LOGINCalder hated unanswered questions.He hated them even more when the answers depended on his own memory.The Meridian House approval package lay open on his desk. Beside it was a printed copy of the full resident-needs report.He had read both documents several times.The dates were clear.The shortened executive summary had been submitted for approval before the full report was accessed under his account.But that didn't necessarily mean he had never received the report separately.He leaned back, rubbing his forehead.“Mira.”His assistant entered with her tablet.“You asked for the archive access history?”“Yes.”She placed the document before him.“The records show that your account accessed the original resident-needs report after the approval package had been signed. However, the report was also available through the shared project folder.”“Can we establish whether I received a separate copy?”“Not yet. We're checking archived email attachments and document delivery records.”Ca
Calder was halfway through his morning coffee when Ms. Harlan requested an urgent meeting.He read the message twice.It contained no explanation, only a request for his presence at the Meridian House project office.He placed the cup on his desk.“Mira.”His assistant appeared at the doorway.“Yes?”“Clear my next appointment. I need to attend a project meeting.”“Is something wrong?”“I don't know yet.”He collected his jacket and left.Avah was already seated when Calder entered the meeting room.Her expression was composed, but something about the way she held her folder told him this wasn't an ordinary technical discussion.Reid sat beside her. Ms. Harlan stood near the screen, while Penn Ashford occupied a chair at the opposite end of the table.Calder took his seat.“What's happened?”Ms. Harlan placed a printed email on the table.“An anonymous email was sent to Ms. Morne. It suggested she ask you what you remember about the night the original Meridian House report was approve
Avah read the message again.UNKNOWN: You spoke beautifully today. Some people in that room know exactly what you left out.She stared at the screen, trying to decide whether the sender wanted to frighten her or provoke a response.Clove leaned over her shoulder.“Please tell me that's not another one.”“It is.”“I'm beginning to think someone has too much free time.”Avah took a screenshot and forwarded it to Ms. Harlan.She had learned not to respond, not to speculate, and certainly not to let an anonymous stranger dictate her decisions.Still, the timing bothered her.The message had arrived immediately after her discussion at the forum.Someone had been watching.“Do you think it's connected to Meridian House?” Clove asked.“I don't know.”“Could it be someone from the project team?”“That's for the panel to establish.”Clove exhaled.“You're handling this better than I would.”Avah put her phone away.“I don't want to spend my life being afraid of a person who won't even tell me
Avah stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeve of her emerald-green dress.Clove sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with an expression that suggested she was evaluating a masterpiece.“Turn around.”Avah glanced at her reflection. “Why?”“Because I haven't finished admiring the dress.”“You've been admiring it for twenty minutes.”“And I intend to continue.”Avah laughed and turned slightly.The dress was elegant without being excessive. It followed her figure neatly, with a modest neckline and a soft drape that moved beautifully when she walked.Clove nodded.“Perfect.”“Are you sure?”“Avah, if you ask me that again, I'm going to charge you a consultation fee.”Avah picked up her earrings.The Aurelia Design Forum was an important opportunity. She had prepared her speech, reviewed the programme, and rehearsed until Clove threatened to confiscate her notes.Still, a small knot remained in her stomach.“What if I forget something?” she asked.“Then you speak without the
Avah was halfway through reviewing a supplier's quotation when Clove dropped a magazine onto her desk.“Explain this.”Avah looked up. “Good morning to you too.”Clove tapped the cover.Aurelia Living.Beneath the magazine's title was a photograph of a beautifully furnished apartment, its walls dressed in warm neutral tones and its windows opening toward the city skyline. The design was unmistakably Avah's.She leaned closer.“That's the Ellery guest wing.”“Exactly.”Avah picked up the magazine. She hadn't known the project had been selected for publication.The headline read: THE DESIGNER MAKING LUXURY FEEL LIKE HOME.She turned the page.There was a photograph of her standing inside the unfinished reading room, wearing a cream blouse and holding a rolled floor plan. The accompanying article discussed her approach to interior design, her preference for practical beauty, and her belief that a room should reflect the people who use it.At the bottom was a short profile:Avah Morne is
The first thing Avah noticed when she entered Morne Studio was the smell of fresh paint.The second was Clove standing in the middle of the reception area with a clipboard, looking far too pleased with herself.“Before you say anything,” Clove announced, “I made a decision.”Avah stopped beside the doorway. “That sentence has never brought me peace.”“Good. Then you're prepared.”Bex emerged from the design room carrying a stack of fabric samples. “She wants to rearrange the reception area.”“I want to improve it,” Clove corrected.“You moved the chairs.”“Improvement.”“You moved the chairs into the walkway.”“Temporary artistic expression.”Avah laughed, setting her bag on the counter. The familiar noise of the studio—the printer humming, Bex arguing with Clove, the soft music playing from the speakers—settled something inside her.This was hers.Not a room she had been invited into. Not a place she had to make herself smaller to occupy. A business built from her decisions, her work







