The Monday morning air in Manhattan tasted like ozone and exhaust. For Evelyn, it felt like the weight of the sky was resting squarely on her shoulders. She stood in the lobby of Burke International, clutching a lukewarm paper cup of the cheapest coffee she could find. Her reflection in the polished marble walls looked like a ghost of the woman who had walked in a week ago—tired eyes, a slightly wrinkled blazer, but a jaw set with stubborn defiance.
She wasn't fired. Not yet. In the world of high-end architecture, being 'dismissed' from a project often meant being relegated to the 'basement'—the drafting room where failed dreams went to be filed away.
The elevator dings. The gold-plated doors slid open, revealing a cabin that smelled of rain and that hauntingly familiar sandalwood cologne.
Evelyn froze.
Liam Burke was already inside. He was standing in the center of the small space, scrolling through a financial report on his phone. He didn't look up, but the air in the elevator seemed to drop ten degrees the moment she stepped inside.
"Floor 42?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly barrette that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"The drafting room," she corrected, her voice clipped. "Floor 4."
Liam's thumb paused for a fraction of a second on his screen. He pressed the button for the 4th floor, then the 42nd. As the elevator began its ascent, the silence became a living, breathing thing between them. Evelyn stared at the floor numbers, praying for the machine to move faster.
"The Harrison project starts today," Liam said suddenly, his eyes still fixed on his phone. "He's using your structural grid for the foundation. It was the only part of your design that was... efficient."
Evelyn felt a flash of white-hot anger. She turned to face him, her eyes blazed. "So you stole the bones of my 'daydream' to support his concrete coffin? Is that how you stay at the top, Mr. Burke? By stripping the soul out of other people's work and calling it efficiency?"
Liam finally looked at her. Up close, the grey of his eyes was even more suffocating—like a storm at sea. "I didn't steal it. I bought it. It belongs to the firm."
"And the heart behind it? Who does that belong to?"
"Hearts don't hold up skyscrapers, Miss Lin. Steel does."
The elevator chimed for the 4th floor. Evelyn stepped out, but before the doors closed, she turned back. "You're wrong, Liam. A building without a heart is just a tomb. And you've built the most expensive one in the world for yourself."
The doors hissed shut, cutting off his expression. She didn't see the way his fingers tightened around his phone until the screen nearly cracked.
The drafting room was a graveyard of fluorescent lights and humming computers. Evelyn spent ten hours fixing Harrison's sloppy measurements. It was soul-crushing work. Every line she drew felt like a betrayal of her own talent. By 8 PM, the office was a hollow shell of shadows.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. A notification from SoulSync.
[Deep Sea Whale]: "Are you okay? You've been quiet today. Usually, you've complained about three different things by now."
Evelyn leaned back in her chair, a tired smile tugging at her lips. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest—a stark contrast to the coldness of the day.
[Little Deer]: "I'm exhausted, Whale. I had to see 'The Robot' in the elevator this morning. He looked at me like I was a glitch in his system. And the worst part? He's using my foundation for that terrible project. It's like watching someone wear your dead friend's clothes."
She waited, watching the 'typing' bubbles appear and disappear.
[Deep Sea Whale]: "Maybe he's not looking at you like a glitch. Maybe he's looking at you because you're the only thing in his world that isn't programmed. As for the project... even if they use your foundation, they can't take your vision. A foundation is just a start. What matters is what you build next, on your own terms."
[Little Deer]: "You always know what to say. It's scary, honestly. Sometimes I feel like you're sitting right next to me."
Liam Burke sat in his darkened office on the 42nd floor, staring at those words. 'Sometimes I feel like you're sitting right next to me.'
He looked down through the glass floor at the faint glow of the 4th-floor windows. He was sitting right above her. If he dropped a pen, it would theoretically land on her desk. They were separated by thirty-eight floors of concrete and a million miles of lies.
He picked up his phone, his face bathed in the pale blue light.
[Deep Sea Whale]: "I am with you, Little Deer. In the way that matters. Tell me about your dream again. Not the budget, not the materials. Tell me about the light in the windows of Azure Wings."
As Evelyn began to type—a long, lyrical description of how she wanted the sunset to hit the glass—Liam leaned his head against the cold windowpane. He read every word as if it were a prayer. He found himself imagining her face as she typed, the way her eyes must brighten when she talked about her art.
He stayed there for hours, a man who charged five thousand dollars an hour for his time, giving it all away for free to a woman who hated him.
The next morning, Evelyn arrived at her desk to find a small, white paper bag. Inside was a gourmet croissant and a high-end latte from the bakery three blocks away—the one she could never afford.
There was no note. Just a small, hand-drawn sketch of a tiny deer on the napkin.
Her heart leaped. Whale? No, that was impossible. He didn't know where she worked. He didn't even know her real name.
She looked around the room. It was empty, save for the janitor buffing the floors in the hallway. Then, she looked up.
Through the atrium's glass ceiling, she saw a figure standing on the 42nd-floor balcony. Liam Burke was looking down, a cup of coffee in his hand. For a split second, their eyes met.
He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He simply turned and walked back into his glass fortress.
Evelyn took a sip of the latte. It was exactly how she liked it—extra shot, no sugar. The same way she had described her 'ideal morning' to [Deep Sea Whale] two weeks ago.
A cold chill ran down her spine. A chill that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
It's a coincidence, she told herself. It has to be.
But as she sat down to work, she couldn't help but notice that the 'Little Deer' on the napkin was drawn with the precision of an architect.