Chapter 4. Rowan Architects

4. Rowan Architects

As I clutched my portfolio like a lifeline, the taxi whizzed through New York's chaotic streets. My lips moved in silent prayer, a desperate call for courage. This wasn't just any firm; it was THE firm. Rowan Architects. Getting this internship would be more than a paycheck. It would be validation, a fresh start that I made out of my own determination.

When the cab came to a halt, I craned my neck to look up at the towering structure. It was breathtaking: glass and steel fused in perfect symmetry, screaming innovation. It felt like I was walking into a future I had imagined a thousand times before. I straightened my blazer, took a deep breath, and walked towards the entrance.

The receptionist greeted me with a professional smile and directed me to the interview room. When the door swung open, three pairs of eyes focused on me: two men and an elegant woman.

“Good morning. I’m Ximara Lyris Adler. It’s an honor to be here.”

The interview progressed in a blur of questions. I poured my heart and soul into each response, revealing my vision: textured materials for durability and luxury, subtle design choices that infused spaces with vitality, and modern touches that maintained warmth. Near the end, I leaned in, finally feeling confident.

"And one more thing," I said. "I'd love to incorporate custom glass installations. I've had glassblowing training. A custom piece can elevate a space."

As I closed my portfolio, I noticed them exchanging subtle nods. The elegant woman—Mrs. Lara , as I later learned—offered a poised smile.

“Ms. Adler, your portfolio and presentation are remarkable. That said, we have other candidates to review.”

My heart dipped, but I kept my composure. “Thank you for considering me. I look forward to hearing from you.”

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That night, I couldn't fall asleep. Anxiety was gnawing at my nerves. They'd said they'd call in the evening, but the hours passed. My phone stayed silent. No affirmation, no denial, just a painful emptiness.

I sighed and opened the door to the balcony. This room was right, at least. The creepy neighbor was not lurking tonight, or so it appeared. I sat down in a chair and turned my back to his balcony, lost in thought while scrolling through my phone. I paused on a photo of Elizabeth and Rogan, my siblings. My chest tightened. I kept swiping.

A sudden ringtone blared beside me, jolting me upright. I spun around, and there he was. The neighbor. Hood drawn low, body angled towards me. How could I not have heard him walk out? The night breeze brushed against my hair.

Ali's words echoed in my head, "It's his balcony. He can come and go whenever he pleases.”

Still, unease prickled at my spine. I shoved my phone into my pocket, edged closer to the railing, and stared down at the street below. Another hour slipped by before I trudged back inside.

The rest of the night was a blur of tossing and turning, accompanied by the unsettling sensation of unseen eyes keeping me awake. By dawn, I was wired and exhausted.

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I sat at the kitchen table this morning, picking at my breakfast. My phone vibrated against the wood, and my hands became clammy.

Ali paused in the middle of his coffee sip. "Is it them?"

I replied with a nod. He smiled encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Hello, good morning.”

“Good morning. Am I speaking to Ms. Ximara Lyris Adler?” A polished female voice came through.

“Yes, this is Ximara Adler,” I said, fighting to keep my tone steady.

“Ms. Adler, this is Rowan Architects. We’re calling about your application for the interior designer position. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I did.” My voice was clipped, nerves choking off anything else.

A pause, followed by— "Congratulations, ma'am. You have been selected. You are welcome to start tomorrow. Could you please come in early, around seven o'clock, so we can go over some important details?"

My heart slammed into my ribs. "Yes, of course. I will be there.

I set down the phone, stunned. Ali was beaming.

"Think you got the job?" he asked, winking.

“Yay!” I squealed, launching from my chair and wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. “I got it, Ali! You were right—I was frettin’ for nothing!”

He chuckled, patting my arm. “Now go finish your breakfast,” he teased.

I nodded, practically skipping as I polished off my meal.

“So, what’s your plan for today?” Ali asked.

“Not much. I thought I'd go shopping for work clothes. I want to look good. Or at least presentable.

“Oh? "Do you need cash for that?" His tone became softer. "You're always welcome to ask."

I shook my head. "No, I have saved enough to get by. And with work starting tomorrow, money worries are out of the picture."

Ali sighed, leaning back. "Mara, I understand you believe you have no claim to what is mine because your mother did not support you. But everything I’ve got is yours too. Don’t be scared to lean on someone, love. There will always be people who want to support you—people who would give you the world if they could." His voice dropped, tender. “I wish I could be that for you forever, but I can’t promise it. One day, I won’t be here. But when that day comes, I know someone better’ll step up to take care of you.”

His words hit deep. Ali was my rock. My eyes stung with unshed tears. I stood and hugged him tight.

“Thank you, Ali,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

Later, I hit the mall, snagging a few pieces that caught my eye. But no matter how I tried to distract myself, my mind kept circling back to tomorrow—my first day at Rowan Architects.

_______

And just like that, the day arrived. I stood before the firm, straightening my posture, shoulders back with newfound confidence. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself and stepped inside. A better future awaited.

Weeks flew by, blending into a month of late nights and endless designs. Then one morning, as I hunched over my desk, the intercom crackled.

“Ximara, please report to the CEO’s office,” Stephan Rowan’s assistant said.

The founder and CEO, Stephan Rowan, was a legend. I'd seen him a few times before: tall, commanding, with a sharp mind and a sharper temper. Tabloids speculated about his anger issues, but they also stated that only his wife, Lara, could control him. She doubled as his secretary—his first employee, rumor had it—and he adored her and their daughter fiercely.

Now, after a month here, he wanted to see me? My stomach twisted. Had I screwed up? Last week, Victoria, the interior manager, had handed me a massive project. She’d been floored by my work reports, praising my vision, and asked me to take the lead while she handled personal matters at home. I’d poured everything into it. Maybe I’d overstepped?

I sighed, saved my project, making triple backups, and rose from my chair. I caught my breath outside his door, put on a calm face, and knocked.

“Come in,” a strong voice rumbled.

I stepped into the sleek office, spotting Stephan behind his desk, with Lara perched beside him. She smiled faintly as I entered.

“Ms. Adler,” Stephan began, his tone steady but unreadable, “take a seat.”

“Good morning, sir. Ma’am,” I said, nodding.

He leaned forward. “You’ve been here a month now. How are things going for you?

"It's been incredible," I stated carefully. "It's challenging, but I'm learning so much."

He nodded and exchanged glances with Lara. “We’ve got some news. Victoria is stepping down, permanently. It is important to consider family. She's quitting next week."

My breath caught.

Stephan's gaze narrowed. "She recommended that you take her place. She described your work on that project as some of the best she'd seen—innovative, practical, and bold. "We both agree."

I blinked. “Me? I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Lara interjected with a soft laugh. “It’s a big role, but you’ve got the chops. We’ve watched your progress.”

Stephan grunted. "It's a promotion to Interior Manager. More responsibility means higher pay. "Are you in?"

"Yes," I answered, my heart racing. “Absolutely. Thank you; this means everything.

“Good.” He leaned back, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Start prepping to transition next week. Victoria’ll brief you before she goes.”

I exited the office in a daze. Interior Manager. Me. It was surreal.

___________

Later that day, I trudged back to my small fifth-floor cabin, cluttered with sketches and fabric swatches. I flicked on the light, and froze. On my desk was a letter with my name scrawled in elegant ink. I hadn't left anything behind when I went out for Stephan's meeting.

Frowning, I picked it up, unease tingling down my spine, and tore it open.

Congratulations on your promotion. You earned it through your hard work, not luck. That distinction matters. You are exactly where you are supposed to be.

No signature. My pulse quickened. Who’d been here?

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