Chapter 4

The days after the gala were a blur. My parents were a whirlwind of quiet support, bringing me food I didn' t eat and talking about anything and everything except Ethan. They saw the public humiliation. They heard the callousness in his voice. The curse suddenly seemed less important than their daughter' s shattered heart. Their support was a balm, but it couldn' t fix the wreckage inside me.

My career, which was once a source of pride, now felt like another chain linking me to him. The museum project, my dream project, was so deeply entangled with his family' s influence. Every blueprint on my desk felt tainted.

A week later, an email appeared in my inbox. The sender was Daniel Clark.

I knew who he was, of course. Everybody in architecture did. His firm, Clark & Associates, was our biggest rival, known for its innovative, sustainable designs and its ethical practices. I' d always admired his work from afar.

The email was short and direct.

Subject: Your Portfolio

Ms. Miller,

I have been an admirer of your work for some time, particularly your proposal for the Green-Tech Tower. Your approach to integrating natural light and space is exceptional.

I was sorry to hear about the recent developments regarding the museum project. A talent like yours should not be stifled by external politics.

My firm is starting a new urban redevelopment project. I believe your vision would be invaluable. If you are open to discussing a new opportunity, I would be honored to meet with you.

Sincerely,

Daniel Clark

I read the email three times. It wasn't an offer of pity. He didn't mention the gala, Ethan, or my personal life. He talked about my work. He saw my talent.

For the first time in weeks, a spark of hope ignited within me.

I met him the next day at his office. It was everything mine wasn't-open, full of light, with plants hanging from the ceiling and a quiet hum of creative energy.

Daniel Clark was older than me, maybe by ten years, with kind eyes and a calm, steady presence. He wasn't flashy like Ethan. There was a quiet confidence about him. He reminded me of a sturdy, well-designed building-reliable and built to last.

He didn't waste time with small talk. He unrolled a set of blueprints on a large table. "This is the project. The city wants to revitalize the old warehouse district by the river. They want a community space, residential units, and a public park. The goal is sustainability and connection."

As he spoke about the project, his passion was infectious. He talked about architecture not as a business, but as a way to build communities, to improve lives. It was everything I had once believed in before my ambition got tangled up with Ethan.

"Your Green-Tech Tower proposal," he said, looking at me directly. "The way you used those solar panels not just as a power source, but as an aesthetic element, a facade that changes with the light... that' s the kind of thinking this project needs."

We talked for two hours. We talked about materials, about zoning laws, about the philosophy of public space. He listened to my ideas, really listened, building on them, challenging me, respecting me. I felt alive. I felt like an architect again.

By the end of the meeting, he made his offer. Not just a job, but a senior partnership role. He was giving me leadership, responsibility, and creative control.

"I know this is a big decision," he said gently. "But I want you to know, here, your work will speak for itself. Nothing else matters."

I walked out of his office into the bright afternoon sun, feeling like I could breathe again. It was a lifeline. A chance to rebuild, not just my career, but myself. On my own terms.

That night, I saw a notification on my phone. A society blog had posted an exclusive: "Tech Mogul Ethan Black and Fiancée Sarah Jenkins Announce Wedding Date!"

I clicked on it before I could stop myself. There was a photo of them, smiling, holding hands. Their wedding was set for October 15th.

My thirtieth birthday.

Of course. It was his final, petty act of cruelty. A message that on the day the curse was supposed to claim me, he would be celebrating his new life.

A year ago, that news would have destroyed me. Now, looking at their smiling faces, I felt a surprising sense of detachment. They belonged to another world, another life that was no longer mine.

I deleted the notification, picked up my phone, and wrote a single email.

Subject: Re: Your Portfolio

Mr. Clark,

I accept.

Sincerely,

Chloe Miller

I hit send. The past was a closed door. It was time to start building something new.