Rosalind's eyes lit up the instant she saw the women's ring. She was absolutely smitten with it.
The ring was elegant and refined, the kind of piece that whispered wealth and status the moment it touched skin.
"Bartholomew, I love that couple's set. The design looks like it symbolizes love that lasts beyond death." She pressed closer to him. "I want us to put them on together."
Bartholomew listened, then slid a cold glance my way. The smugness on his face was unmistakable, as if he were mocking me for being too blind to see what I'd lost.
"I'll pay triple the price for those rings," he told the saleswoman.
Before the words had even settled, Rosalind whipped out the card Bartholomew had given her and thrust it toward the saleswoman.
"Make her put the ring down," Rosalind said, not even bothering to look at me. "Someone as broke and washed-up as her doesn't deserve you people bowing and scraping."
She flicked her fingers toward the ring. "And wipe it clean. Thoroughly. I'm particular about hygiene."
"Once it's polished up, I'll tip you. Twenty thousand sound fair?"
The saleswoman's demeanor shifted instantly. She snatched the ring from my hand and pulled out a cloth, gently buffing the diamond with careful strokes.
"Give that back to me." My voice cut through the store like a blade, stopping her mid-motion. "That ring is mine."
"Transactions follow a first-come, first-served rule. More importantly, my husband placed this order."
Bartholomew's expression twisted into open contempt.
"Zoe, sure, your dead husband placed the order. But he's dead, isn't he? And the remaining deposit hasn't been paid." He spread his hands in mock innocence. "So I'm not stealing anything. I'm simply outbidding you. Highest offer wins."
Fury coiled tight in my chest.
"Business transactions follow contracts and the law," I said, keeping my voice level. "I have the order form right here. The price is written in black and white."
"My husband may be gone, but I'm still here. Legally, collecting an order with the receipt my husband left behind is my right. No one can dispute that."
They made no move to return the ring. I stepped forward, reaching for it.
Rosalind was faster. She grabbed the ring from the saleswoman's hand and backed away, clutching it behind her.
"You want it back, Zoe? Not that easy."
She turned to the saleswoman. "Go ahead. Tell her what the remaining deposit is."
The saleswoman stepped forward, her face perfectly composed, and announced, "Twenty-five million dollars."
"What?"
I looked down at the order form in my hand. Five million. It said five million, plain as day. Where had twenty-five million come from?
I had inherited everything Adam left behind. Twenty-five million was pocket change to me.
But money still had to be spent on principle. They were inflating the price on the spot just to humiliate me.
I leveled a cold stare at the saleswoman. "You're a sales associate. You don't have the authority to change pricing. I want to see the manager."
"Her words are my words."
The voice came from behind us. The store manager strolled out, all smiles, but not for me. She walked straight past me and positioned herself in front of Bartholomew and Rosalind like a loyal attendant greeting royalty.
"Mr. Gilbert, what a pleasure to have you here." She snapped her fingers at a junior employee. "Darling, go brew some tea. Now."
"Right away!"
Watching the scene unfold, I finally understood the true meaning of the word "lapdog."
"Manager." I kept my tone even. "What exactly did you mean just now?"
"Why are you ignoring the price on the order form and inflating it? That violates standard trade regulations. I can report you."
The manager dropped her fawning smile. What replaced it was the same look of undisguised disdain everyone else in this store seemed to wear when they looked at me.
"Then go ahead and report us."
"Let's see how far that gets you. Someone with no money and no connections? Who's going to listen?"
She tilted her head, savoring her own cruelty. "If you insist on buying, have your husband come pick it up himself. He placed the order, not you."
Bartholomew's lips curled into a satisfied half-smile. Under the manager's fawning attention, he settled into the leather sofa with the ease of a man who owned the place, accepted the tea the saleswoman offered, and took a leisurely sip.
