Christina’s POV
As expected, the past month’s security footage showed absolutely nothing unusual.
"Not surprised, but still disappointed," I mumbled, leaning back in my chair.
Priya collapsed into the chair beside , tears forming in her eyes. "I’m so sorry, Christina. I handled that job sheet personally, but I have no idea how it got switched. This forgery... I don’t even know where it ca from. I just... I’m so sorry."
She grabbed my arm, crying desperately.
I handed her a tissue from the desk. "Stop crying. Panic won’t solve anything, and I don’t bla you for this."
I knew exactly what scared her. Penelope’s order was huge—all custom pieces using rare stones worth a small fortune.
If Priya had to cover those damages, she’d need to sell vital organs to afford it.
"You won’t be liable for this," I assured her repeatedly until her tears finally stopped.
"We’ll figure out who’s behind this," I promised, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself.
She nodded, doubt clouding her eyes. "But how? Who would want to hurt us like this?"
The question hung in the air between us. I had no answers. Too much had happened in just forty-eight hours: my car deliberately ramd on the road, Hudson shot, and now this planned sabotage.
"Go ho and rest," I told her. "Take tomorrow off, paid. We need to suspend business for now."
"Do you think our other orders might be ssed with too?" she asked quietly.
I nodded grimly. "Very possible."
"I can help call all the clients," she offered quickly. "Double-check every order detail before anything else goes wrong."
"I considered that," I admitted. "But what if the files you send to production get changed again? Or what if soone alters the database right after you confirm details with clients? We can’t sit here checking and rechecking everything every morning, and constant calls will only annoy our custors."
Priya thought for a mont before nodding. "You’re right. I’ll go ho then. But please call if you find anything. I really want to help fix this."
"I will," I promised, patting her shoulder.
At the door, she turned back. "Christina, thank you for believing ."
I gave her a tired smile. "Just go ho and rest. We’ll survive this."
After she left, I spent the next hours checking through our remaining orders.
Every single order had been tampered with. So had asurents altered by just milliters—subtle on paper but catastrophic in the finished piece. In others, rings were swapped for necklaces, lower-clarity stones substituted, carat weights changed.
"Shit," I muttered, scrolling through file after file.
A headache pounded behind my eyes.
I’d need to call every client, apologize for canceling orders to prevent more Penelope-level disasters, offer refunds and compensation, and sohow manage the inevitable fallout.
This is deliberate sabotage," Akira said.
"Yeah, no kidding," I replied silently. "But who hates this much?"
When I returned to the hospital later, I felt completely drained.
Hudson noticed imdiately, his eyes narrowing.
"What happened at the studio?" he asked.
I rested my head against his chest, careful of his wound.
"I feel like crap."
"Tell ."
"Soone sabotaged a major order. The client’s furious and threatening to sue. And honestly? I don’t bla her."
"How much does she want?" Hudson asked imdiately. "Tell the amount."
I shook my head. "I can cover it. Money isn’t the problem."
I explained everything.
"I really don’t know who would fra like this, or why they’d target my business specifically," I sighed.
Hudson’s expression darkened, his Alpha instincts clearly wanting to solve the problem imdiately.
"Do you think the sa people behind the shooting also sabotaged the studio?" I asked.
He considered it for a mont. "Possibly. The timing suggests coordination."
"I just don’t understand when I made enemies this powerful." I ran a hand through my hair. "Whoever’s behind this has connections to hire ard n and hack secure computer systems. I’m just a jewelry designer from a mid-tier pack. I don’t move in those circles."
Part of wanted to ask if these might be his enemies targeting , but I held back. He was already carrying enough guilt about the shooting. Asking would only make him feel worse.
The next morning, I offered Penelope Mitchell a full refund plus an additional million dollars in damages. The lawsuit was withdrawn, but the damage to my studio’s reputation was already spreading like wildfire.
Within an hour, my inbox and social feeds turned into a war zone. I scrolled through angry reviews and panicked ssages from other clients.
Soone had already started a thread on a bridal forum warning everyone to "stay away from Christina’s designs."
A dozen one-star ratings appeared on our review page, each brutally simple: "Don’t trust them." "Terrible service." "They ruined my order." "Avoid at all costs."
People reposted Penelope’s screenshots and added their own complaints. The tone turned vicious fast.
I spent hours on my phone, calling clients one after another, trying desperately to explain and contain the damage.
Most were shocked, so sympathetic, others absolutely furious.
One conversation particularly stuck with .
"Hello, this is Christina," I said.
"Christina?" The client’s voice was frigid. "You canceled my order? I’ve been waiting for months. My sister’s wedding is in two weeks. Do you have any idea how much this will cost us now?"
"I’m so sorry. Our production files were tampered with. I don’t want you receiving a substandard piece. I’m offering a full refund, and I can prioritize a remake—"
"Prioritize?" she cut in sharply. "It’s too late for that! If you had told sooner, I could have found soone else. You’ve left completely stranded." Her voice rose with each word. "You’ll be blacklisted. I’ll post everywhere. I’ll tell every wedding planner in Highrise City not to touch your work. Good luck recovering from that!"
"I understand your frustration. I—"
She hung up before I could finish.
By late afternoon, exhaustion was consuming . Each call seed to open another wound.
When the last client finally promised to "think it over," I felt utterly defeated.
My legs felt heavy as lead, my eyes burning with fatigue.
I sank onto the studio couch, phone limp in my hand, staring at the muted screen.
Before I could answer, the phone rang.
For a mont, I froze, heart thudding against my ribs.
"Not another angry client," I whispered.
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