Chapter 4
The factory renovation project took eight months from start to finish.
On the day it was completed, a local design media outlet in Havenbrook came to shoot a feature story.
The headline read: [A New Soul Grows in the Old Factory: A Conversation with Young Designer Susan Reed.]
After the article came out, the number of clients coming to us tripled.
Grace moved the studio from our cramped 160-square-foot cubicle to a 1,300-square-foot office, and our team grew from six to fourteen people.
But the call that really changed everything came at the end of the year.
The caller was Charles Warren.
He was the second son of Havenbrook Oryn Group, graduated from Kirandor University with an architecture degree, and started a high-end real estate brand called Haven Estates.
It was all about boutique city apartments, design-driven from the ground up.
"Susan? I checked out your factory project. I'm prepping Haven Estates' first residential launch and looking for a creative design partner. Want to chat?" Charles said.
"Sure, we can talk. But we're a small team. I'm not sure we can meet your standards," I replied.
"I don't care about team size. I care about taste. Tomorrow at three, I'll text you the address," he said.
The next day, I went to his office.
The entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, and right outside was the Qesperis River.
Charles looked around twenty-eight or twenty-nine, younger than I'd imagined. He wore a gray cashmere sweater, with no trace of that spoiled heir vibe, more like a college lecturer.
He opened up his tablet and pointed at the blueprints. "I've had this land for half a year and switched design firms twice already. Everything they came up with was too cookie-cutter, too 'real estate.' That's not what I'm after."
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"I want the people who move in to feel like this place was grown for them," he said.
I froze for a moment.
He grinned. "Ring a bell? You said something like that in your interview. Design isn't about adding stuff. It's about making the space feel like it was always meant to exist."
"You remember that pretty clearly," I said.
"That's exactly why I called you," he replied.
For the first phase of Haven Estates, I scored the whole interior design contract.
On signing day, Grace was pacing back and forth in the office. "Susan, do you know what level Oryn Group is?"
"Yeah, I know," I said.
"Do you realize what this deal means for us?"
"Yeah, I know."
"Why aren't you excited at all?"
"I already got all my excitement out before the pen hit the paper."
Grace stared at me for ages, then shook her head. "Girl, sometimes you're cold enough to freak people out."
What she didn't know was that it was the most important thing I had learned these past two years.
Keeping emotional distance would have spared one from hurt.
Keeping detachment at work would have kept one's mind clear.
The Haven Estates project introduced me to a whole new circle.
High-end real estate, architecture, and art curation, which used to feel miles away, were suddenly right in front of me.
Charles was a perfectionist, always obsessing over every detail. We'd argue until eleven at night over something as small as the shade of a single brick.
"Can't you compromise a little?" he finally snapped one night.
"You hired me because I don't compromise," I shot back.
He let out a helpless laugh. "Alright, you win."
Our relationship was simple. It was mutual respect at work, nothing more. But outsiders would not see it that way.
One day, Joanne sent me a screenshot on WhatsApp.
It was a post from some social platform, reading: [Havenbrook's rising star designer Susan Reed has been spotted at Oryn Group, rumored to be getting close to Charles Warren.]
The picture showed Charles and me at the construction site, looking over blueprints. The angle was sneaky, making it look like we were practically shoulder to shoulder.
Joanne asked: [Did you get yourself a new boyfriend?]
[You believe that online gossip?] I shot back.
[I don't, but David might see it.]
[What's it got to do with him? We've been divorced for almost two years.]
Joanne went quiet for a bit, then sent me a voice message. "He's still looking for you. Every holiday, he drops by Mrs. Reed's place. She's starting to feel bad for him. Last month, she told me, 'Poor guy, you know.'"
I closed the chat window.