Chapter Text
Elaine lets the phone ring once - twice - three times before she picks it up, eyes still scanning the neat columns of her planner as if routine might anchor her to something solid.
“Elaine Carter Events,” she says, voice smooth, automatic.
There is a pause on the other end. Not silence - breathing. Controlled. Considered.
“Good morning,” the woman says at last. Her voice is soft, warm…carefully, like each word has been weighed before being allowed out. “My name is Yuna. I was told you’re the best.”
Elaine almost smiles. Compliments this early usually come with complications later.
“I’m available,” she replies, pen already poised. “What kind of event are we talking about?”
“A celebration,” Yuna says.
That’s new. People don’t hedge unless there’s something to hide.
“What are we celebrating?
Another pause. Not hesitation - decision.
“A thirtieth birthday.”
Elaine relaxes, just slightly. Milestone birthdays, she understands. Big, polished, emotional, but manageable.
“Lovely,” she says. “And when is the date?”
“Six months from now.”
Now that is more like it. Time to plan. Time to control variables. Time to make something exceptional.
“Perfect,” Elaine says, writing it down. “Guest count?”
“Two hundred.”
Ambitious for a birthday - but not unheard of, especially in Otowa.
“Alright,” Elaine continues, settling into rhythm. “Venue, catering, entertainment - we can start building a concept-”
“I already know the venue.”
Of course she does.
“Good,” Elaaine says. “That saves time. And the invitation? We’ll want to send those at least-”
“No invitations.”
Elaine’s pen pauses, just for a fraction of a second.
“I’m sorry?”
“No formal invitations. No announcements. No social media.” Yuna’s voice remains gentle, but there’s something under it now - something firm. “It will appear as a private birthday gathering. Nothing more.”
Elaine leans back in her chair, gaze drifting to the window. Otowa is walking up - orderly, predictable, public.
This isn’t that.
“You’re hosting two hundred people,” Elaine says carefully, “without inviting them?”
“They’ll be invited,” Yuna replies. “Just not… traditionally.”
“And how exactly does that work?
“You don’t need to worry about that part.”
That, more than anything so far, makes Elaine’s grip tighten on her pen.
“I do need to worry about that part”, she says. “Guest management affects everything - timing, seating, catering -”
“It will be handled.”
Not defensive. Not dismissive.
Final.
Elaine taps her pen against the desk. Once. Twice.
“Alright,” she says slowly. “Then help me understand the tone. Formal? Casual? Themed?”
A small pause.
“Elegant,” Yuna says. “Intimate. Precise”
“Two hundred people isn’t intimate.”
“It will be.”
There it is again - that quiet certainty. Not arrogance. Not even confidence.
Just…inevitability.
Elaine studies the date she’s written down. Six months. Plenty of time.
And yet, something about this already feels like a countdown.
“Fine,” she says. “We can make that work. I’ll need to loop in my team, start contacting vendors-”
“No.”
The word is soft.
Uncompromising.
“You cannot discuss this with anyone.”
Elaine blinks. “That’s not practical.”
“It’s necessary.”
“My team signs NDAs as standard,” Elaine counters. “Discretion is part of the service-”
“This is different.”
Silence stretches between the,
Elaine has dealt with controlling clients before. People who want perfection without process, magic without mechanics. They always crack eventually. But Yuna doesn’t sound like she’s going to crack.
“You’re asking for complete confidentiality,” Elaine says.
“Yes.”
“And if I say no?”
A beat.
“Then I thank you for your time, and I find someone else,” Yuna replies calmly.
Elaine doesn’t believe that.
Not because of ego - but because of instinct.
Whoever Yuna is, she didn’t call around.
She called once.
Elaine glances at the clock.
9:02 am has become 9:10.
Eight minutes ago, her week was structured, predictable, safe.
Now there’s a line in her planner that doesn’t behave like the others.
A birthday party.
Six months away.
Two hundred guests.
No invitations.
No witnesses.
And, somehow -
not just a birthday.
