Chapter 2

​Ellie POV

​The air in Damien’s office smelled of cedar and ozone. It was the same scent that had lingered on my skin for years, long after I had walked away from him. I stood by the floor to ceiling windows, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. From this high up, the people below looked like ants, easily crushed.

​He always liked the view from the top. He liked the reminder that the world was something to be managed, not experienced.

​My phone buzzed in my palm. I hoped for a reprieve, but it was an email from the lead developer of the Brooklyn Heights project.

​Subject: Project Update

Ellie, in light of the current media coverage, the board has decided to move in a different direction. We appreciate your sketches, but we need to maintain a specific image for this development. We’ll settle the remaining invoice by Friday.

​I gripped the phone until the edges dug into my skin. That project was my rent for the next six months. It was the anchor for my independent portfolio, the proof that I could survive without a safety net.

​"The Brooklyn Heights group?" Damien’s voice cut through the silence. He was sitting at his desk, his fingers hovering over a tablet. He didn't even have to look at me to know. He always knew the shape of a storm before the first drop of rain fell.

​"They dropped me," I said, my voice thin. "Just like the Sterlings."

​"They’re cowards," he said, finally looking up. His gaze was steady, devoid of the panic currently clawing at my throat. "They see a headline and they bolt."

​"They don't bolt from headlines, Damien. They bolt from you." I turned to face him, the blue silk of my dress rustling like a warning. "I spent four years building a name that didn't have Calder attached to it. Four years of walk ups with leaky ceilings and taking every scrap of freelance work just to prove I could. And in four hours, it’s all gone."

​Damien stood up, walking toward me with a slow, heavy deliberation. He didn’t rush. He never had to. "That’s why the contract exists, Ellie. To give you back the leverage they just took."

​"Leverage isn't the same as independence."

​I looked away, my eyes landing on a small glass paperweight on his desk. It was an abstract swirl of blue and gold, a gift I’d bought him during our first month together. Seeing it there, still on his desk after all this time, felt like a trapdoor opening beneath my feet.

​Four years ago.

​The rain was drumming against the windows of Damien’s penthouse, a relentless, rhythmic thrum. Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of lilies. I was sitting on the floor of his study, surrounded by blueprints for a boutique hotel in Vermont. It was my first real commission. Small, but mine.

​"Ellie, you're still working?" Damien had walked in, loosening his tie. He looked exhausted, but when his eyes found mine, they sharpened.

​"I just need to finish the lobby layout," I said, smiling up at him. "The client wants something intimate. It’s a challenge."

​He walked over and looked down at my sketches. He didn't say anything for a long time. Then, he reached down and tapped a corner of the drawing. "If you move the staircase to the center, you can double the occupancy of the mezzanine. It’s more efficient."

​"But it ruins the flow," I argued gently. "The whole point is the sightline to the fireplace. People want to feel tucked away, not processed."

​"Flow doesn't pay the mortgage, Ellie. Efficiency does." He sat on the edge of the desk, looming over my work. "Actually, why are you stressing over this tiny place? I spoke to Marcus today. There’s an opening on the design team for the Calder Plaza. I told him you’d take it."

​The pencil in my hand snapped. "You did what?"

​"It’s a career maker. You’ll be working on a billion dollar site instead of a ten room inn."

​"I don't want to work on the Calder Plaza, Damien. I want to work on my project."

​"And I’ve been listening," he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, persuasive tone that always felt like a promise and a threat at once. "But be realistic. You’re a prodigy, Ellie, but you’re wasting your time in the dirt. Come under the Calder umbrella. I can give you everything. The contractors, the budgets, the firms."

​"I don't want you to give it to me," I whispered. "I want to earn it."

​He laughed softly, leaning down to brush a stray hair from my forehead. It was an affectionate gesture, but it felt like a brand. "You’ve already earned it by being with me. Why do it the hard way?"

​That night, as he slept, I stayed awake. I realized that if I took the job at Calder Plaza, I wouldn't be Ellie Harper, Architect. I would be Damien Calder’s accessory. He didn't want a partner; he wanted a masterpiece to curate.

​I got up, packed a single suitcase, and left my key on the marble counter. I walked out into the rain, the Vermont blueprints tucked under my arm, and I didn't look back until I reached the subway.

​"Ellie?"

​Damien’s voice snapped me back to the present. He was standing right in front of me now. He didn't touch me, but the heat radiating off him was stifling.

​"The press conference is in twenty minutes," he said. "My stylist is in the lounge. She has something for you to wear."

​"I have my own clothes, Damien."

​"You have a trench coat and a look of desperation," he countered. "The world needs to see the woman who has supposedly been my secret partner for years. They need to see a queen, not a freelancer who just lost her last gig."

​I looked down at my hands. They were still shaking. He was right. That was the most infuriating part. If I walked out there looking like myself, they’d smell the blood in the water.

​"Fine," I said. "Where’s the stylist?"

​"In the next room. Ellie?"

​I paused, my hand on the door handle.

​"Don't look at me like that," he said.

​"Like what?"

​"Like I'm the one who broke your heart. You’re the one who walked out, remember?"

​"I walked out to save myself, Damien. There’s a difference."

​I closed the door before he could respond.

​The stylist was a whirlwind of professional detachment. Within forty minutes, she had me squeezed into a dress that cost more than my car. It was a deep, midnight blue, tailored so perfectly it felt like armor. My hair was pulled back into a sleek, severe knot. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back.

​She looked polished. She looked untouchable. She looked like a Calder.

​My phone buzzed again. This time it was a call. I didn't recognize the number, but I answered it anyway.

​"Hello?"

​"Is this Ellie Harper?" A man’s voice, rough and hurried. "I’m with the Daily Ledger. We have a source saying you were evicted from your last apartment for non payment. Any comment on how that fits into your secret romance with the world’s richest bachelor?"

​"I wasn't evicted," I said, my heart slamming into my ribs. "I moved. Who is this?"

​"We have the records, Ellie. Or should I call you the Billionaire’s Charity Case?"

​I hung up, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. They were digging into everything. My missed payments from two years ago when I had pneumonia. The credit card debt I’d racked up trying to keep my tiny firm afloat.

​The door opened and Damien walked in. He saw my face and was across the room in three strides. He took the phone from my hand.

​"What happened?"

​"They know," I whispered. "They’re looking at my bank accounts, Damien. They’re going to find out I’ve been struggling. They’re going to tell everyone I’m a fraud."

​Damien gripped my shoulders. His touch was firm, grounding me in a way I hated. "Listen to me. No one is going to tell anything. I’ve already bought the Ledger’s parent company. That story is dead."

​I looked up at him, horrified. "You bought a company to kill a story?"

​"I did what was necessary. Now, pull yourself together. We’re going down there, and you’re going to smile. You’re going to let them see exactly why I would never let you go."

​He held out his arm. I hesitated for a heartbeat, looking at the door, then back at him.

​My independence wasn't just crumbling. It was gone. I reached out and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow.

​"Let’s get this over with," I said.

​As we walked toward the elevators, I felt like a ghost. I was stepping back into the very world I had nearly drowned in, and this time, there was no exit in sight.