Chapter 2

I had my injuries treated in the emergency room.

The doctor examined the burn and frowned. "Second-degree. Even with proper care, there'll be scarring. You absolutely cannot get this hand wet for the foreseeable future, and no gripping a pen for extended periods."

I stared at my hand wrapped in white gauze, and felt something sink in my chest.

The submission deadline for the International Jewelry Design Awards --- the Crown Prize --- was next month.

It was Vela's shot at the global stage. I had been working toward it for a full year.

Now my hand was out.

I sat on a hard bench in the hospital corridor through the entire night.

Not a single call. Not a single message.

Ethan had simply ceased to exist.

The next morning I dragged myself into the office, exhausted --- and found someone in the design department who had absolutely no business being there.

Zara.

She was dressed in a tailored Chanel suit, makeup flawless, leaning back in my director's chair like she owned it, twirling my crystal paperweight between her fingers.

Ethan stood beside her, watching her with soft, indulgent eyes.

"What is this?" I walked in, my expression flat.

Ethan caught sight of the bandage on my hand and looked away briefly, then reset to cool indifference.

"Good timing, Claire." He cleared his throat. "Your hand is injured --- you're not in any condition for high-intensity work right now. I've decided to have Zara step in as acting design director and take point on the Crown Prize submission."

I was sure I'd heard him wrong.

"What did you just say?" I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Ethan, are you serious? Zara studied early childhood education. She can't tell a brilliant cut from a cushion cut. You want her to take my position? What do you think this company is --- a game?"

Zara's eyes went red. She stood up, voice soft and wounded. "Claire, I know you don't respect me. But I've been teaching myself jewelry design for the past six months. Ethan says I have real talent. I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you --- look at your hand, how are you supposed to draw anything like this?"

"Stay out of it." My voice came out sharp. "This is my office. Who gave you permission to walk in here? Get out."

"Claire!" Ethan stepped in front of Zara, fury in his eyes. "Can you stop acting like this? Zara is trying to help. And for the record --- this is my company too. As majority shareholder, I have every right to make personnel decisions."

Majority shareholder.

I stared at the man in front of me like he was a stranger.

When we started out, we had nothing. I had poured in every cent my parents had left me. I even sold the emerald necklace my grandmother had given me, just to scrape together the startup capital.

When we registered the company, he said it would be easier for him to hold the larger share for business purposes. I agreed without hesitation.

Because I trusted him.

I trusted the boy who had stood in the rain waiting for me all night. I trusted the man who swore he would love me for the rest of his life.

And now he was using the power I had given him to strip away everything I had built.

"Ethan." I walked to my desk, shielding my drafts with my uninjured left hand. "The Crown Prize submission is eighty percent done. That is my work. Nobody is touching it."

"Claire, stop being difficult." His tone softened --- but it wasn't warmth, it was condescension. "The doctor said you need to rest. Zara would just be a figurehead --- the design team would handle the actual execution. Think of it as giving her something to focus on. It would be good for her recovery."

Using my life's work as therapy for her depression.

"And if I say no?" I said through gritted teeth.

His face hardened. "Don't push me on this. If you insist on making a scene, I'll put you on mandatory leave."

He turned to my assistant. "Pack up Director Claire's things and have them sent home."

"You'll regret this, Ethan."

I didn't let them touch anything. I grabbed the core sketches with my left hand, shoved them into my bag, and walked out.

Stepping outside, the morning sun hit me full in the face.

I turned back and looked up at the Vela logo gleaming gold above the entrance.

Once, it had been proof of what we built together.

Now it felt like the punchline of a very bad joke.