Chapter 2 — Creative Clash

Evander

The sound of Celeste’s sharp heels echoed against the polished concrete floors of Marlowe Kane’s New York headquarters, each step measured with the precision of a metronome. Evander leaned against the edge of their shared conference table, arms crossed, his hazel eyes following her every movement. The studio’s glass walls caught the late afternoon sun, casting fractured angular shadows across the room, mirroring the charged atmosphere between them. The faint hum of high-tech equipment filled the air, a subtle reminder of the tools that would shape their vision—if they could agree on one.

Without sparing him a glance, Celeste placed her tablet neatly on the table and slid into the chair opposite him. “I’ve reviewed the château’s original blueprints,” she began, her tone as deliberate as her posture. “The structure’s symmetry and period details are its defining features. Restoring those elements should take precedence.”

Evander tilted his head, letting a slow grin stretch across his face. “Symmetry’s nice,” he said, a teasing lilt in his tone that danced on the edge of provocation. “But what about a little asymmetry for intrigue? Something unexpected to draw the eye. I’m thinking we reimagine the central atrium entirely—glass and steel arches breaking through the old stone. Bold. Dynamic. Memorable.” He gestured toward the sunlight streaming through the studio’s angular windows, as though illustrating his point.

Celeste’s gray eyes snapped up to meet his, their sharpness cutting through the air like a blade. “Dynamic?” she echoed, her voice smooth but frigid. “This isn’t a sleek, modern skyscraper—it’s a place where history speaks through the walls. People don’t come to the Château de Lumière to see how much glass you can integrate into a cultural landmark.”

Evander pushed off the table, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. His fingers brushed the strap of his Promenade Watch, a tell he didn’t realize she had noticed. “You’re too focused on the past, Celeste. This project isn’t just about preserving history. It’s about ensuring the château’s future. If we don’t evolve it, it’ll become obsolete. Have you seen the guest numbers? They’re dropping. Traditionalists don’t keep the lights on.”

“And alienating the château’s existing clientele will?” she shot back, placing her hands flat on the table as she leaned forward, her voice gaining an edge. “Do you think Margaux Laurent invited us into this competition to bulldoze the very essence of the Château de Lumière? Modernization doesn’t mean erasure.”

“No, but it does mean risk,” Evander countered, his voice calm but unwavering. “And I’m not here to play it safe. Playing it safe doesn’t win competitions. You know that as well as I do.” He forced a casual tone, but a flicker of unease tightened his grip on the edge of the table.

The charged air between them thickened, the unspoken rivalry simmering just beneath the surface. Celeste’s lips pressed into a thin line, her infamous composure threatening to fracture. Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing against her tablet, before retreating to her lap. For a fleeting moment, her gaze darted toward her desk drawer—the Midnight Sketchbook locked within—but she quickly refocused, unwilling to let vulnerability creep into the discussion.

“I’m not suggesting we play it safe,” she said, her voice measured but clipped. “I’m suggesting we respect the legacy of the building we’re working on. There are ways to innovate without turning the château into some avant-garde monstrosity.”

Evander leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table to mirror her posture, their faces mere inches apart. The faint scent of cedarwood from her perfume drifted toward him, incongruous with the steeliness in her expression. “And there are ways to respect history without staying shackled to it. The château should feel alive, dynamic—not a museum frozen in time. You said it yourself: this is about legacy. But legacies are built by taking risks.”

Her gaze darkened, her calm veneer cracking just enough for him to glimpse the frustration—no, the fear—beneath it. “Risks, yes. Recklessness, no. And what you’re proposing? It borders on reckless.”

“Reckless is refusing to adapt.” His voice softened, but his words carried an edge of conviction that sliced through the tension. “If we don’t push the boundaries now, someone else will. Maison Duval, for example.”

