Four years have passed since everything changed. The prestigious Pritzker Architecture Prize ceremony was being held in Rome. This year’s award had taken everyone by surprise—a complete unknown had won, a young architect who had just turned thirty. The fact that she was American only heightened the intrigue. The last time a thirty-year-old American won this award was Logan Morgan. But his reputation had been shattered when it was discovered that his award-winning design wasn’t his own but stolen from another architect. The incident became one of the biggest scandals in architectural history, and the committee had not only stripped him of the prize but also declared that year’s award void. The scandal rocked the architecture world to its core, stirring debates about ethics and trust in the industry. In the aftermath, a wave of xenophobia swept through some circles, with some extremists arguing that Americans shouldn’t be allowed to compete for the Pritzker ever again. While this idea was considered too extreme to be implemented, it left a lingering wariness. No American architect had won the prize in the three decades since. Until today. The anticipation in the room was palpable as whispers spread among the attendees. This year’s winner, another thirty-year-old, was a dark horse who had seemingly come out of nowhere, just like Logan Morgan once did. Skeptics questioned the judges' decision, some even wondering if this new winner was another fraud. However, since the Logan Morgan scandal, the Pritzker committee had introduced a new tradition. The winner would have to stand before the world’s top architects and answer their questions. If the winner couldn’t defend their work convincingly, the award wouldn’t be theirs to keep. Today’s winner, Miranda Carter, was about to face this trial by fire. In the backstage area, Jackson lounged on a sofa, engrossed in a loud, chaotic video game on his phone. Gunfire and explosions blasted from the device’s speakers. “Dammit, another headshot! That guy’s definitely cheating!” Jackson cursed under his breath. Across the room, Miranda stood at a vanity, carefully checking her makeup in the mirror. The elegant black evening gown she wore hugged her figure, and her hair was swept up in a sophisticated style, held in place with a delicate pearl clip. She looked every bit the part of an award-winning architect. A soft knock came at the door, and Miranda’s assistant, Amy, poked her head in. “Ms. Carter, they’re ready for you on stage.” Miranda nodded, her British-accented English refined and clear. “Thank you, Amy.” Amy hesitated, her eyes widening slightly. “Is there anything else you need?”Miranda smiled gently. “No, I’m all set. Thank you, though.” Amy blinked, taken aback by Miranda’s poise and beauty. “You look stunning, Ms. Carter,” she finally said. “Thank you,” Miranda replied, her lips curving into a soft smile. Jackson, who had paused his game to watch the exchange, grinned and approached Miranda. He walked a slow circle around her, appraising her with a playful gleam in his eye. “You know, Amy’s right. You look just as young as you did four years ago. Maybe even younger.” Miranda shot him a warning look, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t slip up with my past again, Jackson.” “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Jackson chuckled. “But seriously, don’t try to dodge this time. You’ve been putting off our wedding for four years now! You promised me we’d get married as soon as you won this award.” Miranda took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the challenges ahead. “You know the Pritzker isn’t just a simple award anymore. It’s practically an academic defense now, with the world’s top architects grilling me on every detail. I’m not counting my chickens before they hatch.” “I believe in you, Miranda,” Jackson said earnestly. “And hey, even if you’re not in a rush, we should think about our future. You know, starting a family...” At the mention of a “family,” Miranda’s entire body tensed, a shadow passing over her face. She still couldn’t escape the memories of that cold, sterile operating room, the gut-wrenching pain, the helplessness as her world collapsed around her. It was a miracle she had survived at all, thanks to Jackson’s intervention. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up,” Jackson said quickly, realizing his mistake. He fumbled for the right words, anxiety creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry, Emily, oh, Miranda. I wasn’t thinking. Forget I said anything about marriage or kids. We can just keep doing what we’re doing. I’m just happy we’re together.” Miranda closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She had been to hell and back, but she was still standing. Not as Emily Carter, the woman who had died on that operating table alongside her unborn child, but as Miranda Carter—a new identity, a new life. The pain had made her stronger, more determined. “It’s okay,” she said softly, a small, determined smile tugging at her lips. “What doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.” She turned and opened the door, stepping out into the blinding lights of the ceremony. The cameras whirred to life, capturing her every move. The twelve-centimeter heels she wore clicked against the marble floor, each step confident and graceful.The Emily who couldn't wear heels? She died in that O.R. with the baby. The emcee, a charismatic and well-known European host, extended his hand toward her. “Ms. Carter, may I?” “Of course,” Miranda replied, placing her hand in his. “Thank you.” As she walked onto the stage, hand in hand with the host, the audience’s surprise was palpable. Today’s winner wasn’t just a young American architect—she was a woman, and one who carried herself with an air of quiet power. Miranda Carter had arrived, and she was ready to claim her place among the architectural elite.