The Love I Begged For Was Never Real novel Chapter 31

By her third week at the studio, Nora had finally adapted to the grueling pace.

Every morning, she was the first to push open the glass doors of the office, and every night, she was the last to switch off her desk lamp.

To make up for her three-year gap in the industry, she bought thick software manuals and memorized every shortcut until they became second nature. She spent her days sketching at the studio and her nights practicing 3D modeling back at her apartment, often staying up until dawn.

She took on all the grunt work for the core team. She organized rejected drafts, verified gemstone cutting parameters, and ran errands for the junior designers.

Her colleagues made no secret of their disdain. In their eyes, a full-time housewife who had been out of the game for three years wasn't even qualified to be a junior assistant.

Sloane Miller's attitude toward her remained icy, borderline tyrannical.

At ten o'clock in the morning, Sloane slammed a stack of sketches onto Nora's desk.

"The structural proportions supporting the main stone are all wrong."

Sloane crossed her arms, looking down at her. "Using a brushed finish on a platinum base makes the entire piece look top-heavy. The client wants a sense of weight and luxury. This flimsy design is completely unpresentable. Do it again."

Nora paused her mouse, picked up the rejected sketches, and carefully examined Sloane's annotations before giving a calm nod.

"Understood. I'll adjust the setting of the main stone right away."

Nora didn't argue. She simply pulled out a fresh sheet of sketching paper and started over.

Over the past half month, her drafts had been rejected by Sloane countless times.

Every critique was sharp and merciless, but Nora absorbed it all without a single word of complaint.

Lumière had sky-high expectations for this collaboration, demanding a design that blended traditional elegance with a sharp, modern rebelliousness.

Sloane had led the core team through three sleepless nights, submitting five different drafts.

Just an hour ago, Lumière's art director had rejected all of them.

In the conference room, Professor Lawrence sat at the head of the table. The silence was suffocating.

The projector displayed the rejected drafts, each marked with a glaring red cross.

"The feedback from France is that the designs are too conservative and lack soul."

Professor Lawrence scanned the room, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "They want to see the final revisions by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. If we can't produce a satisfactory piece, Lumière will terminate our annual contract. Let's hear your ideas."