The name landed like a hammer, the impact rippling through her. Her fingers stilled, her grip tightening as her jaw clenched. She straightened, pulling back from the table as though retreating to higher ground. “Maison Duval isn’t our benchmark,” she said icily. “They’re a distraction. If you’re so worried about them beating us, perhaps you should reconsider whether you’re qualified to be on this project.”

For a moment, Evander said nothing, her words hitting harder than he’d let her see. His grin faltered, dimming into something more restrained. “You know, for someone who thrives on control, you sure know how to throw a punch.”

Celeste’s expression remained unchanged. “I don’t throw punches, Kane. I make points.”

“Well, point taken,” he muttered, raking a hand through his chestnut waves. “But let me make one of my own. You said Margaux didn’t bring us in to erase the château’s essence. I agree. But she also didn’t bring us in to play it safe. She’s looking for a vision, not just restoration.”

The sharp echo of his words lingered, tension simmering between them like a taut wire. Celeste’s gaze flicked toward the Midnight Sketchbook again before she forced herself to look away, unwilling to let him unearth the vulnerability beneath her polished exterior.

The door burst open, breaking the moment. Theo bounded into the room like an uncontainable burst of energy, his sandy curls bouncing and his grin wide. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, holding up his hands like a referee calling a timeout. “I could feel the tension from down the hall. Are we brainstorming or prepping for a professional cage match?”

Evander stepped back with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Brainstorming. Though apparently, Celeste and I have very different definitions of the word.”

Celeste pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “We’re discussing the direction of the château design.”

“Discussing?” Theo repeated, glancing between them. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about two seconds away from reenacting a very stylish duel.”

Evander grinned at the quip, but Celeste ignored it, turning back to Theo with her usual precision. “Focus, Theo. You’ve reviewed the research. What’s your take?”

He blinked at the sudden attention, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… if I’m honest? I think you’re both right. Kind of.”

Evander canted his head, feigning surprise. “Diplomatic. Go on.”

“Well,” Theo said, pulling out a chair and flopping into it, “the château’s history is obviously its cornerstone. But that doesn’t mean it can’t have a modern twist. Like—what if we used materials that weren’t available back then but kept the aesthetic grounded in its original era? Think historical accuracy… with a fresh perspective. Kind of like a period drama with bold cinematography.”

Celeste’s brow arched, her skepticism clear. “That’s a broad comparison.”

“Yeah, but it’s a start, right?” Theo shrugged, his grin disarming. “Maybe if you two stopped trying to outdo each other for five minutes, we could actually brainstorm some real ideas.”

“Careful, Theo,” Evander said, his grin returning. “You’re dangerously close to being the voice of reason around here.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Theo smirked, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Otherwise, we’ll end up with a design that’s half glass atrium, half museum display.”

The faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Celeste’s mouth, though she quickly suppressed it. “Fine,” she said, her tone softening just slightly. “Let’s start over. But this isn’t about compromise for compromise’s sake. Our design has to reflect the château’s identity *and* its future. Nothing less.”

“And it will,” Evander said, his voice quieter now, almost steadying. “As soon as we stop arguing long enough to figure out how.”

The three of them lapsed into silence, the weight of the project settling over them like an invisible force. Theo tapped his pen against the table absently, while Celeste adjusted her tablet, her mind already racing ahead. Evander, however, found his gaze lingering on her longer than he intended. She was infuriating, yes. Impossible, even. But brilliant. And god help him, he knew they’d never win without each other.

Finally, Celeste broke the silence. “I’ll revisit the historical research tonight. See if there’s anything we’ve overlooked.”

“And I’ll sketch out some initial concepts for the atrium,” Evander said. “Something bold… but not reckless.”

Theo grinned. “And I’ll… make snacks?”

Celeste shot him a withering look, but Evander laughed, the tension in the room easing just enough. “Perfect. Keep the snacks coming, Carter. We’ll need them.”

As they gathered their things to leave, Evander caught Celeste’s eye one last time. There was no smile, no softening of her sharp edges. But there was something else—a flicker of acknowledgment. Of respect.

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.