The Monolith was completed six months later. It was a masterpiece of brutalist architecture—a towering monolith of grey concrete that seemed to grow out of the city like a natural formation. It was honest, heavy, and unapologetically bold.
At the opening gala, the city’s elite gathered in the atrium, sipping champagne and praising Callum’s vision. He stood in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his glasses reflecting the soft ambient lighting. He looked every bit the controlled, rigid architect the world believed him to be.
But as he looked across the room, he saw Ivy. She was wearing a dress of shimmering gold that looked like liquid sunlight against the grey concrete. She caught his eye and winked, a small, secret gesture that sent a jolt of heat through him.
Beside her stood Marcus.
