The silence stretched between us like a taut wire, heavy with the weight of Sebastian's dismissal. His voice had been ice-cold, professional, completely devoid of recognition. "Who is this? And why are you bothering me about Megan?"
Before I could even identify myself, the line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in my ear like an insult.
Megan's laughter erupted across the pristine showroom, sharp and triumphant. "Oh, honey." She pressed a manicured hand to her chest in mock sympathy, her eyes sparkling with malicious delight. "Did you really think Sebastian would help some nobody? He doesn't even have your number saved."
The words hit their mark, but I kept my expression neutral. Around us, other customers had stopped pretending to browse, their whispers carrying clearly through the marble-floored space.
"That girl must be delusional," someone murmured behind a display of tennis bracelets.
"Megan Cross always gets what she wants," another voice added with the certainty of gospel truth.
Bradley shifted uncomfortably beside the display case, the emerald-cut diamond still cradled in his palm like a sacred offering. His eyes darted between Megan and me, clearly calculating which side would be safer to choose.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket with deliberate slowness, letting the moment breathe. Then I walked past Megan, my sneakers silent against the marble, toward a different display case entirely.
The pink diamond sat in solitary splendor under its own spotlight—a rare, flawless stone that seemed to pulse with inner fire. Five carats of pure perfection, cut in a classic round brilliant that threw rainbows across the white velvet. The price tag, discreetly positioned beside it, read $4.8 million.
"I'll take this one instead," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the suddenly quiet store.
I reached into my wallet and withdrew my black card—the one Dominic had given me with strict instructions to "spare no expense." The matte black surface caught the overhead lights as I placed it on the glass counter with a soft click.
Bradley's face went through a fascinating transformation. His practiced smile faltered as he stared at the card, his eyes widening slightly. Black cards weren't something you saw every day, even in a place like Cartier.
"Ma'am," he began, his voice uncertain for the first time since I'd walked in. "We... we prioritize our VIP clients. Ms. Cross was here first for the engagement ring selection, and—"
"Actually," Megan interrupted, her heels clicking as she moved to block my path to the counter, "I think we need to settle this properly." Her smile had turned predatory, the kind of expression that probably sent lesser mortals scurrying for cover. "Since you want to play pretend, let's make this fun."
She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume—something French and cloying that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow managed to carry to every corner of the store.
"Kneel down," she said, her words dripping with entitled venom. "Apologize for wasting my time, and maybe I'll let you leave with your dignity intact."
The store held its breath. I could feel every eye in the place focused on us, waiting to see if I would crumble under the weight of her social superiority. Bradley had gone pale, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched the emerald-cut diamond like a lifeline.
I tilted my head, studying Megan's face with the kind of clinical interest usually reserved for particularly fascinating insects. A cold smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
"You want me to kneel?" I asked, my voice soft but carrying clearly through the hushed atmosphere. "I think you have our positions confused."
Something shifted in the air between us, a subtle change that made Megan's confident smile waver just slightly. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn't quite hide the uncertainty that flickered across her features.
I took a step forward, closing the distance between us until we were almost nose to nose. "See, here's the thing about playing games, Megan. You should always make sure you know who you're playing against."
The whispers around us had stopped entirely. Even Bradley seemed frozen in place, his mouth slightly open as he watched our standoff unfold.
"Because right now," I continued, my voice dropping to match her earlier whisper, "you're standing between me and something I want. And that's never been a particularly safe place to be."
Megan's face had gone from triumphant to uncertain to something approaching alarm. She took a small step backward, her designer heels clicking against the marble.
"You don't know who you're dealing with," she said, but her voice had lost some of its earlier conviction.
I reached past her, my movements deliberate and unhurried, and tapped the glass above the pink diamond. "Bradley," I said without taking my eyes off Megan's increasingly pale face, "I believe I asked to see this ring. And unless Ms. Cross here is planning to outbid me on a four-point-eight-million-dollar purchase, I suggest you get it out of the case."
The number hit the room like a physical force. I heard someone gasp, saw Bradley's hands shake as he fumbled for his keys. Even Megan seemed to shrink slightly, her earlier bravado evaporating in the face of a price tag that dwarfed her emerald-cut diamond.
"Four point eight..." she whispered, the color draining from her carefully contoured cheeks.
I smiled, the expression sharp enough to cut glass. "Million. Yes. Did I stutter?"
The store buzzed with renewed whispers, but the tone had shifted entirely. No longer were they dismissing me as some delusional nobody. Now they were calculating, reassessing, trying to figure out exactly who I was and how much I might be worth.
Bradley's hands were steady now as he unlocked the case, his earlier dismissiveness replaced by the kind of reverent attention reserved for customers who could single-handedly affect his commission for the year.
"Of course, madam," he said, his voice thick with newfound respect. "Right away."