Elaine presses her pen back to the page.
“...Alright,” she says. “What aren’t you telling me?”
For the first time, Yuna hesitates.
Just slightly.
And when she speaks again, her voice is still soft - but something in it has shifted.
“It won’t be just a birthday,” she says.
Elaine closes her eyes briefly.
Of course it won’t.
“What will it be, then?”
A pause.
And then -
“A wedding.”
Elaine doesn’t respond immediately.
A wedding.
Of course it is.
But something about the way Yuna said it - quiet, measured, inevitable - makes it feel less like a celebration and more like a decision that’s already been made.
“Alright, “ Elaine says finally. “Who’s wedding?”
A pause.
“My son’s.”
That lands differently.
Elaine straightens slightly. “And he knows about this?”
“Yes.”
“And his partner?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No cracks.
“They’re both…occupied,” Yuna continues. “Their seasons don’t allow for distractions. I’m handling everything.”
That lands cleanly.
Professional athletes. Travel schedules. Media obligations.
Delegating makes sense.
Still -
“Most couples want some involvement,” Elaine says. “At least final approval.”
“They trust me,” Yuna replies.
Not defensive.
Certain.
Elaine glances back at her planner. Six months. Enough time to build something exceptional - if she has access, clarity, and communication.
“You’ll be my point of contact for all decisions?” She asks.
“Yes.”
“And if I need input from the?”
“You won’t”
That, more than anything so far, gives Elaine pause.
“Not even for something like - preferences? Cultural elements? Personal details?”
“I already know what matters,” Yuna says. “That’s why this will work.”
Elaine studies that for a second.
It’s not unreasonable.
But it’s … complete.
Total.
“Alright,” she says carefully. “Then I need to see how this is being presented to guests. If we’re framing it as a birthday, the messaging has to be airtight.”
“I’ve already arranged that.”
Another email notification.
Elaine opens it.
And there it is -
Elegant. Understated. Impeccable.
Shane Hollander’s 30th Birthday.
Her eyes move quickly across the details.
Back tie.
Two hundred guests.
Fairmont Château Laurier.
Overnight accommodation.
No mention of a wedding.
Not even a hint.
“This is very good,” Elaine says, almost despite herself. “No one’s going to question this.”
“They’re not meant to.”
Elaine zooms in slightly.
“Plus ones for everyone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“That’s a lot of variables.”
“It’s also a guarantee.”
Elaine leans back again.
“Of what?”
“That no one declines.”
That’s not how most people think about invitations.
That’s how you think about outcomes you can’t risk losing.
Elaine taps her pen once against the desk.
“You’re putting a lot of weight on this being…controlled,” she says.
“I am,” Yuna replies.
“And if something doesn’t go to plan?”
A pause.
Longer this time.
Then -
“It will.”
Not hopeful.
Not optimistic.
Certain.
Elaine looks down at the invitation again.
Everything about it says celebration.
But the way it’s being handled -
The precision, the containment, the lack of flexibility -
Feels less like planning a party…
And more like executing something that cannot afford to fail.
She closes the file.
“... Alright,” she says. “Then we do this properly.”
A small shift on the line - approval, maybe.
“Of course,” Yuna says.
“And Yuna? For something this controlled…”
Elaine pauses, choosing her words carefully.
“...there’s usually a reason.”
Silence.
Then, softly -
“There is.”
oOo
The lobby of the Firmont Chateau Laurier is exactly what Elaine expects - polished marble, quiet wealth, the kind of space designed to make everything feel permanent.
Shw arrives ten minutes early.
Of course she does.
It gives her time to observe.
Staff movements. Guest flow. Slightlines. Entrances and exits.
Control.
Or at least the illusion of it.
“Ms Carter?”
Elaine turns.
Yuna is not what she expected.
No entourage. No visible security. No performance.
Just a woman in a dark coat, composed, self-contained - someone who doesn’t need to prove she belongs here.
“Ms Yuna,” Elaine says, extending a hand.
