POV: Isabella
The Vega project was a beautiful shell cracking under pressure. The whisper network, which had briefly quieted after the gala, returned with a vengeance. Now, the murmurs weren’t about her and Xavier. They were sharper, more professional, and far more dangerous: Hart’s in over her head. The project’s bleeding talent. The client’s furious. Maybe the design is as unstable as the team.
The pressure was a physical weight, a constant ache between her shoulder blades. She moved through the half-built spaces of the hotel, the scent of sawdust and despair clinging to her clothes. Every solved problem revealed two more. Every morning, she braced for another resignation email. She was holding the vision together with sheer force of will and too much black coffee, but the cracks were
