LOGINEthan Mathews has just landed the opportunity of a lifetime: assisting the world renowned architect Dante Hart on a city defining project. But what begins as professional admiration soon becomes something far more dangerous. Late nights filled with whispered critiques, shared sketches, and stolen glances spark an undeniable attraction but the world is ready to judge. Colleagues whisper that Ethan is exploiting Dante, while Dante’s past heartbreak makes him wary of love. When a former partner resurfaces, determined to ruin Dante’s career, Ethan is forced to question whether their passion is worth the risk. A rival firm offers Ethan a tempting position, pushing him to choose between ambition and the man who has become his anchor. As rumors spiral and city officials threaten to remove Dante from the project, the two must navigate jealousy, sabotage, and the ever present scrutiny of a world that refuses to understand their love. Can they prove that their bond is built on trust, talent, and true desire, not just convenience and scandal? Or will ambition, fear, and envy tear them apart before their hearts and their masterpiece are complete?
View MoreEthan was in the middle of making tea when the knock came.He froze, kettle humming softly on the cooking gas, heart jumping for reasons he didn’t immediately understand. Dan wasn’t expecting anyone. Neither was he.The knock came again.Ethan turned off the cooking gas and wiped his hands on his jeans, moving slowly toward the door. A strange unease crept up his spine, the kind that came when something unexpected brushed too close to a wound that hadn’t closed yet.When he opened the door, Martin Hart stood in the hallway.Impeccably dressed. Calm. Familiar in a way that made Ethan’s stomach tighten.“Ethan,” Martin said, offering a measured smile. “I hope I’m not intruding.”Ethan blinked. “Martin? How did you…”“I asked around,” Martin said lightly, as if that explained everything. “May I come in?”Ethan hesitated. Every instinct told him to say no. Instead, courtesy won, curiosity or the residual habit of deferring to people like Martin Hart.“Sure,” he said, stepping aside.Marti
Dante arrived at the firm before sunrise and left long after the lights dimmed. Emails answered in minutes. Meetings stacked back to back. He volunteered for tasks no one else wanted, buried himself in logistics and forecasts and projections until his brain buzzed with numbers instead of memories.Colleagues noticed.“Dante, you look wiped,” someone said in passing.“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.Another asked if he wanted to delegate. He smiled, sharp and polite, and said, “I’ve got it handled.”At the firm, whispers grew more concerned.“He’s not himself.”“He hasn’t taken a day off in weeks.”“Have you seen the circles under his eyes?”Someone suggested postponing a major presentation. Dante shut it down without discussion. He refused to slow down. Slowing down meant feeling.Feeling meant Ethan.The blueprint followed him home one night.He didn’t remember deciding to take it. He just found it unrolled across his dining table, the city lights reflecting off its surface. He
Days pass with neither reaching out, both too afraid to open old wounds.At the firm, people began to notice.Dante stopped correcting small mistakes. He stopped filling the room with certainty. Meetings ran longer because no one wanted to be the one to interrupt him when he went silent mid-thought, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the glass walls as if listening for a voice only he could hear.The Riverline Project stalled.Deadlines were pushed. Decisions deferred. Momentum once sharp and relentless dulled into hesitation. People whispered in corners, careful to keep their voices low when Dante passed.He noticed. He just didn’t care.On the fourth day, HR asked if he was managing everything alright.Dante smiled and said yes.On the inside, he felt hollowed out.At night, the apartment remained unchanged, like it was holding its breath for Ethan to return. Dante didn’t move Ethan’s things. Didn’t clean up the mug still sitting in the sink. He told himself it was temporary, that touchin
The apartment was too quiet. Dante noticed it the moment he stepped inside, like the silence had weight to it—thick, pressing against his ears. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and waited for the familiar sound of footsteps that never came.“Ethan?” he called, even though he already knew.The lights were off except for the faint glow from the city bleeding in through the windows. Dante stood there longer than necessary, his briefcase slipping from his grip and landing with a dull thud on the floor. He didn’t move to pick it up.Only then did he see it.A note. Placed carefully on the table.Dante’s chest tightened as he crossed the room and picked it up.I’m staying with Dan for a few days. I need space to think. I’m not running, I just don’t know how to breathe there right now.Dante sank into the chair, the paper crumpling slightly in his fist.A few days.It shouldn’t have felt like a sentence. But it did.The apartment, once shared, now felt like a museum of half-liv
The email from the city council arrived just after dawn, blunt and unforgiving.Revised direction required. Full presentation. Forty eight hours.Dante read it twice, then a third time, jaw tightening with each pass. The Riverside project had already been stretched thin by revisions, compromises, p
On Monday morning, Dante didn’t look up when Ethan entered the studio. On Tuesday, feedback that usually came in precise, incisive bursts was reduced to a single line in the margins….Revise proportions. On Wednesday, Dante reassigned a presentation Ethan had been preparing for weeks to another asso
The glass walls of the Hart studio turned the late afternoon sun into something sharp and glittering, a blade of light that followed Ethan down the corridor toward the Conference Room. He adjusted his grip on the tablet in his hand, scanning the agenda Dante had sent an hour earlier.Separate colla
Ethan barely remembers driving home. His body makes the turns, stops at red lights, follows the familiar streets, but his mind is still trapped in that conference room, still standing under the weight of Dante’s gaze, still feeling the echo of a touch that never fully happened but somehow scorched












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