Chapter 4: The Space Between Us

AVAH

The first thing Avah Morne wanted to do when she entered the conference room was turn around and walk straight back out.

Not because of the intimidating glass walls overlooking Aurelia City. Not because three senior executives were already examining her portfolio as if they were searching for a reason to reject it.

Because Calder Ives was standing beside the presentation screen with his sleeves rolled up, looking far too comfortable in a room where she intended to win.

“Ms. Morne,” he greeted her.

“Mr. Ives.”

His eyes flickered briefly toward the folder in her hands. “You're early.”

“I'm prepared.”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “I didn't say you weren't.”

“And I didn't ask whether you thought I was.”

The youngest executive at the table coughed into his fist. Avah pretended not to notice.

Calder's expression barely changed, but something in his eyes sharpened.

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “Let's begin.”

Avah selected the seat opposite him.

Not beside him.

Never beside him.

She arranged her drawings, opened her laptop, and connected it to the display. Her proposed design for Meridian House appeared across the screen: a sweeping glass entrance, warm natural materials, generous communal spaces, and an interior that made the building feel welcoming rather than intimidating.

“This concept is built around one principle,” she began. “A building should make people feel that they belong inside it.”

One of the executives leaned forward.

“That's a lovely sentiment,” he said. “But Meridian House is a premium commercial development. Sentiment doesn't pay operating costs.”

“Neither does an empty building.”

The room went quiet.

Avah continued before he could respond.

“People return to places where they feel comfortable. The lighting, circulation, acoustics, and material choices influence how long they stay and whether they recommend the experience to others. I'm not proposing decoration. I'm proposing an environment that supports the building's commercial value.”

She changed the slide.

“Here, we use daylight without creating excessive heat. These partitions can be adjusted as tenant requirements change. The finishes are durable enough for heavy traffic, and the maintenance plan prioritizes materials that can be repaired rather than completely replaced.”

The executive studied the image.

“And the cost?”

Avah displayed the projected budget.

“Within the approved range, provided the specifications remain consistent with the brief.”

“Provided?” another executive repeated.

“Quality costs money. Replacing poor-quality materials costs more.”

Calder looked at her drawings rather than her face.

“Your original proposal included a more open reception area,” he said. “The security consultant has raised concerns about visitor movement.”

“I've seen the preliminary notes.”

“Then you understand why we may need to restrict access.”

“I understand the concern. I don't agree that restricting access is the only solution.”

His gaze lifted.

“Explain.”

Avah enlarged the floor plan.

“We can create a layered entrance. Visitors arrive in an open reception area, where the architecture guides them naturally toward registration. Secure access begins beyond that point. Staff movement remains separate, and the central space keeps its openness.”

“You'd need additional screening equipment.”

“Which is why I've allowed space for it in the revised layout.”

The security consultant, who had been silent until then, leaned toward the screen.

“You anticipated the requirement?”

“I anticipated that a building of this scale would need a security review.”

For the first time since she'd entered, Calder looked at her with something that resembled genuine surprise.

Avah resisted the ridiculous urge to enjoy it.

She had not worked through sleepless nights, fought for clients, and built Morne Studio from an uncertain idea just to collect approval from a man who had once made her feel invisible.

She wanted the contract.

His admiration was irrelevant.

Mostly.

The discussion moved to material samples, lighting temperatures, and the proposed gallery space. Avah answered each question carefully, refusing to bluff when she needed to verify a technical detail.

When one executive suggested removing the gallery to increase rentable space, she folded her hands.

“I wouldn't recommend that.”

“Because it's your favorite feature?”

“Because it gives the building an identity. Without it, Meridian House risks becoming another expensive address with a polished lobby and nothing memorable about it.”

“That's a bold claim.”

“It's an expensive building. It deserves a bold idea.”

The youngest executive laughed before disguising it as a cough.

Calder's mouth twitched.

Avah saw it.

She hated that she saw it.

The meeting continued until the executives began gathering their documents. The security consultant requested a revised entrance diagram, while the finance representative asked for a detailed breakdown of the proposed materials.

Neither had rejected her design.

That was progress.

“Ms. Morne,” Calder said as the others filed out, “stay for a moment. We need to discuss the technical workshop.”

Avah closed her laptop.

“Send the requirements through Mira. I'll respond through the official channel.”

“This concerns the workshop I'm leading.”

“Then you can send the requirements through the official channel.”

His jaw tightened.

“Do you intend to make every conversation difficult?”

“No. Only the ones where you forget that I'm here to work.”

She lifted her folder.

Calder stepped away from the table, leaving the doorway unobstructed.

“Understood.”

The simple answer caught her off guard.

She had prepared herself for an argument, for the familiar coldness, for the subtle suggestion that he knew better than she did.

Instead, he looked almost as though he were considering her words.

Avah hated that even more.

“Good,” she said.

She reached the door.

“Avah.”

Her hand paused on the handle.

She turned slowly. “Is there a professional reason for using my first name?”

Something shifted across his face.

“No,” he admitted.

“Then I'll see you at the workshop, Mr. Ives.”

