My first night at the house passed without incident, and without a single sighting of Ashton.
Next morning, I jolted awake to my alarm before rembering—I’d torched my job at Nyx Collective.
Just as I was basking in my unemploynt glow, soone knocked on the door.
‘Co in.’
Carn Alvarez stepped in, followed by what looked like half the staff of Harrods on Black Friday.
Racks of clothes, shoe boxes stacked like Jenga towers, handbags, coats, dresses for every season and occasion—all designer, all new, all in my size.
‘I’ll arrange these in the closet,’ Carn said, already directing her team like a runway general.
‘There’s no need. Really. I don’t need this many clothes. Just send them back,’ I said after gawking for a full minute.
‘These were selected from Mr Laurent’s preferred designers. All pieces are custom-ordered for you. Returns aren’t part of the arrangent.’
I was halfway to telling her where to stick the ‘arrangent’ when it hit —right, the role.
Ashton’s doting wife wouldn’t pitch a fit about couture.
I pasted on a smile that was more grimace than anything and nodded.
While Carn’s crew buzzed around the walk-in, Geoffrey Croft appeared, balancing trays on both arms.
This ti, I sat up straighter.
The trays were lined with velvet boxes.
Jewellery.
Now he had my attention.
Geoffrey opened one box at a ti.
A platinum necklace with Colombian eralds cut so clean they looked radioactive.
A cuff bracelet in brushed rose gold with pavé diamonds wrapped in a helix design.
One pair of earrings had sapphires so deep and inky they looked like bottled midnight.
The craftsmanship made want to cry and then steal it all.
‘There will be fresh deliveries every month,’ Geoffrey said. ‘The latest from Mr Laurent’s usual ateliers.’
I barely heard him.
My hands were twitching like a toddler in a toy store.
This was basically porn for a jewellery designer.
I spent the rest of the morning cocooned in my room, surrounded by enough gemstones to fund a minor coup.
If Ashton had walked in right then, I might’ve kissed him to Sunday and back, no questions asked.
When Carn knocked on my door for what had to be the twentieth ti, I reluctantly peeled myself off the carpet, where I’d been having a deeply spiritual mont with a tray of diamond chokers, and trudged downstairs for breakfast.
Post-eggs-and-sothing-I-couldn’t-pronounce, I headed back to my room and yanked out my old BloomState pitch.
It had already been rejected, sure, but I wasn’t ready to bin it.
I liked it. A lot.
It wasn’t so trend-chasing fluff cooked up to impress Eliza.
It was personal.
I’d poured too much of myself into this one.
Might as well flesh it out properly, turn it into sothing real.
I’d already decided when I opened my own jewellery studio, BloomState would be the first line I launched.
Besides, the jewellery haul this morning had totally juiced my inspiration.
Seeing all those pieces from Cartier, Graff, Boucheron...
It was like taking a masterclass in stone setting, symtry, and detail.
I scribbled a few new layout ideas, reworked my bezel placents, fiddled with a hybrid claw tension mount I’d never quite cracked.
Then my phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Mira, it’s , Finn.’
‘Yes, my favourite lawyer.’
He snorted. ‘Ten bucks says I’m the only lawyer you know.’
‘Ha, you caught .’
‘Are you busy right now?’
I spun a pencil between my fingers. ‘Believe it or not, I’m free as a bird.’
‘On a Monday morning?’
‘Long story. What’s up?’
‘I was gonna ask if you could et later this evening, but if you’re free, wanna co down to my office now? It’s about the case.’
‘You’ve reviewed the stuff I sent you?’
‘All of it. Audio, video, it’s an absolute goldmine. Since the defamation’s both written and spoken, I’m anding the complaint to include libel and slander. More charges, more damages, as we lawyers like to say.’
‘Good.’
‘I need to go over it all with you—evidence, potential witnesses, rough tiline, damage estimates, the works.’
‘Sounds like a long eting.’
‘Might be. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you lunch if we go over.’
‘Deal.’
Geoffrey offered to have the car brought round, but I waved him off; I was already feeling like Elly May Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies.
At Finn’s office, he looked like sothing out of ‘Suits’, all pressed lines and smug competence.
‘Damn, you clean up well,’ I said.
He grinned. ‘Court appearance this afternoon. Gotta look the part or the judge assus I still live with my mum.’
We got into the case while a paralegal made notes.
Sowhere between dissecting screenshots and playing a particularly juicy voice mo, we took a break.
Finn leaned back. ‘Gotta say, I was shocked when I found out you and Rhys were a thing. Even more shocked when I heard you weren’t. But after hearing all this,’ he gestured at the mountain of evidence I’d brought, ‘I’m honestly surprised you didn’t dump him sooner.’
I gave a rueful laugh. ‘Yeah, love is blind, deaf, and possibly concussed. Took forever to realise he wasn’t the man I thought he was.’
‘So... you single now?’ he asked, like it was nothing.
My brain imdiately sprinted to Ashton.
And our fake marriage.
And the fact that I didn’t have a ring to prove it.
I must’ve paused too long, because Finn backtracked with a wince. ‘Sorry, I didn’t an to—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I cut in. ‘I’m not dating anyone right now.’
Which, strictly speaking, wasn’t a lie.
Finn checked his watch. ‘You hungry? Let’s head out for lunch.’
‘Sure,’ I said, grabbing my phone and standing up. ‘But I’m buying.’
He chuckled. ‘Alright, but I’m picking the place. There’s this little bistro near Park & Fifth. They’ve got the best spicy Cacio e Pepe in the city.’
I blinked. ‘Ha. You rembered.’
‘Of course I did.’
Minutes later, we slid into a booth at the bistro and ordered.
Once the waiter left, I leaned back and said, ‘So. Catch up. What’s life been like post-graduation? You know my story now. What about yours? Seeing anyone?’
He shook his head. ‘Lawyer life’s a black hole. Billing hours kills romance. Plus... I’m waiting for the right girl.’
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