Chapter 25: The Stolen Original

I looked from the cufflink to Damien.

"You think someone framed you?"

"I think someone expected me to find it," he replied.

"There's a difference."

He placed the evidence bag carefully on the bedside table.

Neither of us touched it.

"Who else owns one?" I asked.

"The board members."

"My father."

"The chief financial officer."

"The legal director."

"Two division presidents."

"And me."

"Seven cufflinks."

"Seven people."

"Or six," I said.

"If yours was stolen."

His eyes narrowed.

"I checked before coming upstairs."

"Mine is still in my drawer."

"Then another executive lost theirs."

"Or wanted us to believe that."

The room fell silent.

Every answer created two new questions.

A knock interrupted us.

"Sir?"

It was Rose.

"The courier has arrived."

Damien frowned.

"At this hour?"

"He insisted it couldn't wait until morning."

"I'll be down."

Rose disappeared.

Damien looked at me.

"Stay here."

"No."

"Vivian..."

"If this concerns my brother, I'm coming."

He didn't argue.

Together we walked downstairs.

A young courier stood inside the entrance hall, soaked from the rain.

He held a flat brown parcel against his chest.

"Mrs. Vivian Ashford?"

"Yes."

"Signature, please."

I signed the electronic screen.

The courier handed me the parcel and left without another word.

No company logo.

No sender.

Only my name.

I carried it into the drawing room.

Damien closed the doors behind us.

Inside the parcel was a cardboard portfolio.

I opened it carefully.

My breathing stopped.

"No..."

It couldn't be.

Lying inside was an original jewellery design.

My design.

Drawn entirely by hand.

Every pencil line.

Every measurement.

Every correction.

"This is from Verline," I whispered.

"It disappeared after our wedding."

Damien looked genuinely confused.

"I thought everything from your studio was locked away."

"It was."

"This wasn't locked away."

"It was stolen."

I turned the sheet over.

On the back someone had written a date.

Ten months ago.

Below it was another sentence.

"Presented to Raven Capital."

The name struck me immediately.

"Raven Capital..."

"Nathaniel wrote that name in the Hawthorne file."

Damien's expression hardened.

"I've never done business with them."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Then why would they have one of my original designs?"

Neither of us had an answer.

Another page rested beneath the sketch.

This one was glossy.

A magazine advertisement.

At the centre sat a diamond brooch.

Elegant.

Sophisticated.

Award-winning.

My heart dropped.

I knew that brooch.

Because I had designed it.

Someone else's name appeared beneath the photograph.

"Designed exclusively by Celeste Laurent."

"No," I whispered.

"That's impossible."

"I never released this collection."

I searched every detail.

The proportions.

The hidden hinge.

The signature leaf setting.

Every feature belonged to me.

Someone had copied my work.

No.

Not copied.

Stolen.

"Vivian..." Damien said quietly.

"Did anyone else ever see these drawings?"

"Only Nathaniel."

"And..."

I stopped.

"And who?"

"You."

He stared at the page.

"I remember this sketch."

"You showed it to me before we were engaged."

"You called it your masterpiece."

I nodded.

"Then someone had access to Verline after it was locked."

"Someone with keys."

His jaw tightened.

"Only three people had them."

"You."

"My lawyer."

"And the estate manager."

"Colette?"

"She never had access."

"Not officially."

I picked up the advertisement again.

Tiny print at the bottom listed the exhibition.

"International Luxury Design Awards."

"Winner announced eight months ago."

"Eight months..."

That was while I was trapped inside this house.

While I believed my career had simply ended.

Someone had continued it without me.

Using my hands.

Using my ideas.

Using my name erased from every page.

I suddenly remembered the empty perfume bottle.

The fingerprints.

The constant searches of my room.

They had never been looking for the miscarriage records.

They had been looking for my originals.

Nathaniel must have realised someone was stealing my work before he died.

That was why he hid part of Verline.

"Damien," I said slowly.

"This isn't just about my brother anymore."

"No," he agreed.

"It's about your company too."

"Someone has been making millions from designs that belong to me."

He looked directly into my eyes.

"Then we're going after them."

"Together?"

He hesitated.

"If you'll allow it."

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.

One new message.

Unknown sender.

I opened it.

There was no text.

Only a photograph.

It showed another jewellery sketch.

My handwriting covered the margins.

Across the centre, someone had stamped a single word in red ink.

"SOLD."

Beneath the image came one final message.

"The originals aren't missing anymore."

"They're already on the market."