The next morning brought little clarity, only more questions. Maya arrived at the site early, determined not to let the first impression define the project. She was a professional. She'd worked with difficult personalities before. But Jace Morgan? He wasn't just difficult. He was magnetic in the worst possible way.
She found herself irritated, not just by his arrogance, but by her own awareness of him. The way he stood too still, as though bracing for unseen impacts. The way his eyes never softened. There was pain behind his brilliance, and she knew pain far too well.
At exactly 9:00 a.m., Jace arrived.
"Let's start over," Maya said without preamble. "I don't have the energy for a month-long turf war."
Jace raised a brow. "You came in swinging."
"You came in sulking."
A pause. Then, to her surprise, Jace cracked a small smile. "Fine. Truce."
They moved through the day with wary efficiency. Reviewing floor plans. Walking the construction zone. Debating design language. Somewhere between a layout for the lobby and arguments about natural lighting, their banter softened.
"I still think your angles are too aggressive," she commented, glancing at the sketches.
"And I still think your curves are overused," he replied.
She grinned. "Men always say that when they don't know how to handle them."
Jace blinked, then laughed. A genuine, startled laugh. It was the first time Maya saw him as something other than a wound in a suit.
Later, Maya ducked into a quiet corner to call her father. David Chen's voice came through clipped and businesslike.
"Is Morgan cooperating?"
"He's… tolerable," Maya replied. "Mostly."
"Don't let him distract you."
She wanted to say, Too late. Instead, she said, "I know what I'm doing."
The call ended. She stood there a moment longer, heart heavier than before.
That evening, Jace didn't return to the hotel immediately. He drove, aimless, until his car brought him back to a neighborhood he hadn't visited in years. The Morgan house loomed behind wrought iron gates. A beautiful structure. Cold and precise. Much like its owner.
His mother had once filled that house with warmth. Before the silence took over. Before Victor Morgan's expectations became commandments.
Jace didn't go in. He never did. He just sat there, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white, then drove away.
Meanwhile, Maya wandered through a small bookstore tucked into a side street. She wasn't looking for anything specific, just peace. The scent of old paper calmed her. She picked up a book on architecture and flipped it open, amused by how often her thoughts returned to Jace. To the way his voice dropped when he was serious. To the quiet moments when he seemed on the verge of saying something real.
Back in her apartment, she curled up with the book but didn't read it. She thought of her brother again. Of how he would've teased her mercilessly if he knew she was thinking about a man after just two days. Then again, Daniel had always known how to find joy in even the smallest things.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Jace.
"I was wrong. Your vision for the atrium works. I looked at it again."
Maya stared at the screen, surprised. A compliment. And not a sarcastic one.
She replied: "Thanks. Maybe you're not as insufferable as I thought."
"Give it time."
She smiled.
In his suite, Jace leaned back on the couch, staring at his phone. For once, the silence didn't press in like a weight. It simply... was. And it felt a little less lonely with someone on the other end.
That night, neither Jace nor Maya dreamed of the past. They dreamed of something unfinished. A space not yet built. A room with windows that let in the light.