Introduction

The scent of wet concrete used to be the perfume of my dreams, the promise of my architectural masterpiece taking shape.

Until I stood on the muddy ground of my construction site and saw it: a clumsy, awkward box, nothing like the light-filled space I' d designed.

My ex-boyfriend, Mark Davis, had offered to handle the plan submissions as a "parting gift."

It turns out, his gift was a betrayal.

He' d swapped my intricate blueprints for cheap, generic plans bought online.

My dream home was being built into a monstrosity, a monument to his fraud.

When I confronted him, Mark' s voice dripped with condescension.

He' d made "practical tweaks" to make it "more sellable," he claimed.

Then he blocked me, leaving me with a sabotaged project, mounting fees, and a crumbling reputation.

My attempts to find justice through official channels were met with bureaucratic indifference.

They saw a "messy breakup," a "disgruntled ex-girlfriend," not a professional crime.

They even suggested I compromise, perhaps "compensate" the man destroying my career.

But I wouldn' t compromise.

I would fight.

My last, desperate hope lay with Arthur Vance, my formidable former mentor, who had given me a sculpture years ago as a mark of his personal favor.

I knew it was my only leverage.

I had to get to him, no matter the cost.

My next move would be a gamble, a desperate attempt to reclaim my truth.