Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls. Unfortunately, I don't own Chad Michael Murray, either. You can sue me but you won't get a penny. This piece of fiction does belong to me, though.

Rating: PG – 13 (may change in later chapters)

Author's Note: For Chris, Nate and Susie who encouraged this.

Prologue

"I can't believe you're doing this!" Tristan DuGrey turned away from his grandfather Janlan and fixed his angry gaze on his father, William. The three men were in Tristan's office at DuGrey Enterprises in Manhattan, fresh out of a board meeting when Janlan had decided to let his grandson in on his intentions. "And I can't believe you're letting him do this! This is an outrage!"

Janlan shifted on the couch, reaching for his cane so that he could stand up. "I'm not asking for the world, my boy. All I want is to see you happy."

"I am happy," the younger man replied through gritted teeth and lifted up the manila folder in his hand. "Or I will be when you lift the ridiculous clause out of this contract and just sign the damned company over to me. I don't need anything else to make me happy!"

"Alright," his grandfather conceded and put a hand on his shoulder. "Then you're going to do this to make me happy."

"Grandfather," Tristan started, sighing wearily. "You can't force me to do this by using some guilt trip. Can you just come off of this obsession you have with my marital status and my personal life?"

"You're twenty eight years old," William finally spoke up. "Your mother wants to see you settled down and - "

"And giving her grandchildren?" Tristan finished for him, scoffed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What is with you people wanting to dictate my life? So you're going to force me into marrying someone?"

"We're not forcing you," Janlan reminded him gently. "You have a choice. You get married and have children, I sign over the company. If not, then William gets control of your shares as well and then he can pass them over to whomever he pleases."

"Some choice," Tristan sputtered. He knew that the ties he had with his family were strained. He knew that their past was rocky and that there was a certain level of dysfunction in the DuGrey clan that could never be fixed, never be solved. But he didn't know that his own blood could turn against him in such a manner. "You're a sick, twisted man, Grandfather."

"I am also very old," he replied, with a smile that seemed to contradict that statement. "You're my grandson and an only child to both your parents. Is it so wrong that we wish that our family name be carried on for generations?"

He knew it was futile to argue but he continued to do so. It was part of Tristan's nature; stubbornness ran in the family. "You have a daughter. She has two sons."

"Technically, they're Spencers."

"So you're ruining my life on a technicality." 

William laughed and slapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Tristan, you're not a teenager anymore and we understand that we cannot tell you what to do. But if you'll just consider this, go home and have a good dinner and a good night's sleep, you'll see everything differently in the morning."

Tristan loosened his tie and glared at his father. "I highly doubt it."

Janlan made himself comfortable behind Tristan's desk. "It's not like you'll have any trouble finding a wife. You're successful and rich and if I remember correctly, you used to be quite the Casanova in your teenage years."

Tristan winced at his Grandfather's choice of words. "That was a long time ago."

It wasn't untrue, however. He knew that he still had an irresistible way with women. But as he got older, he learned to keep them at arms length. He did not chase; they came to him. He did not pine; he simply moved on to the next beautiful woman. And above everything else, under no circumstance, did he fall in love. Trouble, was the only thing that particular emotion caused. Lust was allowed, it was natural and he was only human - but that's as far as it went.

Emotions were too damn messy.

~*~

This wasn't the way she had imagined her life.

No, Louise Grant had imagined a life full of glamour, glitz and fame. She had vowed that one day, her name would be on the lips of everyone who mattered. She dreamed to go down in fashion history with all the biggest names, Versace, Gucci and Gabanna to Calvin Klein. Donna Karen to Ralph Lauren.

She did not expect to be sitting in a dinky office, scrambling for supplies, for employees and struggling to make, well, to make ends meet. She didn't expect that stress would strip her of any talent she claimed possessed and turn her into a neurotic basket case.

She hadn't expected to fail.

"Louise, let's go have lunch." Her friend and personal assistant, Michelle Ashford called from right outside the office. She peeked inside, her multi-colored head (a result of many dye experiments gone awry) bobbing enthusiastically and her green eyes wide with excitement. "I am in the mood for pasta!"

