The project came in through Aria’s personal inbox.

No agent. No assistant. Just a direct message from the CEO of a boutique international hotel brand she respected—one that rarely worked with outside creatives.

They wanted her.

And, more shockingly, they wanted both her and Dominic.

The ask was specific:
A flagship location in Paris.
One wing for guest suites.
One for creative residencies.
The design had to tell a story of tension, loss, and reinvention.

They’d read the headlines.

They wanted them.

Aria forwarded the email to Dominic with no subject line.

He replied within three minutes:

Let’s build something we don’t have to survive.

Weeks later, they sat at the same table where they’d toasted whatever came next.

Blueprints spread wide.

No tension.

Just ideas.

Aria spoke freely.
Dominic challenged her without posturing.
They pushed each other—hard—but not to win.
To make it better.

When they disagreed, they listened.

When they aligned, they built.

By midnight, the outlines of the new space were on paper: a courtyard that folded light inward, a blend of Parisian steel and raw wood, and a wing of the structure designed not to impress, but to let the outside in.

“This,” Aria said, tapping her pencil, “is the first thing we’ve built where nothing needs to be hidden.”

Dominic smiled. “No armor.”

“No performance.”

“No Hale.”

He looked at her. “No lies.”

She didn’t respond right away.

But then she reached for his hand—steady, not hesitant.

“I want to keep doing this,” she said. “Creating like this. Leading like this. With you. Not under you. Not over you. Just—with.”

His fingers curled around hers.

Then, softly: “So do I.”

They didn’t talk about love.

Not yet.

But what they were building wasn’t about declarations anymore.

It was about practice.