His Fake Ring Has My InitialsChapter 2

After making sure Nana was comfortable, I rushed out to the shop.

It wasn't a large boutique, but it demanded constant attention. The margins were razor-thin, the expenses were overwhelming, and I couldn't afford to hire staff. I had to do everything myself. When I was stretched too thin, Nana would try to help me watch the counter.

Like two days ago. My friend Hannah’s daughter had a parent-teacher conference, but Hannah and her husband were stuck out of town. She had begged me to go in her place, offering to help Nana get an appointment with a renowned specialist in return.

I had agreed. But I hadn't realized that leaving the shop for just half a day would lead to this.

I had forgotten to check the weather forecast before leaving the house, and by the time I was halfway to the shop on my old bicycle, a cold coastal drizzle had begun to fall. By the time I arrived at the storefront, I looked like a drowned rat.

As I struggled to unlock the heavy metal security grate, cold water splattered against my bare shins.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed on the wet pavement behind me.

A reflection stretched across the puddle at my feet—the silhouette of a tailored suit, a glimpse of a Patek Philippe watch, and a man impatiently tapping the handle of an umbrella.

I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see.

Aaron stood there, his lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.

"So this is your shop?" he said, his voice carrying that familiar, low-frequency judgment. "You told me you wanted to take the world by storm. Is this the grand result?"

I forced a professional smile. "Mr. Lockhart. Are you here to collect your rings?"

Aaron stared at me, his eyes dark. "You look pale. Don't tell me you haven't even started them."

The customer is always right. I bowed my head slightly, offering a practiced apology. "I am incredibly sorry. They aren't finished yet. Could you possibly give me a little more time?"

Aaron continued to stare, his gaze heavy and unreadable. I shifted under his scrutiny, feeling utterly exposed. When we were together, I had never bowed my head to him. To meet again like this, with me shivering and soaked, felt like a quiet humiliation.

Aaron’s brow furrowed—his signature sign of impatience. But before I could offer another apology, the passenger door of the sleek black Mercedes parked at the curb opened.

The woman from the tabloids—the one at the center of his recent media storm—stepped out. She held up her white designer dress, stepping daintily to avoid the puddles. She reached to loop her arm through Aaron’s, but he smoothly turned away, pretending to adjust his coat.

"I told you we shouldn't have commissioned rings from a place like this," she complained, her voice dripping with artificial sweet sweetness. "There are so many elite jewelers in Manhattan. Why come all the way here? Now our engagement party is going to be a mess."

"I am deeply sorry," I interjected quickly. "When is the engagement party? Perhaps I can rush the order."

She looked at me critically. "Three days from now. Can you actually manage that?"

As long as the design wasn't overly intricate, I could. I knew Aaron's tastes; he favored clean, classic lines. Nothing ostentatious. Just as I was about to nod, Aaron cut in.

"I want to add an engraving," he said.

My phone was dead, so I frantically fumbled in my bag for a pen and a damp notepad, gesturing for him to continue. I had only managed to get the security grate halfway up, and the rain was picking up, blurring my vision.

Perhaps worried I wouldn't capture his instructions properly, Aaron reached out and tilted his umbrella over my head. I looked up, offering a small, grateful nod.

Aaron’s throat bobbed, and he averted his eyes. "Make sure you write this down. I want engravings on the inside of the bands."

"Engrave the letter V in the women's ring."

"And the letter A in the men's."

My pen stopped. I looked up at them, stunned.

The woman smiled warmly, stepping closer. "Our initials. Vicky and Aaron. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Vicky West."

She looked at Aaron, then back to me. "Aaron, it seems like you two know each other. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

After five years of silence, how were we supposed to define what we had been?

I stood there, frozen.

But Aaron spoke with perfect, cool detachment. "This is Vera Ward. We went to college together."

Vicky smiled and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure, Vera."

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to take her hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss West. I’ve heard a lot about you."