Chapter 3 · The Day I Called Off the Wedding

Chapter 3

Ethan leaned in and whispered, "Just put up with it for a moment." I opened my notebook and said, "No need. My work will do the talking."

The briefing began.

Horizon Group's project director went through all the renovation requirements, then added, "Please submit your preliminary proposals by next Friday. We'll pick three teams to move on to the final round."

As the meeting wrapped up, Victor made a point of coming over to my side.

He leaned in and stared at my notebook, where I'd casually sketched out a few space layouts.

For just a moment, his face changed—surprise flickering across his features before he quickly masked it.

Then he quickly recovered, sneering, "Left-handed? Claire, don't make a fool of yourself."

"See you next Friday," I said, snapping my notebook shut and rising to my feet.

He watched me walk away, silent.

*****

For the next week, I pretty much lived at the studio.

I'd work on designs until two or three in the morning, then be back at my desk by seven.

When Ethan brought me coffee, he glanced at my screen and froze in place.

"What's up?" I asked, without taking my eyes off the screen.

"You did all this... in just five days?"

I paused and looked up at him. "Is there a problem?"

"No, it's just this is amazing." Ethan stared at the screen, taking in my design—the way I kept the old factory's steel frame but used transparent materials to completely change how the space flowed.

"Honestly, you'd never guess you haven't touched design in five years."

"Like I said, I never stopped," I replied. "No one ever knew, that's all."

He was quiet for a couple seconds, then nodded.

"We'll submit it on Friday. I'll handle the layout and paperwork. You just focus on the designs."

On Friday morning, we submitted our proposal right on time.

At three in the afternoon, I got an email from Horizon Group.

[Congratulations! Your company has made it to the top three. Please present your final proposal next Monday.]

Ethan came running over from the next room.

"Did you see the email? We made it!" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

I nodded.

At the same time, my phone buzzed with a message.

It was from Victor.

[Heard you made it to the finals too? Seriously?

[Don't get ahead of yourself. Summit Design's proposal blows yours out of the water. Your tiny little studio only got in because the client needed to make up the numbers.]

I didn't even bother replying and just closed the chat.

Ethan leaned over and peeked at my phone screen.

"What did he say?"

"Just nonsense."

"Are you nervous?"

"Not at all."

I put my phone away and pulled up my design file again.

"If anyone should be nervous, it's him."

*****

The final round of presentations was on Monday at ten a.m.

Three teams, each with twenty minutes to present and ten minutes for Q&A.

We drew the last slot.

Victor's Summit Design was up first.

On the big screen, Summit Design's proposal rolled by—pretty standard stuff: glass walls everywhere, green terraces slapped on, turning the old factory into just another cookie-cutter commercial complex.

Sure, it was pretty, but totally soulless.

Victor strutted on stage, full of swagger, showing off a flashy PowerPoint stuffed with thirty slides of data.

Sophie was in the front row, nodding nonstop like she was watching a blockbuster performance.

When the presentation ended, the project director asked, "Mr. Ford, what's the preservation rate of the original industrial structure in your proposal?"

Victor hesitated for a second.

"Around fifteen percent—we kept the chimney and part of the exterior walls," he replied.

The project director just nodded and moved on.

The second team was a well-known local design institute. Their proposal was pretty conservative, and the client looked totally uninterested.

Then it was our turn.

As I stood up, Victor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he was waiting for the show to start.

Sophie even raised her phone, like she was about to record the whole thing.

I walked up to the stage and tapped the first slide with my left hand.

But instead of the renderings everyone was expecting, something completely different appeared on the big screen.

It was an old black-and-white photo from the 1970s, capturing the textile factory at its peak. The women workers stood by the looms, their smiles simple and genuine.

The conference room fell silent for a moment.

"This factory has stood here for fifty-three years," I said, my voice calm and steady.

"It's not just a piece of land waiting to be bulldozed. It holds the memories of a whole generation.

"My proposal preserves 78% of the original structure."

I flipped to the next slide.

The 3D model slowly spun on the screen. The factory's steel framework was completely preserved, while translucent panels and movable modular units redefined the interior into fresh functional spaces.

Sunlight streamed through the original skylights, painting shifting patterns across the old concrete floor.

The gritty industrial vibe fused with contemporary design, as if the old bones had sprouted new muscle.

The conference room was dead silent.

The director from Horizon Group leaned in, completely absorbed by the screen.

I flipped through the slides, wrapping up just as the twenty minutes were up.

During the Q&A, the project director from Horizon Group fired off five questions in a row.

I answered every single one.

When everything wrapped up, he got to his feet and said, "Out of all three proposals today, this is the first time someone actually made me feel like this factory still has life in it."

Victor's expression shifted in that moment.

*****

After the presentation, all three teams waited in the hallway for the results.

Victor walked over and stopped right in front of me.

"78% preservation rate? Do you have any idea how much that's going to cost? Horizon Group isn't running a charity," he said.

"It's actually 12% cheaper than your proposal," I replied, leaning against the wall, my tone flat. "Preserving is the biggest way to save money—no need to tear things down or rebuild the main structure."

Victor's face went stiff.

Sophie hurried over and slipped her arm around his.

"Victor, don't waste your time on her. Horizon Group calls the shots. Even if her tiny studio somehow gets lucky this time, she doesn't even have a real team to make it happen," she said.

"You're right," Victor said, turning away. "Let's go."

They walked a few steps, but Victor stopped again, not even bothering to look back.

"Claire, your work with your left hand has really come a long way," he said.

"But in the end, you'll always just have one hand."

I just watched his back in silence.

Ten minutes later, the Horizon Group team came out.

The project director walked straight up to me and held out his hand.

"Ms. Lane, congratulations. Your proposal has been chosen as the final execution plan," he said.

