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Ayesha's POV
I bought the ring I would use to propose to my husband today. Wait. Did I just say husband?
He wasn't my husband. Not yet. For now, we were just boyfriend and girlfriend, and I loved him so much. Normally, no one in my family would ever approve of a woman proposing to a man. It would mean she sold herself short and was very desperate.
I didn't tell my mother what I was about to do. The only person who knew was my best friend, Gemma. In fact, she was the one who suggested it. Right now, she lay sprawled across my messy bed.
"Wow, I'm so happy for you. You know what I'm going to do on that day?" She sat up quickly. "I'll sing your favourite song as karaoke and organise the couple games both of you will play."
"Aww, Gemma, you're making me shy. You know that will be my big day." My cheeks bloomed pink.
"And wait, I forgot. I'll make sure I invite all our friends."
My smile slipped. OUR friends. I knew she meant her friends because I didn't really have any. Gemma was the only friend I'd ever managed to keep. Growing up, people always found something to laugh at when it came to me, especially my body.
Puberty didn't have mercy on me the way it did on other girls. At sixteen, I had no breasts. My chest was flat, my butt was flat, and some people genuinely thought it was funny to call me bro.
One afternoon in high school, someone compared a classroom wall to my chest and everybody laughed. I ran into the girls' bathroom crying.
"Do I really look like a boy?" I asked nobody in particular.
"No," a voice answered from one of the stalls. "You're beautiful. They're just jealous."
That was Gemma. We became inseparable after that.
"What do you think I should wear, Gem?" I asked.
"We'll go shopping and I'll pick something sexy." She grinned. "But first, let me see the ring again."
I opened my dresser drawer and handed her the small box. She admired it for several seconds.
"Do you think he'll like it?" I asked nervously.
"This isn't just any ring. Do you remember how much we spent?"
I smiled weakly. Not we. Me. The ring had cost almost all my savings. Chris wasn't just any man. He was the CEO of Azul Corporation. And he was mine. At least, I thought he was.
We had been classmates in high school. He never bullied me like everyone else did. Years later, when we met again after university, he didn't even recognise me at first. It hurt more than I wanted to admit. But eventually, we became close. Then closer.
I remembered one evening when I'd stayed late at work trying to finish a report. Everyone else had gone home. Chris came out of his office, looked at my desk and frowned.
"You haven't gone home yet?"
"I want to finish this first."
An hour later, he returned with a paper bag containing my favourite chicken pie and a bottle of juice.
I hadn't told him those were my favourites. Somehow, he'd remembered. Later that night he called to make sure I got home safely. Maybe those things sounded small. But they mattered to me. For four years, I held onto moments like that. There was only one thing that bothered me.
Chris liked keeping our relationship private. We never attended events together. We never appeared together in public. Whenever I asked about it, he would tell me not to overthink things. I always listened. Gemma said successful men were usually more cautious about relationships. So I tried not to worry.
Today, I would finally take a bold step. I would propose.
"Give me the ring, Gemma. I want to keep it safe."
She handed it back and stood up.
"I'm going to shower. Yesha, make your bed. It's gross."
"I'll do it. What time is the staff get-together again?"
"Five-thirty. That's where you're proposing."
I hesitated. "Can't I do it in private? He might feel embarrassed."
Gemma groaned loudly. "Why are you acting scared now?"
"I'm not scared."
"Then stop overthinking. You've been together for four years. If he loves you, he'll be happy."
That made me feel better. Gemma always seemed to know what she was talking about. After she showered, we went shopping. Out of dozens of dresses, she picked a tiny green one.
The moment I tried it on, I hated it. My hip bones showed. My legs looked too thin and even breathing felt difficult.
"I don't like it, Gem."
"I do. And trust me, you'll look amazing."
I wasn't convinced. Still, I bought it. By 4:45 p.m., I was struggling with the zipper alone in my apartment. After finally managing it, I took a taxi to Azul. I arrived ten minutes late. The venue was already crowded. I searched for Gemma but couldn't find her.
Then I saw Chris. I saw those green eyes and his perfectly styled blond hair. Also he had the same smile that always made me forget every insecurity I had. As if he felt me staring, he looked over. Our eyes met, he smiled and my heart immediately calmed.
See? Everything was going to be fine. I just needed courage. While I waited for the right moment, my supervisor Daya pulled me aside to help fill wine glasses. While I worked, I noticed her staring.
"I should keep this to myself, but... do you feel comfortable in what you're wearing?"
"I feel comfortable, Mrs Daya."
She nodded slowly.
When I finished, Gemma finally arrived. Compared to her elegant white layered dress, I felt ridiculous. She squeezed my hand.
"It's time, Yesha. Go for it. I'll record everything."
I nodded. This was it. I walked toward Chris. The room suddenly felt too hot.
"Ayesha, you made it. Good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Mr Chris."
He frowned slightly. "Is there something you need?"
"Actually... yes."
"Let's talk in my office."
"No. Let's do it here."
He sat back down. I pulled out the ring box. Then I got down on one knee. The room went silent. More and more people turned to look and my hands shook.
"Will you marry me, Mr Chris?"
There was silence. My smile began to falter.
"Mr Chris, will you…"
"Stop it."
I froze. His voice was cold.
"Get up from your knees. What drama are you trying to pull here? Are you creating a social media post?"
Confusion flooded me. "But... I thought we liked each other. I'm being serious."
