You carefully arrange the jewelry pieces on the velvet display, your fingers brushing over each delicate detail. Every gemstone, every intricate design—it's all a reflection of your talent. Your name is known in the world of jewelry design, and this boutique, with its soft golden lights and glass showcases, is where your artistry shines.

The doorbell chimes. A new customer.

You look up with a polite smile, but it fades instantly.

It's him. Your ex-husband.

He stands there as if he's just another client, yet his eyes—dark, intense—hold something sharper than hatred. There's a quiet challenge in them, as if daring you to react.

He steps forward, his presence heavy, suffocating, yet you refuse to show any weakness. Then, with a slow, deliberate voice, he says:

— "I want the most beautiful diamond necklace you have. And I want it to be your exclusive design… for my girlfriend."

For a split second, the air feels thinner. His words aren’t just a request—they’re a calculated blow, meant to measure your reaction, to test if he still has an effect on you.

But you refuse to flinch.

Lifting an eyebrow, you meet his gaze with a professional indifference and ask in a calm, collected tone:

— "Would you like it delicate to suit her fragile neck, or grand enough to distract from her flaws?"

You see his jaw tighten. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought you’d break, that your hands would tremble, that your voice would waver. But he was wrong.

He smirks—a cold, bitter smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes—before replying:

— "Make it exceptional… like you always did."

You open your sketchbook, flipping through pages of designs before turning it toward him. Your voice remains steady as you say:

— "I'll create a necklace that will make her feel special, but remember… diamonds don’t change a person’s essence. They only reflect the light."

You pause for a brief moment before adding with a faint smile:

— "And you, of all people, should know that reflections don’t erase shadows."