3.

Vera’s POV

I woke up the next morning feeling lighter, as if burning those memories had cleared a weight off my chest. The sun peeked through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, flooding the room with golden light.

After slipping into my workout clothes, I tied my hair up and headed to the exercise area. My morning routine was sacred—an hour of cardio, strength training, and yoga. The view from my penthouse only added to the experience. The sprawling city stretched out below me, alive and buzzing, yet it felt like I was in my own world above it all.

When I finally stepped into the shower, I let the hot water wash away the sweat and lingering frustration from last night. By the time I finished, I felt refreshed and ready to face the day.

Vera Stones

Sitting in my home office with a cup of coffee, I got to work on my latest jewelry designs. My sketchpad and tablet lay side by side, tools of my craft.

At twenty-six, I’d built Vera Stones from the ground up. What started as a dream had turned into the most sought-after jewelry brand in the country. Models, actors, and high-profile brands contracted with me for custom pieces, and my app, which I’d coded myself, was thriving.

Of course, I couldn’t have done it all alone. Cecily, my best friend, managed the physical side of the business—handling teams, overseeing production, and making sure everything ran smoothly. But the creative direction and strategy? That was all me. I loved the control, the freedom to steer my company however I wanted.

The millions I earned weekly didn’t hurt either.

This morning was no different from others. I was tweaking a few app features while sketching a new design—a modern choker with emerald inlays—when a notification popped up on my tablet.

I paused, narrowing my eyes at the screen. It was an email from Daniel Hart’s assistant.

The Request

Subject: Request for a Custom Necklace for Evelyn Emerson.

I read the subject line twice, feeling a sharp pang in my chest.

Opening the email, I scanned the text quickly:

Dear Ms. Emerson,

On behalf of Mr. Daniel Hart, we kindly request your services for a custom necklace for Ms. Evelyn Emerson. We understand your busy schedule, but we hope this project can be prioritized. Please let us know if further details are required.

Best regards,

Samuel Evans

Executive Assistant to Daniel Hart

I scoffed loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. My fingers tightened around the tablet, and for a brief, irrational moment, I considered throwing it. Onto the floor, out the window—anywhere but here.

The nerve of them. Asking me to design something for her. For Evelyn. For Daniel.

I set the tablet down, taking a deep breath to calm myself. This wasn’t just a request; it felt like an insult. Did Daniel know what he was doing? Was this his way of mocking me, or was he so self-absorbed that he thought I’d simply agree?

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

I wanted to ignore the email, delete it and pretend it never existed. But my business was my reputation, and I couldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of my professionalism.

Still, the idea of creating something so personal for Evelyn—someone I’d been compared to my entire life—felt like a slap in the face. And the fact that Daniel was behind this request made it ten times worse.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the city skyline outside. The rage from last night was bubbling up again, but this time, it was tinged with a bitter sadness.

“I’ll deal with it later,” I told myself. For now, I needed to focus on my work—and not let them take another second of my peace.

By mid-afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. The email from Daniel’s assistant replayed in my mind like a bad song on repeat. I needed to vent, and there was only one person who’d truly understand—Cecily.

I texted her quickly, asking if she could meet me at our usual café. She replied within seconds:

“Be there in 20. Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee. Strong.”

I grabbed my bag, slipped into a comfortable pair of loafers, and headed out. The penthouse always felt like a safe haven, but today, I needed to be anywhere else.

The Café

The café was a quaint little spot, tucked away from the bustling streets. It had an earthy charm, with wooden furniture, hanging plants, and the comforting hum of quiet chatter. Cecily was already seated at our usual corner table, her wavy auburn hair pulled into a loose bun. She waved me over, grinning.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she teased, sliding a steaming cup of coffee toward me.

“Worse,” I muttered, sinking into the chair across from her.

She raised an eyebrow, sipping her latte. “Spill.”

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “I got an email this morning from Daniel Hart’s assistant,” I started, emphasizing his name.

Cecily’s grin faded. “What does he want now?”

“They’re asking me to design a custom necklace for Evelyn.”

Her eyes widened. “Evelyn? As in your sister Evelyn?”

“The very same.”