You sat at the private corner table of the Beverly Hills restaurant — the kind where the booths are velvet and the waiters walk like they’re carrying diamonds instead of plates — twisting the SHEIN ring around your finger with growing irritation. Every time it touched your skin you felt that familiar itch beginning. Fake metal. Of course it was.

Across from you, Gigi, Bella, and Kendall leaned in like a panel of judges waiting for details that only sisters-at-heart were allowed to hear.

“So you’re telling me,” Kendall started, lowering her sunglasses dramatically, “he proposed to you — Dior’s favorite model, the woman who shuts down every runway she steps on — with a forty-dollar ring?”

Gigi nearly choked on her sparkling water. “He got it from SHEIN?”

Bella looked genuinely offended on your behalf. “Is he stupid or are you dating a prank show?”

You let out a breath and shook your head. “I didn’t want to care about the ring. I really didn’t. But the second I saw it I just… froze. And I’m allergic to fake metals — he knows that. It’s not even just about the price, it’s the thoughtlessness.”

“And the symbolism,” Kendall added softly. “An engagement ring is supposed to be something lasting — you’re not overreacting.”

You wanted to believe that. You loved Justin, you did — two years together, traveling, red carpets, late-night room service at the Four Seasons… he always made you feel adored. But this? This felt like a punch in the stomach.

“He’s a Vogue photographer,” Bella said, exasperated. “He could’ve afforded something beautiful and timeless. Hell, he could’ve even had one custom made by a friend in the fashion world. He chose this.”

You swallowed, the answer hitting harder than you expected.

He chose this.

Gigi leaned across the table, taking your hand gently. “Sweetheart, the ring isn’t about money, it’s about respect. Effort. Care. If he knows you’re allergic to fake metal and he gave this to you anyway, that’s the real problem.”

All three of them went quiet, watching your face closely.

Your phone buzzed — a message from Jason Mantzoukas.

Your favorite comedian: Send help. I’ve been ambushed by three elementary-school Percy Jackson fans who think I actually live underground.

Despite everything, you smiled. Jason always pulled you back from the edge without even trying. He was older than you, sure, but he was one of the few people who really understood your world without demanding anything from you. Working on the Percy Jackson set let you see him more lately, and it had become the best escape from the chaos of the fashion industry.

Your fans shipped you two constantly — the pretty young Dior model and the chaotic, hilarious actor. Everyone expected him to escort you to the premiere, and he did — not because of rumors, but because he was your safe place.

Justin barely even texted good luck that night.

Kendall noticed the way your expression softened when you looked at your phone. “Jason again?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

You nodded.

“Funny how he treats you better as a friend than your boyfriend does as a fiancé,” Bella murmured.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want to compare, you didn’t want to think too hard — but deep down you knew Bella was right.

You looked down at the ring once more — the metal already leaving a faint rash on your skin — and for the first time since the proposal you let the truth settle fully:

You weren’t upset because you were shallow.

You were upset because you knew you deserved someone who actually saw you.

Gigi squeezed your hand again. “So,” she said gently, “what are you going to do?”

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure.