Chapter 25 The Havers Hotel
**Mia’s POV**
The morning sun filtered through the guest room’s bay windows, casting long shadows across my makeshift studio. Drawings covered every surface elevation plans pinned to walls, material samples scattered across tables, 3D renderings glowing on multiple screens. The organized chaos felt right, felt like coming home to a part of myself I’d almost forgotten.
“Mrs. Branson?” Mrs. Chen’s soft knock interrupted my concentration. “Your morning tea.”
She entered carrying a silver tray, navigating carefully around stacks of blueprints. Jasmine steam curled in the air, a small attempt at comfort in this too–quiet house.
“Thank you, Mrs. Chen,” I murmured, not looking up from the detail I was sketching – an intricate pattern for the atrium’s skylight. “You can just leave it anywhere.”
“Three days,” she said, arranging a plate of small sandwiches beside the tea. “Three days you’ve barely left this room, Barely
eaten ”
“I’ve eaten,” I protested, but even I could hear how weak it sounded.
“Tea and toast do not constitute meals, Mrs. Branson.” She paused, then added softly, “Mr. Branson would not want-”
“Please.” The word came out sharper than intended. “Please don’t tell me what he would or wouldn’t want.”
A gentle knock saved us from the awkward silence. Sarah, one of Jeo’s junior designers, stood in the doorway clutching her laptop
“The natural light distribution calculations are finished,” she announced, her excitement palpable. “Want to see?”
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. Mrs. Chen retreated silently as Sarah set up her computer, pulling up complex 3D models of the Havers hotel atrium.
“See how the light moves through the space?” Sarah manipulated the model, showing the sun’s path. “But I’m worried about afternoon glare in the western section.”
I studied the patterns, remembering long hours in college analyzing how light could transform spaces. “Try adjusting the western panels by three degrees,” I suggested. “And maybe add subtle frosting to the upper third?”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Sarah breathed “How did you know?”
“Experience,” I said simply, not mentioning the years spent studying architectural theory before becoming Kyle’s secretary. Before the contract. Before everything
“The sustainability metrics are exceeding expectations,” Tom, our environmental specialist, reported during the afternoon meeting “The solar gain reduction from your modified glass design alone saves-”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jeo’s assistant poked her head in. “But the client video call starts in fifteen minutes.”
“You’ve got this,” Jeo squeezed my shoulder encouragingly “Your designs are brilliant.”
The conference room filled quickly Mr. Havers‘ weathered face appeared on screen right on time, his board of directors arranged behind him like stern judges But my heart nearly stopped when I noticed another window opening in the video call -Kyle, his expression unreadable, joining unexpectedly as KT Enterprises‘ representative.
Good afternoon, everyone,” I began, forcing steadiness into my voice despite Kyle’s unexpected presence. “Today I’ll be presenting our final design concept for the Havers Boutique Hotel renovation.”
The presentation flowed smoothly at first. I explained each design choice with growing confidence, watching approval dawn in Mr. Havers‘ eyes But then Richard Morton, one of the senior board members, leaned forward with a frown.
Chapter 25 The Havers Hotel
+25 BONUS
“Impressive aesthetics, Mrs. Williams,” he said, his tone carrying that particular
meetings. “But isn’t this design rather… ambitious for someone of your experi
I’d heard too often in male–dominated
level?”
“I assure you—” Jeo started to defend me, but I cut him off with a slight shake of my head.
“The design is ambitious, Mr. Morton,” I acknowledged, meeting his gaze through the screen. “But every element is carefully considered and technically sound.” I pulled up the sustainability metrics. “Our environmental impact calculations show-”
“Numbers can be manipulated,” Morton interrupted. “This is a multi–million dollar project. We need proven expertise, not theoretical designs from someone who’s spent the last three years as a secretary.”
Before anyone could speak, another voice showed in the screen and cut through the tension.
“Perhaps,” Kyle said, his tone carrying that quiet authority that commanded attention, “we should examine the technical merits rather than make assumptions about the designer’s capabilities.”
Morton’s face reddened. “Mr. Branson, with all due respect-”
“The respect,” Kyle interrupted smoothly, “should be directed at the innovative solutions presented. Mrs. Williams’s integration of historical preservation with cutting–edge sustainability isn’t just theoretical – it’s revolutionary.”
“But the cost-” Morton tried again.
“Will be offset by energy savings within five years,” Kyle finished. “Making this design not only innovative but financially sound” He turned to Mr. Havers. “Unless you’d prefer a more conventional approach that fails to set your hotel apart in an increasingly competitive market?”
Mr. Havers‘ weathered face broke into a smile. “No indeed, Mr. Branson. No indeed.” He leaned forward, addressing me directly. “Mrs. Williams, your vision is exactly what we needed – someone who could see beyond conventional limitations while remaining grounded in practical reality.”
“The board needs to vote,” Morton protested, but his voice had lost its edge.
“Then let’s vote,” Mr. Havers said firmly. “All in favor?”
Hands raised one by one. Even Morton, after a long moment, raised his reluctantly.
“Extraordinary vision,” Mr. Havers concluded, his smile genuine. “The way you’ve integrated historical elements with modern sustainable design – it’s exactly what we wanted. The bonus will be transferred immediately.”
After the call ended, the office erupted in celebration. But I barely heard Jeo’s excited congratulations, my mind spinning with what had just happened. Kyle hadn’t just supported me behind the scenes – he’d defended my work publicly, professionally, based on its genuine merit.
The project letterhead caught my eye K.T. Enterprises clear as day in the corner. Kyle’s company. Kyle’s project. But he’d judged it purely on its merits, giving me the professional respect I’d always craved.
“We should celebrate Jeo’s voice broke through my thoughts. Jeo didn’t mention Kyle. I know that he is trying to protect my pride “Dinner? My treat?”
“1. I am a little tired. Next time. Jeo.”
Kyle is all I can think about.
I hate him. I hate him being in this room. I hate him supporting me. I’d rather this project fail
The drive home felt longer than usual, each familiar street a reminder of the life I was returning to The manor loomed ahead, dark except for Mrs. Chen’s warm kitchen lights
“You didn’t eat lunch,” she said by way of greeting
“I’m not hungry.”
Chepher
“The celebration dinner I prepared says otherwise.” She gestured to the dining room, where an elaborate meal waited “Your favorite pasta. The way your mother used to make it.”
The mention of Mom sent a fresh wave of pain through me. I sat mechanically, the familiar tastes bringing unwanted
memories – Mom teaching me to cook, laughing as I made a mess of the sauce. Now she lay silent in her hospital bed, while
I
“He asks about you,” Mrs. Chen said quietly, refilling my water glass. “Every day”
My fork clattered against fine china. “Please don’t.”
She nodded, retreating with that silent efficiency that made her invaluable Leaving me alone with thoughts I couldn’t afford
to have
I returned to my studio, losing myself in refinements to the hotel designs. The bonus notification glowed on my phone – enough to help with Mom’s medical bills. Another thing I owed to Kyle’s influence, whether I wanted to or not.
The night deepened outside my windows, but I kept working. As long as I focused on clean lines and precise meatufettents, I didn’t have to think about grey eyes or gentle hands or strange defenses of my honor
Until. I fell asleep at my desk, dreams filled with curved glass and captured light and a man who defended me to my father but couldn’t stay to face what that might mean.
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