Plagiarist in My Studio, His Deep Regret

I am a world-renowned young architect.

On the very first day I returned to the United States to establish my own studio, my fiancé, Ethan Miller, walked in carrying a contract.

The heir to the Miller Group—the most powerful name in American architecture—was standing before me, bowing his head with unusual humility.

“Sophia, we’ll soon be family. Sign this contract, and from now on, every Miller project will be yours to lead.”

“I’ve also taken the liberty of bringing back your old college roommate, Chloe Davis. Strengthening the team matters, and she’ll be joining your studio. From now on, you’ll never have to face things alone.”

My fingers traced the cool surface of the trophy on my desk as my lips curved into a faint, mocking smile.

“Quite the proposal, Ethan.

But as I recall, the Foster Group is still waiting for my design…”

His smile froze for a moment. His Adam’s apple shifted, but he forced himself to speak in a gentle tone.

“Sophia, don’t be angry. I only want the best for you—I don’t want you overworked.”

I met his gaze, my own eyes devoid of warmth.

“Ethan, have you forgotten? Chloe was already expelled from the architectural community years ago for plagiarizing my design.

And besides, weren’t you just saying that expanding the team was what mattered most? If that’s the case, perhaps I should invite a few of the enemies your Miller Family betrayed back in the day to join as well. Surely that would be better than letting you fight your battles alone, wouldn’t it?”

His hand clenched on the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening.

“That’s different. She’s—”

“The orphan of the man who once helped your family through a crisis, isn’t she? And you need to give her a name, an identity.”

I let out a cold laugh.

“Tell me, Ethan, why must your gratitude be paid with my blood and sweat?

Since you’re so generous, I’ll be generous too. If you insist on pushing Chloe into my studio, then I see no reason not to invite a few of the Miller Family’s old victims to the table as well. Let them all ‘join the project.’”

I picked up a folder and shook a few invoices in the air.

“I heard your father left behind some rather questionable debts in the U.S. years ago. If I dig them up, maybe I’ll find plenty of people eager to ‘help’ you through another crisis. Then you’ll have even more opportunities to repay kindness—how wonderful, don’t you think?”

“Sophia! You’ve gone too far!”

Ethan shot to his feet, fury rising in his eyes.

“I was trying to think of you, and this is how you repay me? Mocking me? The Miller Family clearly misjudged you. How could you be so heartless as to refuse compassion for an orphaned girl?”

I calmly gathered the documents back into the folder.

“Why, Ethan? Is it fine for you to pull strings and hand out titles to outsiders, but unacceptable for me to reopen old accounts?

And tell me—why is it that you bend over backward to force someone with no real design ability into my projects? Could it be the two of you are hiding some… unspeakable secret?”

The office fell into a suffocating silence. Even the low hum of the air conditioner sounded harsh against it.

Ethan’s chest rose and fell violently, but no rebuttal left his lips. The air itself seemed to freeze solid.

After a long pause, he suddenly stepped closer, towering over me. Whatever pretense of warmth lingered in his eyes was gone, replaced by something sharp, oppressive—almost menacing.

“Sophia, you’re always so relentless. I’m your fiancé. Couldn’t you give me just a little respect?”

I lifted my gaze to meet his, my expression calm—so calm it was almost cold.