Niamh lifted her gaze, her eyes cool and steady.
Jonathan stood before her, radiating confidence–the kind that bordered on arrogance. He looked at her as if her elaborate schemes against him were proof that she still cared about his opinion.
She had always known Jonathan was full of himself–and, to be fair, he had the credentials to back it up. But for the first time, Niamh found his conceit more amusing than annoying.
“You give yourself way too much credit,” she said lightly, almost dismissively.
With that, she turned on her heel, heading back into the ZM boutique. Moments later, she emerged with Lana, and together they climbed into the waiting car.
Jonathan remained rooted at the shop entrance, tall and unmoving–a statue carved in stone.
Inside, Marina was still anxiously waiting for Jonathan to come and comfort her. She waited so long that Vivian was about to lock up for the night, but Jonathan never came back inside.
Finally, Marina had no choice but to go out to find him.
“Jonathan…” she called softly, rubbing her swollen, tear–stained eyes.
He didn’t react.
Marina was taken aback; she couldn’t begin to guess what thought had captured all of Jonathan’s attention.
Only when a car blasted its horn on the street did Jonathan snap out of his trance. He finally noticed Marina standing beside him.
“What are you thinking about, Jonathan?”
“…It’s nothing.”
He shook his head.
But the truth was, he’d been replaying Niamh’s parting words: “You give yourself way too much credit.” It was a line he himself had once thrown at her.
So, she really was getting back at him.
Oddly, the realization left Jonathan in unexpectedly high spirits.
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Marina noticed a flicker of apology in Jonathan’s eyes and, despite everything, felt a small thrill–maybe something good could come out of this mess after all.
Sure, she’d been humiliated by Niamh: stripped of her position, her supply line cut, and even slapped in public. But if it made Jonathan feel sorry for her, maybe it was worth it.
Jonathan took Marina to the hospital to have her face checked, then drove her back to Ebonwood Hall.
During the ride, Marina hinted several times that she didn’t want to go home. She claimed she was worried her parents would ask uncomfortable questions if they saw her injuries.
In the past, even if Jonathan wasn’t interested in sleeping with her, he’d at least have offered to take her to Seabreeze Villa for the night.
Instead, Jonathan’s detached voice chilled her to the bone. “I’ll have Prescott book you a hotel nearby.”
After the day she’d had–humiliated by Niamh, stripped of her title, cut off from her suppliers, and slapped in the face–Jonathan was really going to leave her at a hotel?
Marina barely kept her temper in check. With wide, pleading eyes, she asked, “Jonathan… would you stay with me tonight?”
She let her delicate hand rest lightly on his thigh, as soft as a feather.
The next morning, Niamh arrived at the Creative Arts Park, where her new office was located. The Jewelry Association’s headquarters were just across the plaza.
These days, Niamh wore many hats; her influence in the jewelry design world had grown rapidly. But in terms of power in the business community, Jonathan was still king.
Given Jonathan’s feelings for Marina, Niamh had expected to be bombarded with calls–wheeling, dealing, threats, or pleas to let Marina back into the Association.
But… not a single person reached out.
She double–checked with her colored–stone supplier; there’d been no pressure from
Jonathan’s side, either.
“How odd… Niamh murmured to herself.
There was no way Jonathan, with all his devotion to Marina, would just stand by and watch her go bankrupt.
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And, as it turned out, he didn’t. Marina hadn’t gone under–Jonathan had quietly covered every one of her hefty penalty fees.
Sitting in her office, Niamh gave a wry, self–mocking smile.
She thought of the time when her own studio had gone under. Jonathan hadn’t just refused to help; he’d practically rushed to kick her
hile she was down.
Still, she was grateful for that. His abandonment had forced her to see things clearly–first loves are overrated.
Niamh picked up the Association’s office phone and dialed a number.
That evening was the Jewelry Association’s seventieth anniversary gala. Most of the guests were members, but they were welcome to bring friends and family along.