"If you're really serious, then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I won't marry you. Now get up and leave. You've embarrassed me enough already."
The words hit harder than any slap. Tears filled my eyes. I struggled to stand. More than a hundred people stared at me but nobody said a word. Gemma still had her phone raised.
"Gemma, stop it." My voice came out broken.
I turned away, desperate to find somewhere private to cry. Then I heard a loud ripping sound. The room gasped and my stomach dropped. I looked behind me.
The dress had split completely between my buttocks. My white underwear was visible to everyone. For a moment, I couldn't move.
Someone laughed. My face burned. But the worst part wasn't the ripped dress. It wasn't the humiliation. It wasn't even the laughter. It was Chris.
Chris had seen all of it.
Ayesha's POVJames Obi answered at eleven in the evening with the voice of a man who had expectedthis call, not because he knew it was coming but because he understood the kind of personMarcus Webb was and the kind of person who, having lost the first three moves, made thefourth one with everything he had."He filed a civil complaint," Ayesha said."I know," James said. "His legal team filed at nine this evening. I received the notificationthrough the court's system thirty minutes ago.""Why didn't you call me?" Ayesha said."Because I was reading the complaint first," James said. "Calling you with incompleteinformation would not have been useful.""What does it say?" she said."It claims the independent structural review was requested as a deliberate strategy tonullify a legitimate permit objection rather than as a genuine inquiry into structural safety,"James said. "It names the foundation and the gallery as joint respondents on the grounds thatthe review was requested in co
Ken's POV"I resigned from the firm."He said it in the kitchen of the house with the garden at ten fifteen in the evening, with Irislistening from the top of the stairs in the way Iris listened to things she was not supposed to belistening to, which was with complete and invisible attention.Ayesha looked at him across the kitchen with the expression that was not anger and wasnot surprise in the dramatic sense but was the specific expression of someone who hadreceived information that was changing the shape of what they understood the current situationto be, and who was doing the work of the reorientation honestly rather than reactively."When?" she said."Three weeks ago," he said. "The day after the cultural centre committee called about theoriginal courtyard commission. I resigned before I accepted the commission.""You resigned before accepting it," she said."Yes," he said."Why?""Because the firm's partnership agreement gives the firm first right to any commissionthat c
Ayesha's POVRowan looked smaller in the hospital bed than she looked in her studio, which was itselfnot a large person's space but which had always seemed exactly the right size for the specificquality of energy Rowan brought to her work, the focused intensity of someone who wasentirely inside what they were making. In room fourteen she looked like what she was, whichwas a twenty-five-year-old who had run herself into the ground on the specific fuel of guilt andgrief and the particular drive of an artist who had decided that stopping was not an option."You flew home," Rowan said."Yes," Ayesha said, sitting in the chair beside the bed."You didn't have to do that," Rowan said."I know," Ayesha said. "I did it anyway. How do you feel?""Embarrassed," Rowan said. "And tired. Mostly embarrassed.""Why embarrassed?" Ayesha said."Because I know better," Rowan said. "I know that the body is part of the work. I knowthat you cannot make anything worth making if the instrument is brok
Ayesha's POVThe session ended at six in the evening New York time and Dr. Cross called Ayesha at sixfifteen with the voice of a woman who had spent the preceding two hours doing somethingdifficult and necessary and was now on the other side of it, not relieved but resolved."Both Haine and the second member have been suspended from the governancecommittee pending a full internal review," Dr. Cross said. "Their access to partnershipdocumentation has been revoked. The foundation's legal counsel is preparing a formal breachof fiduciary duty filing.""And the cultural centre?" Ayesha said."Remains fully active," Dr. Cross said. "The review process was never about the culturalcentre. It was about the consortium's property interest and the governance members who werefacilitating it. With those members suspended the obstruction is removed.""The second member," Ayesha said. "Who?""A woman named Patricia Osei," Dr. Cross said. "She joined the committee eight monthsago. Her communic
Ayesha's POVJames Obi's voice, when she called him from the street outside Danielle's building, hadthe quality it had when he was delivering information he wished he did not have to deliver,which was measured and slightly slower than his usual pace, the specific cadence of a lawyerwho understood that the words he chose in the next two minutes would determine thetemperature of the next two hours."The independent structural review is filed," he said. "That part is handled. What I foundwhile I was filing it is the part I need to tell you about.""Tell me," Ayesha said."Marcus Webb's development interest in the Bushwick block is not independent," Jamessaid. "He is acting as the visible front for a consortium. I found the consortium's filing throughthe city's commercial property registry. Three members. One of them is a name you willrecognise.""Say it," Ayesha said."Robert Haine," James said. "The governance committee member who pushed for thereview of the curatorial authorit
Ayesha's POV"Someone is trying to buy Danielle out."Elaine said it the way people said things they had been sitting with for too long, quicklyand without preamble, standing in the doorway of the Brooklyn space on a Thursday morningwith her coat still on and her phone in her hand like a weapon she had not decided whether touse.Ayesha looked up from the floor plan she had been marking. "Say that again.""Marcus Webb," Elaine said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with thespecific care of someone who did not want the street to hear the next part of the conversation."The critic. He has a development interest in this block. He wants to convert the building intoprivate studio residencies that he controls the rental of. He approached Danielle last night withan offer to join the project as lead architect. The offer is significant.""How significant?" Ayesha said."Three times what the foundation is paying her for this renovation," Elaine said. "And atwo-year retainer







