TWELVE MONTHS WITH HIM

Chapter 1 I woke up this morning feeling down and excited. The rain came down sideways, turning Seattle's streets into rivers and Harper Vale's jacket into a useless piece of soggy fabric. She stood outside the Adriatic Hotelier aunt's hotel, her hotel now listening to Mr. Chen deliver the kind of news that changed everything. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Vale, but the financial situation is... complicated." He adjusted his fogged glasses with one hand while trying to keep his umbrella steady with the other. Both efforts were failing. "Your aunt took out several loans over the years to maintain the property. The building requires significant repairs, and the property taxes alone…" "How much?" Harper cut him off. She'd never been good at dragging out bad news. Better to just take the hit. Mr. Chen hesitated, who told her everything she needed to know before he even spoke. "The total debt is approximately 3.2 million dollars." Harper laughed. She couldn't help it. The sound came out sharp and slightly unhinged, startling a woman walking past with her dog. Three point two million. It was such an absurd number that her brain couldn't quite process it as real. "That's not possible," she said, even though she could see from his expression that it absolutely was. "I'm afraid the documentation is quite clear. Margaret was exceptional at keeping the hotel operational, but the underlying financial structure was…" He paused, clearly searching for a diplomatic word. "A disaster," Harper finished for him. "You can say it." He didn't argue. She turned to look up at the building, rainwater streaming down her face. Six stories of art deco perfection, with geometric windows that managed to catch what little light broke through the heavy clouds. The facade was weathered but still beautiful…cream-colored stone with brass fixtures that her aunt had spent an entire summer restoring back in 1984. Margaret Vale used to say the Adriatic had good bones. Those buildings were like people…they just needed someone willing to love them back to life. Apparently love didn't cover property taxes. "There is one interested buyer," Mr. Chen continued, pulling a folder from his briefcase and attempting to shield it from the rain. "Sebastian Colton has made an offer on the property." Harper's stomach dropped. She knew that name. Everyone in Seattle knew that name. "Sebastian Colton," she repeated flatly. "Yes. Colton Industries has been acquiring properties in this neighborhood for several years now. Mr. Colton has offered 8.5 million for the Adriatic and the adjacent parking lot." Eight and a half million dollars. Harper could pay off every cent of debt and walk away with enough money to finally start her own architecture firm instead of scraping by on freelance projects that never quite materialized. She could move out of her apartment where the heater only worked half the time and the upstairs neighbors seemed to move furniture at three in the morning. She could stop drowning in her aunt's financial mistakes and finally, finally breathe. But she already knew what Sebastian Colton wanted to do with the building. Everyone knew what Sebastian Colton did with buildings. "What's his plan for it?" she asked, even though she didn't really need to. Mr. Chen shifted his weight, umbrella tilting. "I believe the proposal includes demolishing the existing structure and developing luxury residential condos." There it was. Luxury condos. Glass and steel towers with rooftop pools and smart-home technology and absolutely no soul. He wanted to erase the Adriatic like it had never existed. Like Margaret Vale hadn't spent forty years keeping it alive. Like the history of these walls meant nothing. "Tell him no," Harper said. "Ms. Vale…" "I said no." "You don't have the capital to save this property," Mr. Chen's voice was gentle but firm, the tone of someone delivering facts rather than opinions. "Without significant investment, the bank will foreclose within sixty days. At that point, they'll sell to the highest bidder regardless of your wishes. You'll walk away with nothing." "Then I have sixty days to figure something else out." "Figure out what exactly?" He wasn't being cruel, just pragmatic. "You're an architect, not a developer. You don't have access to that kind of capital. And even if you did, the building needs immediate repairs. The roof is leaking, there's substantial water damage in the east wing, the electrical system hasn't been updated since the eighties…" "I know all of that," Harper felt her defenses rising, which meant he was right and she hated it. "I grew up in this building. I know every c***k, every leak, every broken fixture." "Then you understand that this situation is untenable," Mr. Chen sighed. "Your aunt was a remarkable woman, but she left you with an impossible situation. The most practical course of action is to accept Mr. Colton's very generous offer and…" "Don't tell me what's practical," Harper's voice came out harder than she'd intended. "Buildings aren't just transactions. They're not line items on a spreadsheet. The Adriatic has history. It has meaning. My aunt died in that ballroom hanging curtains because she loved this place more than anything." The words hung between them, sharp with grief that was still too fresh even eight months later. Mr. Chen was quiet for a long moment. "I truly am sorry about Margaret. She was an extraordinary person." "Yeah. She was." "But Ms. Vale... sentiment doesn't pay debts." He was right. Harper knew he was right. But she couldn't just hand over the keys and watch Sebastian Colton tear down the last thing her aunt had left behind. The last proof that Margaret Vale had existed, had mattered, had built something beautiful in a world that valued profit over preservation. "How long did you say I have?" Harper asked. "Sixty days before the bank initiates foreclosure proceedings. After that…" "Sixty days. Okay." She had no plan, no strategy, no idea where to even begin. But sixty days was something. Sixty days was better than nothing. "Thank you for being honest with me." "Ms. Vale, I strongly urge you to reconsider Mr. Colton's offer. Given the property's condition, it's extraordinarily generous." "I'm sure it is. But my answer is still no." Mr. Chen closed his briefcase with a resigned sigh. "I'll inform his office. Though I suspect they may reach out to you directly." "Let them try." He gave her one last sympathetic look before heading to his car, leaving Harper standing alone in the rain. She stayed there for another ten minutes, water soaking through her jeans, staring up at the hotel. