C3 Terms & Conditions (of the Heart)

Lila had a rule: Never get too close to the money. It changed people. Twisted intentions. Turned collaborations into compromises. She’d learned that the hard way in her second year of business when a “friendly investor” tried to claim credit for her work, her vision—her dream.

So why was she in a luxury elevator at 10:42 p.m., headed straight to the top floor of Blackwood Tower, heart pounding, pretending this was just a casual post-meeting check-in?

“He’s the client, Lila. Not a threat. Not a... temptation,” she whispered to herself.

The doors opened to reveal a minimalist penthouse suite: black marble floors, walls lined with abstract art, and floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the glittering skyline of the city she was hired to reinvent.

Maximilian Blackwood was standing by the bar, a glass of something expensive in his hand. He turned when he heard her heels click on the marble.

“Scotch?” he offered, holding up the bottle. “Or are you the wine-on-a-weeknight type?”

“I’m the ‘we’re here to discuss floorplans, not flirt’ type.” She dropped her bag on the armrest of his leather sofa and crossed her arms.

He poured himself a drink anyway. “Relax. You’re not that interesting.”

Lila arched a brow. “Funny, since you dragged me here after the board meeting.”

“I invited you. You came. That’s not dragging.” He sipped. “Besides, I wanted to clarify a few things. Off the record.”

She didn’t sit. She never got comfortable around snakes. “You mean intimidate me into following your vision?”

He leaned back against the counter, staring at her like she was the most fascinating riddle. “No. I mean understand yours. You don’t operate like the rest. The other architects—they chase approval. You chase legacy. That intrigues me.”

That word again. Intrigued. Admired. Curious. Dangerous.

“I don’t need your approval,” she said.

“But you do need my funding,” he replied, blunt as ever. “That’s the difference between dreamers and doers. I enable things to happen.”

“You enable control,” she snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what you want. Not a smart city. Not innovation. Just another empire with your name on it.”

Maximilian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And you don’t want power?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the window and stared out.

“I want impact. I want my work to matter. Not to look good on a magazine cover or win awards. I want kids to grow up in neighborhoods I helped design and feel safe. Inspired.”

He was quiet for a long beat.

Then—“You ever been poor, Lila?”

She turned, surprised.

He set down his glass. “I have. Briefly. Hated every second of it. I remember being fifteen and watching my mom cry because she had to choose between the electricity bill and feeding us dinner. I decided then—I would never be powerless again.”

It wasn’t vulnerability. It was a warning.

And still… it made something flicker inside her. Understanding, maybe. Or something more dangerous.

“I’m not your mother,” she said softly. “And I don’t need saving.”

Maximilian crossed the room, stopping inches from her.

“No,” he said, voice low. “But you might need protecting. Especially from people like me.”

She didn’t back away. “Too late for that.”

The air was thick, too heavy with tension to be business as usual. But instead of kissing her—something they both pretended wasn’t possible—he stepped back.

“This city will belong to you,” he said. “Build it like it’s yours. Just remember—I’ll always own the land.”

Lila didn’t sleep that night.

Because for the first time in her life, she wasn’t just building a city.

She was walking into a war.

A war with a man who already knew how to win everything.

And maybe—just maybe—how to steal her heart in the process.