บททั้งหมดของ Drafting Vows: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

The afternoon sun cut through the heavy linen drapes of the senior faculty lounge, casting long, geometric shadows across the plush leather armchairs and the dark mahogany bookshelves. The room was empty save for the steady, quiet hum of the silver espresso machine in the corner.Ingrid stood by the frosted glass window, her long charcoal coat slung over the back of a nearby chair. She had just finished reviewing the advanced thesis progress sheets, her fingers steady as she packed her silver tablet into her briefcase. She was a picture of absolute, unbothered academic authority.Click.The heavy mahogany door of the lounge swung open, and Shasha Belmont walked in. She didn't head for the coffee machine. Instead, she smoothly locked the door behind her with a definitive, mechanical snap, her sharp chestnut waves bouncing as she marched straight toward Ingrid's desk. The playful smirk she had worn in the library aisle that morning was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, calculating in

The atmosphere inside the main amphitheater for the afternoon panel presentation was nothing short of a suffocating pressure cooker. Rows of tiered wooden desks curved sharply down toward the presentation floor, where the glaring light of a massive high-definition projector cast stark, geometric shadows against the concrete walls. Final-year students sat huddled over their physical models, their voices creating a frantic, low-frequency hum of sheer anxiety.Celin sat in the middle row, her palms sweating against the smooth edge of her laptop. Her physical cultural hub mock-up was positioned perfectly on the desk before her—the basswood looking pristine, the tension cables anchoring the cantilever roof with absolute, mathematical perfection. But Celin wasn't looking at her design. She was hyper-focused on the empty seat directly beside her.Aleyah had refused to walk to the amphitheater with her. When she finally arrived, she didn't sit with her usual warm, chaotic energy. Instead, she

The morning light filtering through the high industrial windows of the advanced design studio felt entirely too harsh. The room was mostly empty, save for the hum of the ventilation and the distant scratching of a mechanical pencil from the back row. Celin sat at her workstation, her fingers hovering frozen over her keyboard. Her mind was a chaotic loop of the previous night—the profound, terrifying beauty of Ingrid’s confession on the penthouse floor. There is no space left for anyone else. You are my wife.She was trying to align a structural grid on her digital display, but her hands were still trembling from the sheer, lingering adrenaline of that real vow.Thud.A heavy, leather-bound architecture textbook was violently slammed onto the cutting mat right next to Celin’s digital tablet.Celin flinched, her heart executing a sudden, erratic plunge against her ribs as she looked up. Aleyah stood towering over her desk, her knuckles white as she pressed her hands flat against the woo

The heavy embossed cardstock felt like an absolute anchor in Celin’s hand. Gilded in metallic gold lettering, the invitation bore the emblem of the university's annual Benefactors' Gala—the most prestigious event of the academic year. It was a high-stakes arena where wealthy donors, the institution's elite, and the full faculty directory converged under the glittering crystal chandeliers of the Grand Pavilion.For a final-year architecture student, attendance was a mandatory privilege. For Celin, it was a minefield."This is pure dynamite, Celin," Aleyah whispered sharply, leaning across her workstation as she tossed her own gold-trimmed ticket onto her drafting table. "A packed room, high society, family connections, and the entire department board drinking champagne. Psych is already shopping for a tuxedo, and you know he's going to spend the whole night tracking your movements.""I know," Celin murmured, her eyes locked on the elegant cursive. Her heart executed a nervous, erratic

The fallout from the Benefactors' Gala had turned the university corridors completely toxic. Between Shasha Belmont’s predatory, lingering glances in the faculty lounge and Psych actively tracking Celin’s every move, waiting for any crack, the knife's edge they were walking on had sharpened to a lethal degree. The structural safety of their secret marriage was buckling under the strain. By Friday morning, Ingrid had unilaterally drafted a solution. Utilizing her absolute academic authority as Chair, she filed an official administrative request with the registrar's office. Under the guise of a highly selective, "off-site independent thesis research project," she cleared her own weekend schedule and authorized an off-campus study permit for Celin Valentina Ventura. The city, with its suffocating rumors and watching eyes, rapidly vanished behind them as Ingrid’s matte-black luxury sedan carved its way up into the winding, mist-shrouded mountain passes. By late afternoon, the sedan p