-blown excitement.

“Yes, I’m listening… ahh, pastries? You need pastries now?” Her hand flew to her chest. “A famous couple? You want me to bake for their wedding? Ha! Their wedding cake too?

Her voice climbed with every word.

“Right now? Samples? I should bring them now? No problem! I’m coming in ten minutes!”

She ended the call with a gasp and spun dramatically toward Elsa.

“Elsa! Come and help me pack pastries! Quick! I’m taking them to a celebrity!”

Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Mummy, please. You and exaggeration are twins. They may not be celebrities. Maybe they’re just rich.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes in mock offense. “Do you think I don’t know a celebrity when I hear one? The designer said famous couple. Famous! And you’re here running your mouth.”

“Mummy, last week you said the woman who bought puff-puff was a celebrity because her hair was long.”

“Oh, shut up!” Her mother grabbed a slipper and flung it at her. Elsa ducked, laughing.

Minutes later, her mother emerged again—this time with a tray of pastries, her excitement refusing to hide.

“Will you behave yourself? And don’t touch any more spring rolls! They’re for sale. If one is missing, I’ll count your head too.”

Elsa held her ears dramatically. “Yes ma. Sorry ma.”

Her mother tried to stay stern, but her joy betrayed her. She kept adjusting her headscarf, checking her reflection on the microwave door, humming as though she were preparing to meet royalty.

“Mummy, relax,” Elsa teased as she walked her to the door. “You’re shaking.”

“Leave me! Let me shake in peace,” her mom said, practically glowing. “Do you know who I’m going to meet? Celebrities! I cannot be calm.”

She stepped out with her pastries, almost floating down the walkway. Elsa watched her, smiling despite herself.

“Exaggeration woman,” she murmured fondly.

She quietly closed the door and leaned against it, her smile softening.

She looks so happy. So proud.

For a moment, Elsa dared to imagine what it would feel like to make her mother that happy. To be the one getting married to someone important. To have people whispering about her. To be someone worth talking about.

But the fantasy cracked quickly.

Her smile faded.

I’m unemployed. I can’t even secure a simple office job. Which famous person would ever look at me twice?

She walked into the kitchen, spotted the spring rolls, and reached for one automatically. Comfort food—her loyal companion.

But her mother’s warning echoed in her head.

“Don’t touch any more spring rolls! They’re for sale!”

Elsa froze mid-bite, eyes wide. After a dramatic pause, she slowly placed it back like a stolen item returned to its owner.

She let out a small laugh. Her smile returned—gentle, warm, touched with love.

“Fine, mummy,” she whispered to the empty kitchen. “You win.”

She hugged herself lightly, still smiling.