Chapter 79: Secret Admirer

Isabella's POV

Boyfriend?

I froze for a moment, quickly looking at Ethan, wanting to explain the misunderstanding. "He's not my—"

"Isabella, come work at Horizon," Ethan suddenly interrupted me, his tone carrying a hint of delight.

"What?" I was completely confused by this abrupt change of topic.

"Phase Two of the project is about to begin construction, and we need interior design plans," his voice lacked its usual commanding edge, replaced with a gentleness I rarely heard from him. "You're professional enough to separate personal issues from work. Our... history... shouldn't affect your career development."

I stared at his annoyingly handsome face. My feelings toward Ethan were a complete tangle. How could I possibly hate and appreciate someone at the same time? Just minutes ago he was threatening to kiss me, and now he's suddenly offering me a job?

"You're giving the Phase Two design to me as well?" My voice softened involuntarily.

My mind was at war with itself. The proud part wanted to walk away, but the practical part—the part that remembered my nearly empty bank account and my grandmother's living expenses back in Georgia—knew this was an opportunity I couldn't refuse.

I'd gained some small recognition recently because of my viral design, but such things are fleeting. Horizon was a top design firm in Manhattan. For my grandmother's sake, what did my pride matter?

"Okay," I finally said, looking down to hide my internal struggle. "Thank you."

He visibly relaxed, his expression softening as he leaned slightly forward. "Is your ankle still hurting?"

I nodded, my ankle still aching dully beneath the ice pack.

"Then let's skip the boating, I'll take you home," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Mm." God, why did I sound so compliant?

That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Tomorrow I would report to Horizon's design department, filled with industry elites! Designers I'd only seen in magazines and award lists would now be my colleagues.

I gave up on sleep, threw on a thick sweater, and limped out to the balcony. The night wind was bitterly cold, but at least it cleared my head. Looking toward my hometown, I thought of my grandmother and silently resolved to work hard.

This thought sustained me as I arrived at Horizon early the next morning with renewed determination.

"Everyone, may I have your attention!" Manager Sawyer brought me into the office, introducing me enthusiastically. "Please pause your work for a moment."

I stood beside him, forcing a smile. My palms were sweating despite the freezing air conditioning in the office.

About a dozen designers lazily glanced up, then immediately went back to what they were doing. Not even a nod of acknowledgment.

"Um," Sawyer was visibly uncomfortable from the lack of response, "let me show you to your desk."

He led me to a corner workstation, where I began organizing my things and setting up my computer. Honestly, I had expected this. In their eyes, I was just someone who got lucky with one viral design.

"Hi, I'm Amy, the department assistant," a young woman smiled at me. "If you need anything—supplies, files, whatever—just let me know."

"Thank you, Amy. I'm Isabella," I replied gratefully.

She nodded. "I'll get back to work now, but call me if you need anything."

Watching her walk away, I felt a small warmth inside. At least one person didn't resent my presence.

I had barely started arranging my design materials when I heard someone calling:

"Hey, you... what's your name again?" A male designer called in my direction.

I immediately stood up, perhaps too eagerly. "Isabella Monroe."

"Isabella, right? Are you busy right now?" His tone suggested he didn't really care about the answer.

"Not really," I replied, hoping it might finally be actual design work.

"Could you go downstairs and pick up a package for me?" He didn't even look up at me.

"Sure, where is it? What's the tracking number?" I pulled out my phone to take notes.

"Main lobby, under Tyler White's name."

As soon as he finished speaking, another designer chimed in: "Since you're going down, could you bring me a black coffee, no sugar, from the café next door?"

"And get me one too, with cream and sugar, plus a breakfast sandwich."

"Me too, could you bring..."

Suddenly I was frantically recording coffee orders from half the design department on my phone. I noticed Amy frowning from her desk—this clearly wasn't supposed to be a designer's job.

She quietly asked me: "Need any help?"

I shook my head: "It's fine, I can handle it." I didn't want to cause trouble on my first day. If running errands was my initiation ritual, so be it.

Walking toward the elevator, I overheard whispers behind me:

"Another Instagram designer who got lucky with one viral project. What qualifies her to work at Horizon?"

"These days anyone with social media followers thinks they're a design genius. No real talent, just riding trends, with no idea of their actual standing in the industry."

I pretended not to hear, but each word cut into my heart.

By 11 AM, I had made three coffee runs, picked up packages, made copies, and delivered messages to various departments. Not once was I asked to do any actual design work. My ankle was throbbing from all the walking, and combined with last night's lack of sleep, fatigue was overwhelming me.

Ethan's POV

I was handling emails in my office when James suddenly knocked and entered.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Black," he said hesitantly, "but I thought you might want to see the latest post on the company's internal forum."

"What post?" I didn't look up, continuing to browse my emails.

"Um... about Miss Monroe."

Hearing her name, I immediately looked up. James had already handed me the tablet, showing a post on the company's internal forum. The title was "How Instagram Designers Really Work," with a photo of Isabella asleep at her workstation.

Below the photo was a string of mocking comments: "Is this the ability of a viral designer?" "Great eye, Mr. President, hiring a social media star who only knows how to sleep." "Wonder what methods she used to get in..."

I stared at the photo, feeling my blood run cold. She looked exhausted, her face alarmingly pale. And those comments...

I stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over my chair. James jumped back, startled.

"Cancel my upcoming meetings," I strode toward the door without even grabbing my phone or keys.

All the way there, my anger kept building. I just smoothed things over with her yesterday, and today she faces this humiliation? Is this how these self-important senior designers treat new colleagues? Isabella's ankle hasn't healed yet, and she couldn't sleep last night—yes, I know she couldn't sleep, because in the quiet of night, I always find myself gazing toward her window.

As the elevator doors opened, I marched toward the design department. The moment I pushed open the door, the entire office fell silent. Everyone stood up in unison, greeting me like robots. My gaze passed right over them, focusing on the familiar figure in the corner.

Isabella looked even more haggard than in the photo. Seeing her slumped over her desk, the anger inside me mixed with an indescribable emotion that threatened to overflow.

Sawyer was still greeting me, but I walked straight toward her. Seeing the obvious dark circles under her eyes, how vulnerable she looked from lack of sleep, I felt almost crazy with concern.

I quickly took off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The gesture came so naturally, as if I had rehearsed it countless times in my mind.

"Turn up the heat," I told Sawyer, my voice cold enough to freeze.

"Yes, yes, right away..." Sawyer scrambled to adjust the thermostat.

Everyone in the office was staring wide-eyed in shock, but their reactions? I couldn't care less.

"Who posted that?" I asked through gritted teeth.