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Jessie: “How'd the meeting go?” Harper typed back with numb fingers: “Remember how you said it couldn't possibly be as bad as I thought?” The response came immediately: Oh no. Oh yes. I'll call you later. She should go home. Change into dry clothes. Start researching impossible solutions to unsolvable problems. Instead, Harper pulled out her keys…the same set her aunt had carried for four decades…and let herself into the lobby. The smell hit her immediately: old wood and lemon polish and something floral she could never quite identify. The front desk was original mahogany, refinished so many times it practically glowed even in the dim light. The terrazzo floors featured an intricate geometric pattern that must have taken months to install back in 1923. There was water damage in the corner by the window, yes, but it was fixable. Everything was fixable if someone cared enough. Harper walked along the first floor slowly, running her hand along the walls the way she'd done as a child. Her aunt used to bring her here after school. Harper would do homework at the front desk while Margaret dealt with guests and contractors and the endless small disasters that came with running a historic hotel. Margaret had taught her to read blueprints in the ballroom upstairs. Had taught her that architecture wasn't just about designing buildings…it was about understanding how people lived, what they needed, what made a space feel like home instead of just shelter. The ballroom was on the second floor. Harper took the stairs…the elevator had been broken for three months…and pushed open the heavy double doors. Even in disrepair, it was breathtaking. High ceilings with ornate plaster moldings. Floor-to-ceiling windows along the east wall would flood the space with light on sunny days. The hardwood floor needed refinishing and there was an ominous water stain spreading across the ceiling where the roof had leaked, but the bones were good. The bones were always good. This was where her aunt had died. The coroner said it was quick…a massive heart attack. Margaret had been up on a ladder hanging new curtains, gold velvet ones she'd found at an estate sale, when her heart simply stopped. Harper had found her the next morning. Had called 911 even though she already knew it was too late. That was eight months ago. Sometimes it felt like eight years. Sometimes it felt like yesterday. She sat down in the middle of the ballroom floor, right where the ladder had been, jeans soaking wet and probably catching a cold but not caring about any of it. Harper pulled out her phone and searched for Sebastian Colton. The results were extensive. Forbes profiles. Seattle Times features. Photos of him at charity galas and industry events, always in an expensive suit, always with that particular smile that seemed calculated rather than genuine. The articles used words like "ruthless," "visionary," "transforming Seattle's urban landscape." What they meant was that he bought old buildings and tore them down to build new ones. One quote jumped out from an interview he'd given last year: "Nostalgia is expensive. Progress requires letting go of the past." Harper wanted to throw her phone across the room. Instead, she texted Jessie: “Can you come over tonight? I need wine and possibly to make some terrible decisions.” The response was immediate: “Say no more. I'll bring provisions.” Harper sat in the ballroom for another hour, just breathing in the building's familiar scent and listening to it creak and settle around her. Margaret used to say that buildings talked if you listened closely enough. That they'd tell you what they needed, where they hurt, how to make them whole again. Right now, the Adriatic was telling Harper it wanted to survive. She just had absolutely no idea how to make that happen. When Harper finally left, she locked the door behind her and stood outside one more time, looking up at those beautiful geometric windows through the rain. "I'm not giving up on you," she said to the building, her voice barely audible over the downpour. "I don't know how yet, but I'm not letting him tear you down." The building didn't answer, of course. But something settled in Harper's chest anyway. A decision made even if she didn't fully understand its implications yet. Sixty days. She'd find a way. She had to. Harper's apartment felt even smaller than usual when she got home, which was saying something considering it was barely 400 square feet. One bedroom, a kitchen that was essentially a hallway with appliances, and a bathroom where the shower and toilet competed for space. She'd lived here for three years and never bothered to fully unpack, keeping most of her belongings in boxes because she was always planning to move somewhere better. Except somewhere better kept not happening. She changed into dry clothes and opened her laptop, searching for things like "emergency loans for historic properties" and "how to save a building from demolition" and, in a moment of desperate creativity, "can you legally sell a kidney?" The results were uniformly discouraging. Jessie arrived at seven with two bottles of wine and enough Thai takeout to feed a small army. She took one look at Harper's face and said, "That's bad?" "Worse." "How is it even worse? You inherited a hotel." "I inherited 3.2 million dollars in debt attached to a hotel that a billionaire wants to demolish." Harper opened the first wine bottle without bothering to find glasses. "He offered 8.5 million. I said no." Jessie's eyes went wide. "Holy s**t, Harper." "I know." "And this billionaire is...?" "Sebastian Colton. You know, the guy who's been turning half of downtown into luxury condos." "The one from all those Forbes articles? The one who looks like he was genetically engineered to model expensive watches?" "That's the one." Jessie was quiet for a moment, opening takeout containers. "What are you going to do?" "I have absolutely no idea." They ate Pad Thai and drank wine directly from the bottles, and Harper tried not to calculate exactly how many days until she lost everything. Jessie talked about her husband's latest passive-aggressive comment about her mother's impending Thanksgiving visit. Harper described the expression on Mr. Chen's face when she'd turned down eight and a half million dollars. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," Jessie finally said. "Can't it be both?" "With you? Usually it is." By the time Jessie left, Harper was exhausted and slightly drunk and no closer to any kind of solution. She fell asleep on the couch still wearing her jeans, phone clutched in her hand, dreaming about buildings that whispered and billionaires who demolished history without a second thought. She didn't know it yet, but in three days, Sebastian Colton would call her directly. In four days, she'd walk into his pristine office on the 42nd floor. In five days, he'd propose something that would change absolutely everything. But that night, Harper was just a broken architect with a crumbling hotel and sixty days to figure out the impossible. That night, it had to be enough. Translate to Spanish