Chapter 177
Chapter 177
"Aria, Mr. Douglas is basically moving his office into your studio at this point."
Arabella didn't look up. Her pen glided across the paper, her tone flat. "He's got too much time on his hands."
Ethan glanced down at the blueprint under her pen—smooth lines, precise composition, flawless.
But his gaze drifted upward to her face.
A faint smile played at the corner of Arabella's lips. One she didn't even realize was there.
Ethan saw it. He didn't call her out. He turned and walked back to his office, a knowing grin on his face.
After he left, Arabella set down her pen. She looked at the potted plant on her desk, reaching out to flick one of its leaves. The barest curve touched her mouth. Then she lowered her head and went back to drawing.
---
One year later.
Arabella's studio landed the most important project since its founding—the public building design for Central Square.
When Ethan forwarded the tender announcement to the studio's group chat, he added three exclamation marks.
Arabella opened the file, scanned it for less than three minutes, and put her phone down.
She stood by the window and thought for a long time.
This building would become the city's new landmark. The design requirements were extraordinarily demanding. Nearly every top-tier design firm in the country was competing for the bid.
Her studio was young and small. Compared to those established firms, she had virtually no advantage.
Ethan came by to drop off some files and found her standing there. Puzzled, he walked over and followed her gaze out the window. "What are you looking at?"
Arabella snapped back to the present, a rough idea already forming in her mind.
She spent a full month developing her proposal. During that stretch, she practically lived at the studio.
Sketches covered every surface—from dozens of rough concepts, gradually narrowed to three directions, and finally one chosen for deep refinement.
She scrapped her own work over a dozen times. Some nights she'd lie down, a new idea would spark in her brain, and she'd get back up, switch on the desk lamp, and draw until dawn.
The final proposal fused two completely different architectural languages.
She extracted key structural concepts from Gregory's blueprints and reimagined them using modern construction techniques.
The night before submission, she was still tweaking details. She didn't put down her pen until three a.m.
Ethan sealed the bound proposal and looked at her—exhausted but with eyes still bright. "If this doesn't win, the judges need their eyes checked."
Arabella didn't respond, but she knew. This was the best she had to give.
---
The day the results were announced, Arabella was at the studio revising another set of drawings.
Her phone rang. An unfamiliar number.
She picked up without thinking. The caller identified herself as the review committee's secretary, informing Arabella that her proposal had passed unanimously. Congratulations—she'd won the bid.
Arabella held the phone, listened quietly to every word, said "Thank you," and hung up.
Just then, Ethan knocked and stepped in. He caught the look on Arabella's face, and his heart leapt. "What happened?"
"We got it."
Ethan froze. Then he strode forward, barely containing himself. "Unanimous?"
Arabella nodded.
Ethan stood still for two seconds, then spun around and slammed his fist into the whiteboard behind him. A dull thud echoed through the room.
Arabella flinched and looked up at him. His eyes were rimmed with red, but his grin stretched ear to ear. "I knew it."
---
Once the project broke ground, Arabella was on-site nearly every day.
Hard hat on, work boots laced up, she went over every detail with the construction crew again and again.
The structural joints here were far more complex than standard builds. Every connection required precision down to a thousandth of an inch.
The site foreman was skeptical of the young female architect at first, dismissing her traditional-craft ideas as too idealistic, too impractical.
Arabella didn't argue. She spent three straight days on-site, personally demonstrating the techniques for several critical joints.
When she finished, the foreman was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke with conviction.
"We do it Ms. Wipere's way."
---
The day the project was completed, a grand ribbon-cutting ceremony was held.
The mayor, the city's cultural affairs commissioner, the president of the architectural association, and a host of other dignitaries were all in attendance. Red banners stretched across the plaza, flanked by rows of flower arrangements.
Arabella wore a clean white suit, standing among the guests, gazing at the building that had grown from her blueprints into reality, its surfaces glowing softly in the sunlight.
After the ribbon was cut, the emcee invited her to speak. She walked to the microphone and looked at the gleaming structure before her.
She kept it brief—the design had been inspired by her mentor. Without his teachings and the spark from his blueprints, this building wouldn't exist.
She didn't mention the grueling days, the scrapped drafts, or the sleepless nights. She simply said her thanks, stepped back, and bowed.
The applause was thunderous.
---
After the ceremony, guests began to disperse.
Several officials shook Arabella's hand, offered congratulations, and left in their cars.
Staff dismantled the tables and flower arrangements. Cleaners swept up confetti and ribbon scraps.
Arabella stood alone before the new building, her head tilted back, taking in those structures gleaming in the sun.
Footsteps approached from behind.
She didn't turn. They stopped beside her—respectfully silent, not intruding. Just standing there, looking at the building with her.
Sunlight threaded through the building's gaps, casting latticed shadows across the ground. A breeze swept the plaza, carrying the crisp bite of early autumn.
After a long time, Arabella spoke softly. "Mentor, I did it."
Her voice was barely a whisper. Almost to herself.
Cornelius didn't reply. He simply reached out and took her hand.
For once, Arabella didn't pull away.
They stood side by side, sunlight warm on their shoulders.
---
A few days later, an envelope arrived at the studio.
It bore an international stamp. The postmark showed a city overseas.
Arabella turned it over, curious. Inside was a single sheet of letterhead—the Visconti Group crest printed at the top—folded once, written in pen.
The handwriting was neat and strong, each stroke deliberate and steady. The letter was short.
Arabella felt a brief, disorienting pull.
It was from Ulysses. By now, he'd been abroad for six months.