Chapter 2 — UMBRELLA OF SILENCE
The next morning, Elaris City woke to the hush that follows rain — puddles like mirrors, air washed clean, and sunlight glinting off wet glass. The Glass Bridge gleamed pale gold in the early light, and the world moved on, unaware that two quiet hearts had crossed paths there the night before.
But Adrian Rivers hadn’t stopped thinking about her.
He sat by the wide windows of Vale Architects, his sketchpad open, designs scattered like restless thoughts. The blueprint in front of him should have held his focus — a sleek riverside development, his team’s next major project — but his pencil kept drifting, sketching curves that weren’t part of any building. A faint profile, the outline of a face half-hidden by rain.
He frowned softly at his own distraction.
“Who are you, Cathy Duke?” he murmured under his breath.
For years, Adrian had lived quietly behind the alias he’d built. To the world, he was just an ambitious architect. In truth, he was Adrian Vale, the son of billionaire developer Gabriel Vale, heir to the empire he wanted nothing to do with.
The name carried weight — too much of it. So he’d shed it, choosing to build his life in silence, away from the glittering cage of privilege.
But something about that girl by the bridge had slipped through the barriers he thought he’d locked tight.
Across the city, Cathy Duke sat in the small flower shop where she worked — Wynn’s Blossoms, a cozy nook filled with the scent of lilies and soft piano music. Her mother, Mrs. Wynn, hummed while arranging bouquets, her hands sure and gentle.
“Your sketchbook again, darling?” she asked with a smile, not looking up.
Cathy nodded, showing her mother a page — last night’s drawing. The bridge. The rain. And him.
Mrs. Wynn’s gaze softened. “Ah. A man in the rain? That one’s new.”
Cathy blushed faintly, turning the page over. She didn’t need words; her mother’s eyes were kind enough to read between the lines.
That evening, when the city lights bloomed again, Cathy found herself walking back toward the Glass Bridge. She told herself it was to capture the sunset colors — to add warmth to last night’s unfinished sketch — but her heart whispered other reasons.
The bridge shimmered, reflecting twilight and rippling water below.
She paused at the railing, opening her sketchbook, when a voice — familiar, quiet — broke the sound of the wind.
“You came back.”
Cathy turned. He was there again — Adrian, dressed in a soft gray coat this time, holding the same umbrella as before. His smile was warm, tentative, as if afraid to hope too much.
She nodded once, then pointed to his umbrella, then to the sky. No rain tonight. Her expression said it all: You didn’t need it.
Adrian chuckled. “Habit, maybe. Or luck.”
She took out her notebook and wrote a small line:
Maybe the umbrella likes the rain more than we do.
He laughed — a sound that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You have a sense of humor,” he said softly. “That’s… rare.”
She shrugged playfully and kept sketching him, quick strokes capturing the edges of his posture — the calmness, the steady eyes that seemed to listen even when she said nothing.
He leaned slightly closer. “You draw people often?”
She wrote:
Only the ones who make me look twice.
That caught him off guard. His breath faltered for half a second before he smiled again, gentler this time. “Then I’m honored,” he said. “But you should know I’m terrible at standing still.”
Cathy tilted her head and wrote another line:
Then don’t. I draw the truth, not the pose.
The honesty of it made something shift in him — quiet, deep. For a man used to masks and names that weren’t his own, her silent truth felt dangerous in the best way.
They lingered there long after the lamps flickered on, talking in half-gestures and written notes, a language both awkward and perfect. Around them, the city sighed with wind and water, but neither wanted to leave.
When she finally closed her sketchbook, he asked softly, “Will I see you here again?”
Cathy hesitated — not out of uncertainty, but the fear of hoping too much. Then she smiled and wrote one word.
Maybe.
He watched her walk away again, her white dress brushing against the light, her umbrella swinging like a memory.
And Adrian stood there, realizing that silence had never been so loud — or so beautiful.
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