MY HEART ROB.

MY HEART ROB ❤️

CHAPTER ONE

Elara Vance was a woman of straight lines and cold steel. As a lead architect in the heart of Chicago, her life was a series of controlled environments. She lived in a penthouse that was entirely grayscale, she wore suits that were tailored to the millimeter, and she kept her heart in a reinforced vault that no one—not even her closest associates—had the combination to.

To Elara, feelings were structural flaws. They were the moisture that caused wood to rot and the heat that caused metal to warp. She had spent ten years building a reputation as the "Ice Queen of Architecture," a title she wore like armor.

Then came the North Star project. It was a career-defining commission: a massive glass-domed botanical conservatory meant to be the lungs of the city. It was Elara’s dream, a symphony of glass and light. But there was one condition from the city council—she had to collaborate with Julian Thorne.

Julian was a landscape designer, though the term felt too small for him. He was a man of the earth, a rebel who believed that buildings should be "servants to the soil."

Their first meeting took place at the construction site. The air was thick with the scent of diesel and wet concrete. Elara was standing on a makeshift platform, her iPad in hand, checking the alignment of the steel ribs against the horizon.

"You're a millimeter off on the southern tilt," a voice boomed from below.

Elara looked down. Standing in the mud, wearing rugged work boots and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, was Julian. He wasn't wearing a hard hat, and his dark, messy hair was windblown.

"I don't make mistakes, Mr. Thorne," Elara said, her voice like a shard of glass.

Julian climbed the ladder with an athletic grace that made Elara’s breath hitch—a sensation she immediately filed away as "irritation." He stepped onto the platform, invading her personal space. He smelled like cedarwood, rain, and something spicy that she couldn't quite name.

"It’s not a mistake," Julian said, his moss-green eyes locked onto hers. He was so close she could see the golden flecks in his iris. "It’s a choice. You’re building a cage for the light. I want to build a home for the shadows. If you don't tilt that glass, the ferns I’m planting won't survive the afternoon sun. They need the shade of the steel."

"The steel is for support, not for shade," she countered, her pulse beginning to thrum in her throat.