Yuna takes it briefly. Her grip is light, but steady.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Elaine replies. “I thought it was important we meet in person.”
“It is.”
They move towards the seating area, away from the main flow of guests. Not hidden - but not central either.
Deliberate.
Elaine notes that.
They sit. For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then -
“Tell me what this really is?” Elaine says.
No preamble. No polite circling.
Yuna studies her.
Not surprised.
Assessing.
“You’ve seen the invitation,” Yuna says.
“I have.”
“And you understand the scale.”
“I do.”
“Then you also understand,” Yuna continues, “that this cannot be treated like a standard event.”
“No, it can’t.” Elaine agrees.
A beat.
Elaine leans forward slightly.
“So tell me why.”
Yuna’s gaze shifts - just briefly - to the lobby around them. People moving. Taking. Existing freely.
Then back.
“My son,” she says, “is a professional hockey player, one of the best.”
“I know, I’m not a sports fan, but I recognised the name.”
“He plays in a world, where certain truths are…managed.” Yuna continues.
That’s a careful word - Managed.
“His partner,” she adds, “is in a more precarious position.”
There it is.
Elaine doesn’t interrupt.
“If their relationship becomes public prematurely,” Yuna says, “there are consequences.
“What kind of consequences?” Elaine asked.
Yuna holds her gaze.
“Career-ending,” she says. “Potentially life-altering.”
That's not vague.
That’s specific.
Eliane feels something shift - this isn’t just high-end discretion anymore.
This is risk management.
“Deportation?”
A flicker - approval, maybe.
“Yes.”
“And safety concerns?” Elaine pressed.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No dramatics.
Just facts.
Elaine leans back slowly.
“Alright,” she says. “Now we’re being honest.”
Yuna doesn’t react to that.
“So,” Elaine continues, “this event isn’t just a wedding.”
“No.”
“It’s a reveal.”
“Yes.”
“Because if it happens too early -”
“It causes damage.”
“And if it happens too late?”
Yuna’s expression doesn’t change.
“It won’t.”
There’s that certainty again.
Elaine exhales, then lets out a short, humourless laugh.
“You’re not leaving a lot of room for error.”
“There isn’t any.”
Silence settles between them, heavier now.
Real.
Elaine glances around the lobby again - at the ease, the openness, the normalcy of it all.
Then looked back at Yuna.
“You’re asking me to orchestrate a moment, where two hundred people - including teammates, media-adjacent figures, staff -” She says.
“They are not media,” Yuna corrects.
“-people who talk,” Elaine continues, unfazed, “find out simultaneously that this isn’t a birthday party.”
“Yes.”
“That your son is in a long-term relationship.”
“Yes.”
“That he’s getting married.”
“Yes.”
“And that everything they thought they knew-”
“Was incomplete.”
Elaine studies her.
“You don’t see that going wrong?”
“I see it going exactly as intended.”
That’s a problem.
People who believe that are either very prepared or very dangerous.
Elaine leans forward again, voice lower now.
“Then here’s what you need to understand: if I do this, I don’t just plan flowers and seating charts. I control timing, movement, information flow - who knows what, when.”
“Yes.”
“I will need authority.”
“You will have it.”
“I will need access.”
“You will have it.”
“I will need the truth.”
A pause.
The first real one.
Yuna considers that.
Then -
“You will have what you need,” she says.
Not the same thing.
Elaine notices.
Of course she does.
She sits back, folding her hands.
“Then we start with containment. Guest experience, staging, transitions. We build the birthday first - something believable, something immersive,” she says. “And then, we decide exactly how the room changes.”
Yuna’s attention sharpens slightly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“And we make sure that when it happens, there is no confusion. No hesitation.” Elaine finishes.
A beat.
Then Yuna nods once.
“Exactly.”
Elaine holds her gaze.
This is it.
The line.
Say yes, and this becomes hers.
All of it.
“...Alright,” she says.
And just like that, it’s no longer a conversation.
It’s a plan, a plan to host a wedding like no other.