Chapter 1: The Man in the Marble Room

Elira Voss hated boardrooms. Especially ones like this — all glass and marble and artificial chill, where men in thousand-dollar suits made decisions that paved over things worth remembering. This particular room, perched at the top of the ValeCorp tower, felt like a mausoleum. Too quiet. Too clean. Too dead.

She stood near the far window, sipping a too-bitter espresso, waiting for the man she swore she would never work with.

She’d read about him long before she met him — Reyden Vale. Real estate mogul. Development shark. Known for turning community spaces into luxury condos and walking away richer every time. She’d seen his name on buildings, his photos in business magazines. Sharp eyes. Sharper jawline. No warmth.

Now she was about to see him in person.

The door opened.

He stepped in like he owned the air.

Black suit, no tie. Hair windswept like he’d just come from somewhere reckless. His eyes — storm-grey and assessing — landed on her immediately. The silence between them stretched, taut as piano wire.

“You’re Elira,” he said. Not a question. Just a fact laced with subtle disdain.

She arched a brow. “And you’re exactly as bland as I imagined.”

That got the ghost of a smile. Just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. “You’re direct.”

“You’re late.”

“I’m right on time,” he said, glancing at the sleek watch on his wrist. “You’re just early.”

“No,” Elira said, setting her cup down, “I just respect people’s time. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t flinch. “This’ll be fun.”

They sat — across from each other at the long conference table. The rest of the project team hadn’t arrived yet. That left them alone in the sterile echo of a billion-dollar room.

Elira flipped open her sketchpad, deliberately ignoring the file he slid across the table.

“You’ve seen the proposal?” he asked.

She didn’t look up. “I’ve seen the demolition order. I’ve also seen the community petitions, the preservation reports, and the cultural council’s objections. What I haven’t seen is an ounce of respect for the district you’re gutting.”

Reyden leaned back in his chair, studying her like a chessboard. “That district is rotting from the inside. Half the buildings are condemned. The other half house memories people can’t afford to hold onto.”

“So your solution is to erase them?”

“Not erase. Reinvent.”

She met his gaze then. “There’s a difference?”

His tone softened, barely. “Only if you care what came before.”

Their eyes held for a beat too long. Then the door opened, and the rest of the team began to file in.

Reyden stood, nodding to his assistant.

Elira gathered her things, spine straight as steel. She wasn’t here to lose a fight — or fall into his rhythm. But as she passed him, he spoke again, voice low.

“You’re not what I expected, Voss.”

She paused, just for a breath.

“Neither are you, Vale.”

And then she walked out.

But her pulse didn’t slow until she was already in the elevator.

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