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The sun beats down on the construction site, the heat already oppressive despite the early hour.

Dennis squints against the glare, the metal framework of the new Environmental Research and Conservation Center reflecting light like a giant mirror. Sweat gathers under his hard hat, the plastic band sticking uncomfortably to his forehead as he surveys what should be his masterpiece...

If he can just make it work.

This business pavilion, with its focus on eco-friendly design and conservation, is supposed to be his proof. His break from the glass-and-steel behemoths his father’s company has scattered across LA’s skyline.

After four years of watching Kim Industries churn out the same soulless structures, he’d finally snapped. "Sustainable architecture isn’t just a trend," he’d argued in that boardroom, the memory still fresh. "It’s the future."

He could still feel the silence that followed, his father’s stony expression as he’d issued that challenge: “Prove it, or do as I say.”

So here he is, in Sacramento—a smaller city, a smaller project, but this time, he has complete creative control. It's not LA, but it’s a start, and it’s his.

The centerpiece of the project, an eight-story building within the pavilion, is meant to showcase sustainable materials, green architecture, and renewable energy systems.

Six months later and a bajillion headaches—each one worse than the last—he's starting to question if his father's test was a punishment in disguise.

"No, that's completely wrong." Dennis drops his tablet onto the folding table, the clatter of plastic on metal loud in the cramped site office. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a headache already pulsing behind his eyes. "The support beams need to be exposed. It's literally in the blueprints."

The construction foreman scratches his head, looking both confused and annoyed. "But we already covered—"

"Then un -cover them." Dennis snatches up his hard hat. The bright yellow plastic glares against his crisp white shirt. He steps around the table, the soles of his boots scraping on the dusty floor. "The whole point of this project is to showcase sustainable materials. How are people supposed to see bamboo supports if they're hidden behind drywall?"

Three teams had already quit, calling his vision "impractical" and his methods "too demanding." The fourth had lasted two weeks before their foreman told him to "stick to conventional materials like a normal architect."

But Dennis isn't normal—never has been, according to his father—and he refuses to compromise. Not on this. Not when he's finally got a chance to prove sustainable architecture can work.

"Oi, princess!" A voice calls from above, the words dripping with sarcasm. "Coming to grace us with your presence?"

Dennis doesn't look up. He knows exactly who it is.

Chris Rhodes.

The site manager has been a thorn in his side since day one—the only crew leader who actually understands the innovative techniques Dennis is trying to implement, which makes him both invaluable and insufferable.

The man executes Dennis's vision with frightening precision, then turns around and makes his life hell with constant teasing and that infuriating smirk.

"Some of us actually have degrees in this," Dennis mutters, just loud enough for Chris to hear.

He keeps walking, tablet tucked securely under his arm. He needs to document the progress—or lack thereof—before the project meeting this afternoon.

A sharp whistle pierces the air. "Ooh, hear that, boys? We're in the presence of greatness!"

Laughter ripples across the site, loud and uproarious, grating on Dennis's nerves like sandpaper. He feels the heat rising in his cheeks, anger a tight knot in his chest. But he refuses to give Chris the satisfaction of a reaction.

Not when he has more pressing matters to deal with—like explaining to his father why the budget's already taking a hit from mistakes that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, vibrating insistently.

Speak of the Devil. Dad.

"Yes, father?" Dennis answers in clipped Korean.

"The investors want to see progress photos."

No 'hello'. No 'how are you'. Just straight to business as always. The same tone that's followed Dennis since childhood, measuring every achievement against impossible standards.

"I'm taking them now," Dennis says, his grip tightening on his tablet. "But we have an issue with—"

"No issues. Just photos. Clean ones."

The line goes dead.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Need help with your photo shoot?" Chris's voice is closer now, smooth and irritatingly amused.

Why why why does he have to be the only crew leader who hasn't quit? Who somehow manages to make Dennis's designs work while simultaneously making him want to commit murder.

Dennis turns to find him leaning against a concrete pillar, safety vest unzipped despite regulations, that knowing smirk playing on his lips like he can see right through Dennis's professional facade.

"Do you actually do any work?" Dennis snaps. "Or do you just stand around making my life difficult?"

"Bit of both." Chris grins, all dimples and attitude. "Mostly the second one though. It's more fun."

Dennis is about to respond when his phone buzzes again, angry against his thigh. Another message from his father:

Investors arriving next week. Everything must be perfect.

He looks up at the covered beams, bamboo hidden behind layers of drywall. Then at Chris's stupid smirking face, dimples visible even under the hard hat. Then back at his phone, the screen glaring under the sun.

Fuck.

"The beams need to be exposed by Friday," Dennis says, already walking away. "Tell your team to fix it or I'm filing a formal complaint."

"Sure thing, your highness!" Chris calls after him, his voice carrying across the site, boorish and obnoxious, sounding more self-satisfied with every word. "Anything else? Want us to polish them while we're at it? Maybe add some sparkles?"

As usual, the laughter from the crew grows louder, flocking to Chris's voice like seagulls to an open bag of chips. But underneath the teasing, Dennis knows the work will get done. Because for all his insufferable attitude, Chris is the only one who seems to actually believe in what they're building.

Dennis bristles, jaw clenching. One day he's going to snap and punch Chris right in his perfectly symmetrical face. But not today. Today he needs clean progress photos and zero drama.

His phone buzzes a third time, vibrating like a knife in his pocket that he wishes would just stab him already.

Today is going to be a very, very long day.