Chapter 1 — The Invitation
Celeste
The invitation’s cool, pristine edges brushed Celeste Marlowe’s fingertips as she turned it over, her thumb grazing the embossed lettering. The heavy cream cardstock exuded elegance—deliberate, restrained, and undeniably powerful. The scent of fine paper lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of its origin: an entity that valued legacy as much as influence. *“Château de Lumière Renovation Project: An Exclusive Invitation to Compete for Parisian Legacy.”*
Celeste set the card down atop her glass desk with the precision of someone placing the final piece in a complex puzzle. Yet her fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, betraying an undercurrent of tension she refused to name. The stakes were clear. Winning this project wasn’t just about prestige. It was about cementing Marlowe Kane Designs as a powerhouse in the industry, proving that her measured, disciplined vision could stand above the chaotic churn of trends. It was about control—of her work, her future, her legacy.
The clock ticked to 2:57 PM. Evander Kane would arrive in precisely three minutes. He was predictable in his unpredictability, always managing to be late but just late enough to avoid real reprimand. Celeste folded her hands, her gray eyes narrowing in thought as they rested on the invitation. Anxiety brushed against her focus, uninvited and unwelcome, but she suppressed it with practiced ease. Now was not the time for doubts.
The office door opened at 3:00 sharp. Evander strolled in, his disheveled chestnut waves and boyish grin radiating effortless charm. He carried the kind of ease that grated against her meticulous nature, as though every step were a deliberate affront to her precision.
“Ah, the gilded summons,” he remarked, his voice a perfect blend of amusement and intrigue. His hazel eyes flicked to the invitation on her desk, glinting with the kind of competitive spark she hated to admit was infectious. “Let me guess. You’ve already dissected every word, searching for the fine print.”
“It’s not fine print I look for,” Celeste replied coolly, her tone as sharp as the edge of a scalpel. “It’s opportunity. Something I’m sure you can appreciate, even if you have a tendency to squander it.”
Evander’s grin widened, unabashed, as he leaned against the doorframe. “Squander? That’s a bit harsh, even for you, Marlowe. I like to think of it as… *redefining* opportunity.”
Her gaze hardened, but she said nothing. Instead, she let the weight of her silence fill the space between them. Evander, of course, wasn’t fazed. He pushed off the doorframe and let his eyes wander to her office—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the New York skyline, a polished expanse of glass and steel. The hum of distant traffic was faint but constant, a reminder of the city’s relentless drive forward.
“Nice view,” he said, his tone light.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she gestured firmly toward the chair opposite her. “If you’re done admiring the scenery, we need to talk about Paris.”
“Straight to business. Classic Celeste.” Evander slid into the chair, stretching his long legs out in a way that looked casual but was likely calculated to needle her. Her back was rigid, her hands perfectly composed, while he lounged like a man without deadlines or doubts.
“Alright,” he said finally, tilting his head. “What’s our angle?”
“Our angle?” Celeste repeated, her brows knitting together with faint incredulity. “This isn’t a product launch, Kane. This is the Château de Lumière. A cultural landmark. A legacy.”
“Legacies are built by taking risks.” His grin softened, his posture shifting forward as he rested his elbows on the chair’s arms. “You’re thinking of preserving history. I’m thinking of making it.”
Her jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation breaking through her composed exterior. “The château’s legacy *is* its history. Its charm lies in its authenticity, not in some gaudy, ill-conceived modernization.”
“Authenticity doesn’t pay the bills,” he countered, his voice calm but resolute. “We’re not just restoring a building, Celeste. We’re creating a statement. The question is, what do we want that statement to say?”
Before she could respond, the intercom buzzed, slicing through the tension. Celeste pressed the button with a touch that betrayed her impatience. “Yes?”
“Ms. Marlowe, there’s a Margaux Laurent on the line. She says it’s regarding the renovation project.”
Celeste’s posture stiffened instantly, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of her desk. Margaux Laurent. The name alone was a warning and a challenge. Known for her ability to wield power with charm as sharp as any blade, Margaux wasn’t someone you underestimated. “Put her through.”
As the call connected, Celeste shot Evander a look that clearly said, *Don’t ruin this.* He responded with an exaggerated salute, his grin maddeningly unrepentant.
“Ms. Marlowe. Mr. Kane.” Margaux’s voice purred through the speaker, smooth and deliberate. “It’s a pleasure to speak with you both. I trust you’ve received our invitation?”
“We have,” Celeste replied crisply, her tone polite but controlled. “It’s an honor to be considered for such a prestigious project.”
“We’re thrilled by the opportunity,” Evander added, his voice warm and self-assured. He leaned back slightly, his hand brushing the strap of his vintage watch—a tell she’d come to recognize as a rare moment of unease.
“Wonderful,” Margaux replied. “As you know, the Château de Lumière is not merely a hotel. It is a testament to Parisian history. Preserving its legacy while ensuring its relevance in the modern world will be the heart of our selection process.”
Celeste’s gaze flicked to Evander. He was still leaning back, but his smirk had faded into something more thoughtful. She could almost see the gears turning as he no doubt envisioned some audacious concept that would drive her mad.
“We believe in the power of thoughtful restoration,” Celeste said, her voice steady. “One that honors the past while embracing the future.”
“An admirable perspective, Ms. Marlowe,” Margaux replied, her tone as smooth as silk. There was a pause—subtle, deliberate—before she continued, “However, you should be aware that Maison Duval will also be competing for this project.”
The name landed like a crack in the glass. Celeste felt her breath hitch, just barely, before she forced herself to exhale evenly. She saw the flicker of reaction in Evander, too: a slight tightening of his jaw, his fingers brushing the edge of his watch again.
“Maison Duval’s reputation precedes them,” Margaux added, her words carrying the weight of a challenge. “We are eager to see how Marlowe Kane Designs measures up. Provided, of course, you present a united front.”
The jab wasn’t subtle. Celeste’s fingers brushed the surface of her desk, and she straightened her posture with care. “You can rest assured that our proposal will reflect the château’s unique essence.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” Margaux replied. “The board has scheduled a preliminary review in two weeks. Until then, I wish you both inspiration and… *harmony.*”
The line went dead, leaving a silence that was almost deafening. Celeste stared at the phone for a long moment, her thoughts tangled with carefully controlled dread. Maison Duval. The name conjured images of polished portfolios and groundbreaking designs, a titan she couldn’t afford to underestimate.
Evander let out a low whistle. “Maison Duval. Well, no pressure.”
“Focus, Kane,” Celeste snapped, rising to her feet. “If we’re going to win this, we need to start working now.”
“Agreed.” He stood as well, his hazel eyes locking onto hers with a weight that sent a faint shiver through her spine. “But let’s be clear. We’re not just competing against Maison Duval. We’re competing against each other.”
For a moment, the air between them crackled, the weight of their shared ambition almost suffocating. Finally, Celeste drew herself up, her voice cold and steady. “Then bring your best. Because I won’t settle for anything less.”
Evander’s grin returned—slow, maddeningly confident. “Oh, don’t worry, Marlowe. I plan to.”
As he strolled out, Celeste let out a slow breath. Her eyes drifted to the drawer where her Midnight Sketchbook was tucked away, its presence a quiet reminder of the risks she kept hidden. She wouldn’t admit it, but a small part of her relished the challenge. Because if there was one thing Celeste Marlowe excelled at, it was proving people wrong—especially Evander Kane.
And so, the battle for the Château de Lumière had begun.
