Chapter 174
Chapter 174
Dahlia tipped her head back, swiped the dampness from the corners of her eyes, and drew a deep breath. She bent down, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and walked out the door.
Downstairs, Ulysses's car was already waiting at the entrance.
He leaned against the driver's side door in a dark gray jacket. When he saw her come out, he straightened up without a word, took her suitcase, and placed it in the trunk.
Dahlia stood on the front steps, watching him load the bag.
Ulysses opened the passenger door and glanced back at her. "Get in."
As the car pulled through the gates of the Visconti Villa, Dahlia turned to look through the window one last time at the house she'd lived in for years. Her eyes burned. Her throat ached.
Ulysses caught it in his peripheral vision and eased off the accelerator, letting the villa linger in the rearview mirror a moment longer. Only when she turned away did he gradually pick up speed.
At the airport, Ulysses lifted her suitcase from the trunk and set it in front of her.
Dahlia took the handle, head bowed, silent for a few seconds. Then she looked up, her eyes rimmed with red.
"Ulysses, I'm sorry. For what my mom did. And for all the stupid things I did before."
Ulysses looked at her. A beat of silence. Then a quiet nod.
"You helped us a lot. That counts for something. Go live your life."
The words broke something loose. Tears spilled down Dahlia's cheeks.
She nodded hard, then turned and walked into the airport, dragging her suitcase behind her.
She didn't look back. Because she knew if she did, she might not have the courage to keep walking.
---
"Arabella, where are you? The ceremony's about to start!"
Outside the museum, Sophie craned her neck, scanning the street for Arabella's car. The sun blazed overhead. She shielded her eyes with one hand and dialed Arabella with the other.
"Almost there, almost there!"
Through the phone, Arabella's voice barely contained a laugh. She hit the gas, and the car swung into the curb beside Sophie with a smooth drift.
The donation ceremony was scheduled for ten a.m. Arabella checked the time—half an hour to spare.
She pushed open the door, grabbed Sophie by the arm, and headed inside.
A staff member at the entrance guided them to the backstage lounge, poured her a glass of water, and walked her through the ceremony's program. She confirmed each point, her gaze wandering over the walls of the room.
Sophie, meanwhile, drained her glass in one gulp and pulled out a tissue to dab the sweat from her forehead.
She wore a white button-down today, a media badge hanging from a lanyard around her neck, a camera in her hand.
Seeing Arabella sitting on the couch lost in thought, Sophie dropped down beside her and nudged her with an elbow. "Nervous?"
Arabella shook her head. Then nodded. Finally: "A little."
Sophie grinned. "Totally normal. My legs were shaking the first time I went up to accept an award, and that was way smaller than this. This is a national museum. Big stage."
Arabella couldn't help but laugh. Some of the tension bled out of her shoulders.
Close to ten, a staff member knocked. "Ms. Wipere, it's time."
Arabella stood, took a deep breath, and followed the staff member out.
---
The ceremony was held in the museum's auditorium. By the time Arabella stepped onto the stage, every seat was filled.
The front rows held senior figures from the architectural world. The middle section was a mix of cultural affairs officials and press. The back rows were filled with members of the public and students who had come on their own.
She scanned the audience and found a few familiar faces.
Cornelius sat in the third row near the aisle, wearing a dark suit, his eyes on her. Sophie was in the media section to the right, camera already set up.
Ulysses sat farther back. When she took the stage, he gave her a slight nod.
Arabella turned forward, walked to center stage, and adjusted the microphone.
The room fell silent. Every eye was on her.
"I'm standing here today to fulfill someone's last wish."
Her voice carried through the auditorium, clear and steady. She used no notes. Every word had been rehearsed in her heart a thousand times.
She began with the blueprints' origins twenty years ago, then spoke of the design process Gregory and Clio had shared.
When she reached Gregory's final instructions for the blueprints before his death, her voice faltered for just a moment. Her eyes glistened.
The audience was utterly still. No whispers, no murmurs—only the occasional click of a camera shutter and the soft rustle of notebooks.
"These blueprints represent the life's work of two extraordinary minds. They shouldn't belong to any one person, and they should never be used for profit. Their rightful home is here."
Arabella finished her last sentence, stepped back, and bowed to the audience.
Three seconds of silence.
Then the applause erupted like thunder.
It went on and on, refusing to fade.
Arabella stood on stage, watching all those unfamiliar faces applauding, and felt the sting behind her eyes.
In the very last row, tucked into a corner seat, Clio sat in a plain gray coat. She quietly lifted a hand and wiped the corner of her eye.
She didn't clap. She just watched Arabella on the stage, her lips pressed together, her gaze full of something complex and impossible to name.
---
After the ceremony, the museum staff formally cataloged the framed blueprints into the permanent collection.
Arabella signed her name on the donation certificate. Then, in the notes section, she added one more name.
Gregory.
The staff member took the certificate, glanced at it, and looked up. "And this person is?"
"The true creator of these blueprints," Arabella said.
The staff member nodded, asked nothing further, and filed the certificate away.
Arabella took one last look at the blueprints displayed behind the glass case. Under the soft gallery lights, they rested quietly—the lines clean and powerful, as if the brilliant spirit of the man who'd drawn them still lived within them.
She looked for a long time. Then she turned and walked out of the museum.
The sunlight outside was glorious. She stood on the steps and lifted her face to the sky.
Clear blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun poured down unfiltered, warm against her skin. She closed her eyes, hiding the redness at their rims, and whispered in the silence of her heart.
"Mentor, did you see that?"
She stood there a moment, about to descend the steps, when footsteps sounded behind her.
She turned. Clio had stepped through the museum's front doors.
Still wearing that gray coat, a canvas tote in her hand. She stood in the doorway, looking at Arabella with a tentative hesitation—as if deciding whether to come closer.
Arabella turned and walked toward her.
"Ms. Webb."
She stopped in front of Clio and spoke her name.
Clio looked at her, silent for a few seconds. Then, softly: "Thank you."
Arabella shook her head and watched as Clio made her way slowly down the steps and disappeared into the sunlight.