Novels by lovethtaiwo44

Chapter Twenty-sevenThree years after my departure from New York, I sat outside on a sofa at my Kensington apartment in London.It was getting late in the evening. The sky above the city displayed brilliant colours of gold, rose and violet, as the rays of sunlight fell on the roofs of buildings in the neighborhood. The breeze was warm, still mixed with the sweet aroma of night-blooming flowers and newly cut green grass.That evening was peaceful.I sat, feeling comfortable with my legs crossed, holding a mug of black tea I was about to sip. This particular night, I felt no titanium pain in my leg. There was no ghost man sitting beside me in the name of massaging my leg to alleviate pains. There were no unending sounds of medical diagnoses, and no room for a strange woman to exaggerate my condition to her secret advantage.For the first time in a long while, I had no reason to measure my happiness by what someone else approved. I was living normally.My phone was placed on a small wo

Chapter Twenty-sixExactly four months later, one afternoon in summer, the official opening of the European Heritage Cultural Pavilion was done in Kensington.The completed building was an outstanding example of architectural design and engineering. It was a masterpiece of light, space and structural accuracy. The adjusted nineteenth-century brick walls were fixed in perfectly with a huge central room brightened by natural light, assumed to float over the riverbank. Within, there laid hundreds of heavy, lightweight steel beams supporting an open gallery where notable historical architectural records from all over Europe were kept.Gathered in the central public square was a crowd of over five hundred people consisting of international architects, city leaders, students of tertiary institutions, and other members of the public. I stood on the glass balcony from where I could see the main gallery. I wore a well tailored white linen suit. Standing beside me was Sarah who appeared splend

Chapter Twenty-five By the spring of the following year, nineteen months after I departed from New York, I had been fully established in London. My entire life had taken a new shape particularly in the architectural industry.It was just three months to the grand opening of the Kensington Heritage Cultural Pavilion. My research team had grown to twelve junior architects, and my periodic private seminars on suitable structural engineering were fully booked two semesters ahead.One rainy Wednesday morning, as I was sitting before my large drafting table in my Scarsdale private apartment, I received my morning mail. Apart from the local architectural journals, utility bills, and global research correspondence, I saw a thick cream envelope without a corporate letterhead.I recognised the handwriting on the front immediately: sharp, legible, and disciplined.It was Julian's handwriting.I sat calm with my cup of hot coffee, staring at the envelope for a while. My heartbeat did not increas

Chapter Twenty-fourThree months after Julian's unexpected appearance at my place, the annual International Heritage Gala of the Royal Institute of British Architects was held in the lecture hall of the Portland Place headquarters.The hall was a very beautiful example of great architectural work. It was a large, impressive room framed with tall stone arches, rich oak walls, and a huge glass roof that reflected the night lights of London. About three hundred of Europe’s leading structural engineers, urban planners, civic leaders, and heritage preservation directors were in attendance.A heavy oak stand was provided on the main stage. I stood behind the pulpit, dressed in a tailored black silk tuxedo suit with an ivory lapel. My elegant hair was all back, exposing my silver geometric earrings that glowed at the reflecting stage lights.Beside the speaker's stand, a finished three-dimensional model was projected onto a huge screen, about twenty feet wide, showing how weight and pressure

Chapter Twenty-threeThe autumn in Kensington was quite different from the one I grew up with and got accustomed to in New York. Unlike the harsh storms that usually accompanied the season in New York, it arrived here with a soft amber light that diffused through the plane trees in the street.My apartment in Scarsdale Villas was an abode made of high ceilings, marble floors, and tall windows from where a quiet garden was visible. There was no place for padded table edges here unlike in the prison Julian built to keep me back in the United States. There were no velvet curtains drawn against the sky, no silver trays by the door on a daily basis. Every piece of furniture here had a purpose and it provided the comfort it was meant to provide.On a cool Tuesday evening, exactly nine months after my arrival in London, I was busy sitting at my dining table, going through the final site allocation budgets for the Heritage Pavilion project. Marcus was expected to come over by seven thirty wit

Chapter Twenty-twoSix months later.It was spring time in London, the season came with a gentle lively warmth that filled the air, smelling like blossoming plants and wet soil.The Senior Architectural Research Centre of the Royal Institute of British Architects was situated in an elegant Victorian stone building in Kensington. The features of the centre included flowing hogging windows, elevated ceilings, open iron supports that overfilled the interior halls with raw light.It was about 4:00 PM on a sunny Thursday afternoon.I stood in the main gallery beside the glass drafting table, I wore a well tailored navy blue trousers and a white top. My hair was styled back softly, with a vivacious appearance, completely full of life.I had before me a table that bore the complete structural scale models for the new pavillion; European Heritage Cultural Pavilion. It was a thirty-million pound urban renewal development which I had personally designed and supervised over the last six months.