The penthouse of the Obsidian Hotel didn't feel like a residence; it felt like a gallery designed to make its inhabitants feel small.
Polished concrete floors mirrored the neon bleed of the city skyline, while brushed steel accents sliced through the dim lighting like surgical blades. It was the kind of space that appealed to Elias—clinical, precise, and devoid of sentiment. It also happened to be the exact kind of space Julian loathed, though the man never missed an opportunity to criticize it while soaking in every luxury it provided.
They stood in the foyer, the silence between them heavy with a decade of professional sabotage and unspoken longing. Both men were architects, both vying for the same urban redevelopment contract, and both currently trapped in a shared luxury suite for a
