The drafting studio was Sophia’s private realm—a sanctuary of high ceilings, minimalist steel shelving, and the crisp, clean scent of parchment, graphite, and leather. In the center of the room stood her massive, vintage oak drafting table, angled toward the warm glow of an adjustable brass desk lamp.
Outside, the house was silent. Sophia sat on a high wooden stool, her dark hair pinned up loosely with a pencil, wearing round tortoise-shell reading glasses, an oversized crisp white button-down shirt, and delicate black silk panties. She was deeply absorbed in a set of massive architectural schematics spread across the table, drafting fine lines with a mechanical pencil.
A heavy knock echoed against the solid mahogany door frame.
Sophia looked up, her pulse instantly quickening as Mark s
