Chapter 15 - The Blank Page
Later that night, after Marcus had gone and the penthouse had settled into a quiet, protective stillness, I walked into my home study.
The room was warm, lit by a single adjustable gooseneck lamp resting on a large, heavy oak drafting table.
I sat down in my leather chair, sliding a pristine, completely blank sheet of heavy vellum paper into the center of the workspace.
I picked up my technical drafting pen, letting its cool, balanced weight settle comfortably between my fingers.
The past was a completed project—fully documented, audited, and archived in the history books. Richard’s glass-and-steel illusion had crumbled into dust, while my own unyielding structure stood tall against the test of time.
I lowered the pen to the paper.
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The ink flowed smoothly, tracing a clean, bold, beautiful line across the white page, beginning a brand-new design from scratch.
And for the first time in my life, every single line belonged entirely to me.