"You're always in the mood for pasta," Louise reminded her as she stared at her latest creative blunder. She made a face and tossed the board aside, stood up and stretched. "But I am hungry."

Michelle clapped her hands and smiled. "I'm paying."

"I don't pay you enough to facilitate it."

"You speak the truth. I still don't care," Michelle answered with a grin and then sobered. "You deserve to be treated to a nice lunch. You've been running yourself ragged. You look positively ghastly."

"Thanks," Louise replied as she grabbed her purse from a nearby table. Almost immediately, her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and smiled a little. Maddie. "I need to get this, Michelle. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Don't keep me waiting too long, boss."

"Madeline," Louise stated as she put the phone to her ear.

"I'm getting married in three days!" Madeline squealed over the phone. Louise peeled it away from her ear and waited for her friend's giddiness to pass. "Can you believe it? In two days I will be Mrs. Brad Langford!"

Louise smiled genuinely. "No, I cannot believe you're marrying Brad."

"You're just jealous because you can't have him," Madeline sniffed.

"True enough," she answered and settled down in her chair again. "I'm sorry I can't fly in and help you with the preparations, Maddie. I wish I could but I can't get away from work…you know how demanding the fashion business is, right?"

It was a good thing that Madeline could not see the look of pain that passed over her face as she spouted the outrageous lie.

"Are you kidding? You created my wedding gown, Louise. I'm wearing a Louise Grant original. The first original. I feel like a princess. And it's okay, you know? I know you have a big showing and that you're clientele will soon consist of the biggest names in Hollywood. That's what makes me feel so much better. I get to wear something by you before Jennifer Aniston."

Louise managed to chuckle but it sounded hollow to her own ears. Fortunately, Madeline was too happy and preoccupied to notice. "Well thank you. You're support means everything to me."

"You've always had it," Madeline answered, a slight hitch in her voice. "Paris doesn't show it often but she's so excited for you. She even looks through the fashion magazines waiting to hear about you and your creations when she thinks no one is looking. We're all excited."

Louise shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. She would not cry. Surprisingly, her voice came out steady. "I know."

The two friends hung up after a few minutes and after Madeline made Louise promise to show up for the ceremony on time. Fashionably late would not be forgiven.

She let out a frustrated sigh. At twenty-eight she was supposed to be at the top of her game, in her prime and yet here she was a miserable failure. She had vowed to her father, who was against her career choice from the beginning, that she would be a success. She would show him that she didn't need the Grant millions to be happy and that she certainly did not need a college education to fulfill her dreams.

He had challenged her to take on the "real world" on her own and she had rebelliously accepted it.

"You'll come back, Louise," Patrick Grant had taunted her. "You won't be able to make it on your own and you'll come back."

What if her father was right? What if she was only fit, only able to live the life that he had planned out for her; marry rich and produce heirs? It had been four years since she left the sanctity and idle comfort of her privileged life and flew to Los Angeles to start her own company, design clothes and sell them to all the big names.

But starting a business from scratch in a city as big as Los Angeles wasn't easy. She was so used to her privileged life, to people waiting on her hand and foot, she thought that the money her Grandmother had left her would be enough to get her started, to keep her off the streets. It would have been too if she hadn't squandered it away foolishly. If she had reminded herself that her father and the family name would not save her if she got into trouble.

Newfound freedom had made her a little wild.

To celebrate, she spent the first two weeks in LA partying at clubs, getting drunk, screwing around. She was a liberated woman.

She deluded herself into thinking that she was invincible and that she could do whatever it was that she set her mind to. The first big reality check came to her when the amount in her bank account started dwindling and she realized she couldn't afford to stay in the posh hotel anymore.

She realized that she had to pick up the pieces of her life.

None of her friends knew that Louise was in trouble. She didn't want them to because they'd all try to help her financially. If she let them, it would only remind her of how they were all settled and successful. To her, the helping hand could only be accepted as a slap in the face. She couldn't - wouldn't - be defeated. Not yet. 

She was struggling. For money, for recognition and for her sanity.

This was not how she pictured her life. Not at all.