The Architect Who Lost His Muse
Language: en
In the sixth year of Oliver's rise to principal architect, I packed up my own drafting table, resigned from my firm, and quietly stepped into the role of his stay-at-home wife. During his most brutal stretches, I lived by his blueprint schedules. I delivered warm meals directly to his office every single day, just to ensure he didn't forget to eat. I asked him once—only once. "Could you take me to see the glass pavilion? The one with the stargazing dome you designed? Just this once." Without looking up from his drawings, he said, "It’s an active construction site, Celine. Not a tourist…