Chapter 3

My mother didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

I found the answer when I walked out onto the balcony.

My belongings had been dumped in a heap in the corner, as if someone had cleared out a storage closet. My cashmere coat lay on the floor, covered in dirty shoeprints.

The architectural model I'd spent three months assembling had been smashed apart.

Tiny components littered the balcony.

Then I saw the trash can.

My design boards were in it, ripped to pieces.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

I'd spent months developing that project, refining every line and calculating every structural detail. It was the centerpiece of a portfolio I'd been building for five years.

Now it was garbage.

I knelt and began gathering the torn pieces with shaking hands. Coffee stains and dirt had ruined several sections beyond repair.

"Who did this?" I demanded. "This was my competition entry!"

Chloe appeared in the doorway, her eyes already filling with tears.

"I'm sorry, Harper. I thought they were old drafts you didn't need anymore."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"You studied design. Don't tell me you can't tell the difference between discarded sketches and a finished project."

Her lower lip trembled.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have moved in. I shouldn't have touched your things."

Then she started slapping herself.

My mother rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Chloe, shielding her from me.

"Harper, stop attacking her! It's a few pieces of paper. Can't you just make another copy? Why do you always have to be so cruel?"

I stared at her.

A few pieces of paper.

I'd spent months researching materials, visiting buildings, and documenting the details that would make this design work. I'd sacrificed countless nights of sleep to finish the project.

My entire future had been built around it.

And my mother had dismissed it in a single sentence.

My phone vibrated.

An email had arrived from the Florence Institute of Architecture, where I'd been offered a place in a prestigious design residency.

[Dear Ms. Harper,

Could you please confirm whether you intend to withdraw from the upcoming residency? Please note that declining this offer will make you ineligible to apply for any position or residency program at our institute for the next three years.]

I read the message twice.

For months, I'd been telling myself that I couldn't leave.

That I still had obligations to my family, that Julian and I had a future to work toward, that if I just endured a little longer, things would eventually get better.

But standing there, surrounded by the wreckage of my work, I finally understood something.

There was nothing left for me here.

I typed a short reply confirming that I would accept the residency.

Then I put my phone away.

The front door clicked open.

Mason walked in, followed by Julian and Ava. Mason carried a cake, while Ava held an expensive-looking gift box.

Julian took one look at Chloe's tear-streaked face and immediately scowled at me.

"Harper, what did you do to her now?"

He didn't ask what had happened.

He didn't look at the ruined model.

He simply decided I was guilty.

Chloe caught his sleeve.

"Julian, please don't blame Harper. It was my fault. I accidentally ruined her design boards."

She said his name so naturally, so intimately, that I felt something twist inside my chest.

I'd been the only person who called him that way in moments when we were alone. Now Chloe said it as if she'd been doing it for years.

And Julian didn't even blink.

"What design boards?"

Chloe pointed at the trash can.

"Harper was going to enter them in a competition. I thought they were old drafts and threw them away."

Julian glanced at the scraps.

"They look like discarded drafts to me."

I slowly raised my head.

"What did you just say?"

He answered as casually as if he were discussing lunch.

"I already submitted the design for Chloe's entry in this year's Aurelia International Design Award."

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then a sharp ringing filled my ears.

I stared at Chloe.

"You stole my work again."

She flinched and hurried behind Julian.

He stepped in front of her, his expression hardening.

"Watch your mouth, Harper."

"Then tell me why my work is in her submission!"

"Chloe has serious trauma from what happened six months ago," he said. "Her therapist believes succeeding on her own terms could help her move forward."

"Then let her create something of her own!" My voice cracked. "Why does she have to steal mine?"

Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to keep speaking.

"That design is part of a complete series. I've spent five years building it. Every sketch, every revision, every structural calculation is documented."

For the first time, guilt flickered across Julian's face.

Then he pushed it aside.

"Harper, just this once. Chloe's father died saving Mason and me. We owe her."

I stared at him.

"Then repay her with your own money, your own work, your own future. Why are you paying her debt with mine?"

No one answered.

I pulled out my phone.

"I still have the original files. The dated sketches. The revision history. Everything."

Julian's face changed.

"Harper, don't do anything you'll regret."

"That's funny." I opened the award committee's contact page. "You weren't worried about regret when you decided to submit my work under her name."

Mason lunged before I could finish.

He slammed me to the floor. The back of my head struck the coffee table, and pain burst through my skull.

"Get her onto the balcony," he snapped. "Keep her quiet until tonight. Chloe can win the award without any trouble."

I tried to fight, but the room tilted around me.

Julian hesitated.

Then Ava shouted from the living room.

"Someone help! Chloe's having another episode!"

Chloe was striking the wall with her hands, crying so hard she could barely speak.

Julian turned toward her.

His hesitation vanished.

He grabbed my legs and helped Mason drag me outside.

I fought until I couldn't catch my breath.

My mother brought rope.

My father found duct tape.

I looked at each of them, waiting for someone to stop this.

No one did.

Eventually, I stopped struggling.

They tied my wrists and ankles and left me on the cold balcony floor.

Julian stood over me, looking down as though I were a difficult employee he'd had to discipline.

"Just calm down for a few hours," he said. "It's Chloe's birthday. We'll talk about this when the party's over."

Then he locked the balcony door.

Through the glass, I watched them gather around Chloe.

My father picked up the cake. Ava carried the gifts. Mason put an arm around Chloe's shoulders, and Julian opened the front door for her.

They left laughing.

I was alone on the balcony, tied up and bleeding, while the people I'd loved most went to celebrate the woman who had taken everything from me.