Chapter 3
That afternoon, a lawyer delivered the divorce papers to my temporary apartment.
A property settlement.
A nondisclosure agreement.
And a new authorization form for the blue diamond.
The terms were cleanly written: I could take the money, but I could never speak publicly as a designer, contact former clients, or claim credit for any of my work.
Evander had never wanted only a divorce.
He wanted to make sure I would never again have the right to prove I had created any of it.
I didn’t sign.
By evening, Evander came himself.
He stood in my cramped living room, looking out of place against everything in it.
“The original design drafts for the blue diamond are in the archive room,” he said. “If you want to protect it, come back with me.”
I knew I shouldn’t believe him.
But my mother’s final complete draft existed in only one copy.
I went anyway.
The old Harrowmont studio was empty.
My desk had been cleared.
The design boards had been stripped from the walls, leaving behind only a single nail.
Evander stood beside a metal trash can, holding a stack of yellowed pages.
I recognized my mother’s handwriting at once.
Across the top page, she had written:
Keep the stone whole.
“Have you lost your mind?”
He flicked open a lighter.
The flame touched the corner of the page.
“I’m only making you understand,” he said, “that you can’t use the past to threaten me anymore.”
I lunged for it.
The edge of the paper was already glowing red.
I tore the stack out of the fire, pain shooting through my palm.
Evander grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me away.
“Enough.”
I shook him off.
Burned ash drifted to the floor.
I clutched the scorched page, and at last, the tears came.
For one second, something crossed Evander’s face—something I almost mistook for guilt.
But what he said was:
“I know you can design. I just don’t need anyone else to know it.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
I looked down at my hand.
My skin was red with burns, but the page was still in my palm.
“You took the paper.”
I looked up.
“Not my hands.”
When I got back to my apartment, I didn’t go to the hospital.
I placed the blue design book on the table.
Twelve unsigned designs, spread open page by page.
Then I laid the burned fragment at the end.
Before I left the townhouse yesterday, I had sent photographs of the book to Vale House.
Now I added a thirteenth page.
Not a new piece of jewelry.
A bird flying out of the fire.
Title: The Thirteenth Page.
The description contained only one line:
Twelve designs without a name. One stone they tried to cut into another woman’s future.
I clicked Submit.
At one in the morning, a reply appeared.
Final review slot confirmed.
Friday, 9:00 A.M.
Original works required.
I stared at the screen.
Nine o’clock: Vale House.
Ten o’clock: Grafton & Bell.
I had one hour.
One hour to make everyone see the thirteenth page before they made the first cut into my mother’s blue diamond.