Chapter 1

1.

In the Chicago architecture scene, I, Claire Anderson, used to be a joke.

But sadder than screwing up a project is having your wedding postponed nine times by the same man, for the same woman.

Alex’s excuse was always Jessica. Jessica needed him for support, Jessica’s birthday couldn’t be missed. It was as if his world revolved only around her.

After he postponed our wedding for the ninth time for Jessica, I calmly emailed the wedding planner and canceled everything. Then I posted a breakup announcement on Instagram, turned off my phone, and boarded a flight to Washington, D.C.

I was finally going to accept my spot in the Presidential Design Scholar program―an opportunity I had given up four years ago for Alex.

...

I was with Alex for four years, and we rescheduled our wedding date eight times.

The eighth time was because Jessica "messed up" a presentation for a major client. This is what Alex said over the phone:

"Jess is under so much pressure, she's having a meltdown. I have to go handle it. Babe, don't be so dramatic. Jessica is on the verge of a complete breakdown. She has no one. You're the strong one, Claire, you always have been. Why do you have to be so selfish while she’s suffering?"

Then he hung up.

The wedding planner looked at me, her eyes filled with pity. At that moment, thinking about the four years I had invested, and the rigid clause in my family’s trust fund that required me to be married by thirty-five, I chose to endure it.

So, after a month of sleeping only four hours a night to land the biggest deal in the history of Alex’s firm, the ninth wedding date approached―and he left me standing at the altar for another woman. Again.

The moment his phone rang, I knew it was over.

"We have to push the wedding back," he said without even looking at me, grabbing his car keys. "Jessica was harassed by a client. She must be terrified. I have to go."

The planning team’s faces screamed, "See, we told you so."

My body was already exhausted from weeks of sleepless nights, and my voice came out raspy.

"Alex, this is the ninth time. You promised me―"

"Claire, get your priorities straight, would you? We can get married anytime, but this is an emergency for Jessica!" he cut me off, his eyes filled with that familiar look of blame. "You're her direct supervisor. You know she's just a junior. Why would you send her to meet that client alone? You're partly responsible for this."

It felt like a sledgehammer to the chest. I had handpicked that client, a professional with a stellar reputation in the industry. How did this become my fault?

Alex was still on the phone, and Jessica's tearful voice came through clearly.

"Alex, don't blame Claire... It's all my fault. I shouldn't have agreed to go alone... Please don't fight with her because of me..."

Her crying was perfectly timed. Every time Alex heard that sound, all his logic evaporated.

Sure enough, the concern on his face was overflowing. He immediately soothed her in a gentle tone I had never heard him use with me. "It's okay, Jess, I'm here. No one gets to hurt you. I'm on my way, just wait for me."

He rushed out the door like a whirlwind.

In that moment, I remembered a scene from when the firm had just started. At an important business dinner, a greasy investor, emboldened by alcohol, put his hand on my thigh while mansplaining all the supposed flaws in a design I was incredibly proud of.

I was younger then, with a fiery temper, and I was about to throw my drink in his face.

It was Alex who grabbed my hand, his voice cold in my ear. "Claire, this project could make or break the company. Be professional. Don't overreact."

Afterward, he blamed me for a solid week for making the investor "uncomfortable," saying I didn't know how to see the bigger picture. From that day on, he tamed me, forcing me to suppress my true nature.

Thinking of this, I pulled off the decorative fascinator in my hair with a self-mocking smile.

The female wedding planner couldn't watch anymore. She walked over, handed me a glass of water, and said softly, "He showed you who he is, Claire. Believe him."

"The sunk cost shouldn't hold your future hostage."

Her words struck me like lightning, waking me up from the four years I’d spent making excuses for him.

Looking at my reflection, at the woman whose light had been dimmed by his constant manipulation, I remembered the unstoppable Claire Anderson from four years ago.

Finally, I dialed the number of my graduate school mentor from the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD)―Professor Albright.

"Professor, I heard you have a nomination for the Presidential Design Scholar program. I want in."

The old professor's voice was full of surprise. "You finally came to your senses! Everyone thought you'd stay in D.C. and take the world by storm, but you ran off to Chicago for some man! This program means a full year in D.C. Are you sure?"

He paused, a hint of playfulness in his tone. "By the way, that Hayes boy's ears are going to perk up when he hears your name―he'll be thrilled you're coming."

My voice was calm and firm. "Professor, I'm single now. I'll be there in two days, ready to report for duty."