All Chapters of Between Desire and Ruin: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The world shifted with a single vibration.Ethan’s phone buzzed against the scarred wooden table of his tiny apartment, the sound slicing through the quiet morning like a fault line opening beneath his feet. He didn’t rush to look, he never did. Emails, messages, notifications, they usually brought invoices, client edits, polite rejections from design firms that said promising portfolio, but not a fit at this time.But today, something in the air felt different. Sharp. As if the universe was holding its breath.He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, stretched the stiffness from his spine, and finally swiped the screen.The sender froze his pulse.Dante Hart Studio RecruitmentFor a moment, Ethan forgot how to breathe.Dante Hart!? Architectural visionary. Design prodigy. A man whose work Ethan had studied with the kind of reverent obsession usually reserved for religion or romance. Dante’s buildings were symphonies clean arcs, unexpected shadows, a fusion of elegance and rebellion. He

Monday morning arrived far too quickly.Ethan stood outside Hart Studio at 7:52 a.m., eight minutes earlier than he had dared to arrive. Dante’s warning If you’re early, you’ll wait outside. If you’re late, don’t come at all echoed in his skull like a command carved in granite.He wiped his damp palms on his trousers, trying to slow his breathing. The glass façade reflected a ghostlike version of him, wide eyed, tense, not at all like someone who belonged in a world of prodigies and perfection.But he was here.Because Dante Hart had said start Monday.And because something about the man had turned Ethan’s pulse into a frantic metronome.At exactly 8:00 a.m., the doors unlocked with a soft click.Ethan stepped inside.The studio buzzed differently today.People moved with precision designers carrying rolled blueprints, assistants typing rapidly at sleek workstations, model builders hunched over miniature structures under halo lights. Everything was clean, intentional, and brimming wit

The studio was nearly empty by the time Ethan returned from the conference room, nerves still sparking under his skin. He’d tried to collect himself, splashed cold water on his face, breathed through the lingering adrenaline but Dante’s parting words clung to him like static.We’ll talk more privately.He hadn’t been able to think about anything else.Now, long past closing hours, the architectural studio felt strangely softer. The usual cacophony of printers, footsteps, clattering keyboards, and hurried conversations had faded into a hush broken only by the distant hum of lights.Ethan pushed the door open quietly.Dante was still there.He stood at the central drafting table, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded, dark hair slightly mussed as if he’d run his hands through it too many times. A pool of warm, amber light hovered around him, catching the edges of his jaw and making him look almost unreal.For a moment, Ethan simply watched him.There was something intimate about seeing Dante

Ethan couldn’t focus.He tried. He really tried. But every time he lifted a pencil to a blank sheet, the lines refused to obey. Curves faltered, angles hesitated. The sketches that should have flowed from instinct instead felt forced, stiff, lifeless.And now there was another distraction.The email had arrived two days ago. Subject line: “Opportunity You Can’t Refuse”.He had hesitated even opening it, but curiosity mixed with ambition and insecurity had won.The message was simple, professional, yet undeniably tempting: a senior design position at Blackthorn & Co., a rival firm to Hart Studio, with a salary that would double his current stipend and full creative control over a high profile urban project. They had clearly done their research, mentioned his portfolio, his work ethic, even Dante’s glowing reputation and suggested that he could be a star in their firm.But Dante.Dante Hart. The man whose approval felt like oxygen. The man who had scrutinized, challenged, and unintenti

Ethan could feel it before he even reached the studio that morning, the undercurrent of scrutiny, the faint hum of judgment lingering in the air like a storm about to break.He stepped through the glass doors, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and immediately sensed the difference. The office was alive, bustling as always, but the energy felt sharper, more pointed. Heads turned as he walked past. Conversations paused. Murmurs floated just below the level of hearing.He tried to ignore it. Tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. He had work to do, deadlines to meet, sketches to perfect. But every whisper, every glance, every half smile carried weight.Marcus, of course, was already there, leaning casually against the edge of the main drafting table with that smug expression that made Ethan want to shove his pencil straight through the page. And he wasn’t alone. A few other team members some new, some seasoned exchanged subtle nods and murmurs as Ethan passed.Did you see him last