"We'll sign the contract next week, and the project manager will get in touch with you."

Behind me, I heard the sound of a chair being kicked away.

I didn't bother to look back.

Ethan took the business card, and once the Horizon Group team was out of earshot, he leaned in and whispered, "Can I laugh at that look on his face just now?"

"Hold it in until we're out of the building."

"Can't do it."

Chapter 3

Ethan leaned in and whispered, "Just put up with it for a moment." I opened my notebook and said, "No need. My work will do the talking."

The briefing began.

As the meeting wrapped up, Victor made a point of coming over to my side.

He leaned in and stared at my notebook, where I'd casually sketched out a few space layouts.

For just a moment, his face changed—surprise flickering across his features before he quickly masked it.

Then he quickly recovered, sneering, "Left-handed? Claire, don't make a fool of yourself."

"See you next Friday," I said, snapping my notebook shut and rising to my feet.

He watched me walk away, silent.

*****

For the next week, I pretty much lived at the studio.

I'd work on designs until two or three in the morning, then be back at my desk by seven.

When Ethan brought me coffee, he glanced at my screen and froze in place.

"What's up?" I asked, without taking my eyes off the screen.

"You did all this... in just five days?"

I paused and looked up at him. "Is there a problem?"

"Honestly, you'd never guess you haven't touched design in five years."

"Like I said, I never stopped," I replied. "No one ever knew, that's all."

He was quiet for a couple seconds, then nodded.

"We'll submit it on Friday. I'll handle the layout and paperwork. You just focus on the designs."

On Friday morning, we submitted our proposal right on time.

At three in the afternoon, I got an email from Horizon Group.

[Congratulations! Your company has made it to the top three. Please present your final proposal next Monday.]

Ethan came running over from the next room.

"Did you see the email? We made it!" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

I nodded.

At the same time, my phone buzzed with a message.

It was from Victor.

[Heard you made it to the finals too? Seriously?

[Don't get ahead of yourself. Summit Design's proposal blows yours out of the water. Your tiny little studio only got in because the client needed to make up the numbers.]

I didn't even bother replying and just closed the chat.

Ethan leaned over and peeked at my phone screen.

"What did he say?"

"Just nonsense."

"Are you nervous?"

"Not at all."

I put my phone away and pulled up my design file again.

"If anyone should be nervous, it's him."

*****

The final round of presentations was on Monday at ten a.m.

Three teams, each with twenty minutes to present and ten minutes for Q&A.

We drew the last slot.

Victor's Summit Design was up first.

Sure, it was pretty, but totally soulless.

Victor strutted on stage, full of swagger, showing off a flashy PowerPoint stuffed with thirty slides of data.

Sophie was in the front row, nodding nonstop like she was watching a blockbuster performance.

When the presentation ended, the project director asked, "Mr. Ford, what's the preservation rate of the original industrial structure in your proposal?"

Victor hesitated for a second.

"Around fifteen percent—we kept the chimney and part of the exterior walls," he replied.

The project director just nodded and moved on.

The second team was a well-known local design institute. Their proposal was pretty conservative, and the client looked totally uninterested.

Then it was our turn.

As I stood up, Victor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he was waiting for the show to start.

Sophie even raised her phone, like she was about to record the whole thing.

I walked up to the stage and tapped the first slide with my left hand.

But instead of the renderings everyone was expecting, something completely different appeared on the big screen.

It was an old black-and-white photo from the 1970s, capturing the textile factory at its peak. The women workers stood by the looms, their smiles simple and genuine.

The conference room fell silent for a moment.

"This factory has stood here for fifty-three years," I said, my voice calm and steady.

"It's not just a piece of land waiting to be bulldozed. It holds the memories of a whole generation.

"My proposal preserves 78% of the original structure."

I flipped to the next slide.

The 3D model slowly spun on the screen. The factory's steel framework was completely preserved, while translucent panels and movable modular units redefined the interior into fresh functional spaces.

Sunlight streamed through the original skylights, painting shifting patterns across the old concrete floor.

The gritty industrial vibe fused with contemporary design, as if the old bones had sprouted new muscle.

The conference room was dead silent.

The director from Horizon Group leaned in, completely absorbed by the screen.

I flipped through the slides, wrapping up just as the twenty minutes were up.

During the Q&A, the project director from Horizon Group fired off five questions in a row.

I answered every single one.

When everything wrapped up, he got to his feet and said, "Out of all three proposals today, this is the first time someone actually made me feel like this factory still has life in it."

Victor's expression shifted in that moment.

*****

After the presentation, all three teams waited in the hallway for the results.

Victor walked over and stopped right in front of me.

"78% preservation rate? Do you have any idea how much that's going to cost? Horizon Group isn't running a charity," he said.

Victor's face went stiff.

Sophie hurried over and slipped her arm around his.

"Victor, don't waste your time on her. Horizon Group calls the shots. Even if her tiny studio somehow gets lucky this time, she doesn't even have a real team to make it happen," she said.

"You're right," Victor said, turning away. "Let's go."

They walked a few steps, but Victor stopped again, not even bothering to look back.

"Claire, your work with your left hand has really come a long way," he said.

"But in the end, you'll always just have one hand."

I just watched his back in silence.

Ten minutes later, the Horizon Group team came out.

The project director walked straight up to me and held out his hand.

"Ms. Lane, congratulations. Your proposal has been chosen as the final execution plan," he said.

"We'll sign the contract next week, and the project manager will get in touch with you."

Behind me, I heard the sound of a chair being kicked away.

I didn't bother to look back.

Ethan took the business card, and once the Horizon Group team was out of earshot, he leaned in and whispered, "Can I laugh at that look on his face just now?"

"Hold it in until we're out of the building."

"Can't do it."