She left before he could say anything else.

In the corridor, her phone vibrated.

A message from Clove appeared on the screen.

CLove: Did you survive the billionaire's lair?

Avah typed back.

AVAH: Barely. His executives ask questions like they're being paid per wrinkle on my forehead.

CLOVE: Are you still alive?

AVAH: Unfortunately for them.

CLOVE: Good. I already planned how to spend your first commission payment.

Avah smiled despite herself.

Then another notification appeared.

It was an email from Mira, Calder's executive assistant.

SUBJECT: MERIDIAN HOUSE — TECHNICAL WORKSHOP

The message confirmed the workshop and requested that Avah bring her original sketches, material samples, and alternative entrance plans.

At the bottom was a note.

The executive sponsor will be participating directly in the concept revision.

Avah stared at the sentence.

Of course he would.

She slipped her phone into her bag and continued toward the elevator.

She could handle Calder Ives.

She had survived being his wife.

Winning a building project should have been easier.

So why did she have the uncomfortable feeling that the hardest part of this contract had nothing to do with architecture?

CALDER

Calder remained in the conference room after everyone else had left.

Avah's final slide was still displayed on the screen.

Meridian House.

A building that was supposed to become one of Ives Holdings' most recognizable developments.

He had expected polished drawings, careful answers, and a designer eager to impress the man overseeing the project.

He had not expected Avah to challenge his executives without hesitation.

He had not expected her to anticipate the security concerns.

And he certainly had not expected to spend the entire meeting trying not to watch the way she spoke with her hands when she became passionate about a design.

He remembered those hands.

They had once moved across the dining table while she described ideas she wanted to pursue. He remembered answering emails, checking messages, and telling himself he would listen properly when work became less demanding.

Work had always been demanding.

Avah had eventually stopped telling him about her ideas.

He had mistaken her silence for contentment.

His phone vibrated.

Serena Holt's name appeared on the screen.

SERENA: How did the meeting go?

Calder typed a brief response.

CALDER: Productive.

Her reply came quickly.

SERENA: And Avah?

He stared at the message.

SERENA: I assume you two were in the same room. Please don't tell me you turned a professional meeting into a personal one.

CALDER: I didn't.

SERENA: Good. Let her work.

He read that message twice.

Serena had always been capable of seeing the consequences of a decision after everyone else had become distracted by the reasons for making it.

He put the phone away.

The door opened, and Mira stepped inside with her tablet.

“The shortlisted studios have received the workshop requirements,” she said. “Morne Studio's proposal is the most detailed so far.”

“Because she prepared for the project.”

“Yes.”

Calder looked at her.

Mira's expression remained professional, but he suspected she had noticed his surprise.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“That sounded like a very careful answer.”

“I'm your executive assistant. Careful answers are part of the job.”

Despite himself, he almost smiled.

“Anything else?”

“The other shortlisted teams have requested clarification about the revised security requirements. Ms. Morne has already included an alternative in her design.”

“I noticed.”

“Then I suppose the next workshop should be interesting.”

Mira turned toward the door.

“Mira.”

She stopped.

“Make sure every shortlisted studio receives the same updated information. I don't want anyone claiming Morne Studio received preferential treatment.”

“Already arranged.”

“And keep the evaluation independent.”

“Of course.”

When she left, Calder returned his attention to the screen.

He could still hear Avah's voice.

A building should make people feel that they belong inside it.

He wondered when she had learned to say what she wanted without looking at him first.

He wondered how many times she had needed to silence herself before she finally stopped trying.

The questions irritated him because he had no answers that made him look good.

He closed the presentation and opened the project schedule.

The workshop was approaching.

He would keep the discussion professional. He would judge her work fairly. He would not interfere with her decisions or mistake an old familiarity for permission.

Those rules should have been simple.

Then his phone vibrated again.

This time, it was an email from the Meridian House development team.

The subject line read:

URGENT: ORIGINAL STRUCTURAL PLAN CONFLICT — DESIGN REVISION REQUIRED.

Calder opened it.

The message explained that an overlooked structural restriction affected the central gallery space in every shortlisted proposal. The existing support columns could not be moved without substantial additional cost and a delay to the entire project.

He studied the attached plan.

Avah's design depended on that gallery remaining open.

Without a solution, her concept would lose its defining feature.

He picked up his phone and called Mira.

“Contact Ms. Morne,” he said when she answered. “Ask her to bring her original structural drawings to the workshop.”

“Should I explain the issue?”

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause.

“Sir, the email recommends suspending the gallery concept until the engineering team completes its review.”

“Don't suspend anything yet.”

“Understood.”

He ended the call and looked again at Avah's design.

He could protect the project by choosing the safer proposal.

He could protect the budget by removing the gallery.

Or he could give Avah the chance to solve the problem herself.

For once, he knew which option he should choose.

What he did not know was whether the woman who had just walked out of his office would believe him when he told her that her design was still worth fighting for.

Because the structural report contained one final detail.

The restriction had been documented before the shortlisted designs were submitted.

Someone had known about it.

And no one had warned the designers.