LOGINAriana PovThe first week went by in a blur of white light.Chloe ran the calibration on the first morning and never really stopped. Skin-tone checks, reflection tests on the platinum, then the close-ups: my hands setting a stone, the sapphire tilted toward the softbox, Jonathan's loupe held steady beside my wrist. Soon I could find my mark without looking down, and before long I knew which side of my face the camera liked.Jonathan made it easy. He had a way of saying "one more and we're done" that was never true, and somehow I never minded.When the shutter stopped and my neck ached from holding the angle, he glanced at the monitor."Chin down. You're posing like you owe the camera money."I laughed and let my shoulders drop.By the second week, the shoots gave way to interviews.The docuseries crew set up in a corner of Studio B with a single armchair and a lamp, and for hours I sat under it explaining why I had chosen an emerald cut over a round one, why the setting curved the way
Vanessa Pov I finally woke up, stretching beneath the covers as the corners of my lips lifted before I could stop them. Last night kept replaying in my mind. I had been cleaning Damian's injury, pressing the ice against it, and we had been so caught up in each other that neither of us noticed Ariana come in until the cup struck the counter. Damian and I both turned towards the sound. She stood there, watching us. The thought warmed me all the way through. She had walked out with her back straight, and I had not missed the stiffness in her shoulders. A small laugh escaped me. I pressed my lips together, but it only grew, and I turned my face into the pillow to muffle it. Poor little wife. I stretched against the silk sheets, pale light slipping through the curtains. Nothing about this morning needed hurrying. My phone rang on the dressing table. Damian's mom. I sat up, smoothed my hair back and answered. "Good morning, Mom." "Vanessa, my dear. Are you up?" "I
Damian Pov The door slammed shut behind me. I turned away and headed for the desk. I picked up the glass, poured two fingers of whiskey and walked to the window. I didn't drink. I stood there, staring out at the dark garden, the untouched whiskey in my hand. She had looked me straight in the eye and refused, even with my hands pinning her wrists against the wall. My grip tightened around the glass. I had crossed a line, and there was no excuse for it. She was right. It was her career, her work, and her chance. I had no right to corner her in that corridor. I set the glass down, picked it up again, then turned it slowly between my fingers. Finally, I pushed away from the desk and walked to the window. I stood there, staring out at the dark garden, the glass still in my hand. Every time she stood near another man, something stirred in me. I kept telling myself it meant nothing, but why did it bother me so much? “Get a grip, man,” I muttered to myself as I inhaled, held my bre
Ariana Pov Our eyes met. My breath stopped halfway up my throat. Damian stood in the doorway in a black suit, one hand still on the door, his face carved into something unreadable. which made me wonder what brought him here? Beside me, Jonathan rose from the stool and straightened his blazer. I stayed seated a second too long before getting to my feet. "Good evening, sir," Jonathan said warmly as he approached Damian and extended his hand. They shook hands. "Good evening," Damian replied, shaking Jonathan's hand before letting go. I stood and walked over to him, stopping beside Jonathan. "Good evening, sir." "Evening," Damian replied, his gaze briefly meeting mine. He then walked towards the display, his attention moving over the jewellery pieces arranged beneath the glass. "Sir." The HR manager hurried over with a tablet. A man in a gray suit followed him, carrying a folder bearing the insurer's logo. "Thank you for coming down. We wanted you to see today's set before th
Ariana Pov By four, Jonathan and I had left the HR office and were walking down the corridor toward Studio B, our folders tucked under our arms. The heavy double doors swung open, revealing a space that looked less like an office department and more like an editorial film set. Softbox lights on massive metallic arms hovered over a central stage, casting brilliant pools of white onto a polished dark-wood workstation. Giant 4K monitors ringed the perimeter, displaying live camera feeds and lighting grids. Off to the side, a uniformed security guard in white cotton gloves stood beside a locked velvet-lined transport case holding pieces from my signature collection alongside the company's high-value archival gems. "Looks like they weren't exaggerating about the production scale," Jonathan said, walking in beside me with his hands casually in his pockets. A woman with a headset and a clipboard turned toward us at once. "Ariana? Jonathan? Perfect, you're right on time. I'm Chloe
Ariana Pov The silence in the lift pressed against my ears. Jonathan stood beside me with one hand in his pocket, his eyes fixed on the floor numbers ticking down. The easy slouch he usually carried was gone. A tight line had settled around his mouth. Had I missed an error in the sample specs? A report I signed without checking twice? My mind ran through every file I had touched that month, looking for the one thing that could have gone wrong. What if someone had found something to pin on me? My thumb pressed hard against the ring, and my stomach tightened with every number that ticked down. "Did you get any notice about an audit or a department review?" he asked quietly as the doors opened onto the administration floor. "No." I smoothed the front of my skirt. "Everything in my section was cleared yesterday. Every spec was logged." "Same here." He glanced down at me and offered a faint smile that stopped before it reached his eyes. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it. No p







