True to her word to Nancy, Paige hadn't contacted Dylan again. She threw herself into work and finally finished the design drafts. The client tried to squeeze out a few more freebies, but this time she held firm—no more revisions within this budget. Any changes would cost extra.

The moment money came up, the client backed off and grudgingly paid the balance.

But not without a parting shot: "It's not like you're some famous designer. Your rates are ridiculous—practically luxury-brand prices."

Paige didn't lose her temper. She patiently explained that this was standard pricing for bespoke jewelry. No matter how she framed it, the client still thought she was overcharging. The woman lingered at the studio, haggling and complaining, before finally leaving.

The studio wasn't Paige's alone—she'd started it with a friend who was now home with a newborn and rarely came in. So lately, Paige had been running everything herself.

That evening, she had a dinner engagement organized by Cara Chavez, a former client. Normally, Paige avoided these things whenever possible. She wasn't built for networking. But Mrs. Chavez had been so insistent that refusing felt impossible.

She had no idea Nancy would be there.

The moment Nancy spotted Paige, a contemptuous smile curled her lips. "Cousin, did you invite her?"

"I did! Let me introduce everyone—this is Paige. She's a jewelry designer. She made a set for my wedding."

"Oh, that set. I thought it looked familiar." Nancy pointed at Paige in front of everyone. "Didn't you copy some big brand for my cousin's pieces? The design looks awfully similar."

Paige hadn't come looking for a fight. If she'd known Nancy would be here, she would have stayed home. Technically, this was their first time meeting face-to-face—they'd never crossed paths before. Not once.

"That can't be right." Mrs. Chavez's expression wavered with uncertainty. "Paige has a decent reputation. She wouldn't do something like that... would she?"

Despite her words, doubt had already crept into the way she looked at Paige.

Paige's fingers tightened at her sides. "Mrs. Chavez, the set I designed for you wasn't copied from anyone. I don't do that."

Someone pulled out photos, and the whispers began.

"No wonder it seemed so familiar—like I'd seen it somewhere. Now that I look, the style really is too similar."

"These days, any nobody calls herself a designer. Cara, I think you got scammed. This so-called designer is clearly second-rate. You should've gone with an established brand—at least there's accountability."

Sharp, judgmental gazes fixed on Paige. They believed Nancy without question. Paige didn't stand a chance.

She knew Nancy was doing this deliberately—stirring up trouble for the sake of it. "If you think I copied a brand, feel free to provide evidence. Or have it verified by a professional agency."

There was no point staying. Paige turned to Mrs. Chavez. "I'm sorry this evening took such an unpleasant turn. If you have concerns, you're welcome to get an official assessment or take legal action. If I'm guilty, I'll accept the consequences. But if I'm not, I won't admit to something I didn't do."

"Again, my apologies. I'll see myself out."

She turned and walked away. She'd barely made it out the door when Nancy followed, intercepting her in the corridor.

"Paige. Did I say you could leave?"

Paige stopped and fixed her with a cold stare. "Is there something else?"

"That's your attitude?"

"What attitude would you prefer?"

"Shouldn't you at least explain yourself to my cousin first?"

Paige studied her. Flawless makeup. Beautiful. Every hair in place. Skin smooth as porcelain. The clothes and jewelry she wore cost more than most people earned in months. She practically glowed.

Looking at her, it was easy to see why men couldn't forget Nancy Kaufman.

And yet...

Paige's lips curved. A slow, unexpected smile.

"Are you jealous of me?"

"Jealous of what?" Nancy almost laughed at the absurdity.

"If I'm not, why frame me?"

"I didn't." Nancy bit her crimson lip. "Who's framing you? I'm stating facts. Someone like you, still daring to cling to—"

"Dylan?" Paige cut her off. "We're already divorced. I have no intention of clinging to him."

"Who knows what you're really scheming? I'm warning you again—stay away from him!"

Paige had no desire to explain further. She turned to leave, but Nancy wasn't finished with her. "Don't act so above it all, Paige. No matter how unwilling you are to accept it, you need to give up on him."

"I'm not unwilling to accept anything. Believe it or not, since I've already divorced him, I won't be pursuing him." Paige allowed herself a thin smile. "Ms. Kaufman, there's really no point in making things difficult for me. And you can stop sending me those photos and videos of how blissfully in love you two are."

"Don't think saying that will make me believe you. If you want me to believe you, then disappear from our lives completely—leave Coastview!"

How insecure could one person be? Did she really need to drive her out entirely?

Why should she be the one to leave? Why was it always her?

Nancy's voice dripped with smug confidence. "Dylan and I will be married soon, and we'll have children. Won't that just eat you alive, Paige? Watching us?"

Married with children...

The words dredged up memories Paige would rather have kept buried. She pressed her lips together, then said, "Marriage, I believe. Children? Are you sure about that?"

"What—you don't think so?"

Paige's smile turned faintly pitying. "Actually... you might want to suggest Dylan visit the hospital. Urology department. Whether he can even have children is... questionable."

She couldn't really blame herself. Nancy had pushed and pushed. She hadn't wanted to say it.

Nancy froze, the words not quite registering.

Paige offered her some helpful advice. "Why else do you think I was so eager to divorce him? Being stuck with a man who can't perform—life gets rather tedious."

With that, Paige walked past her without another glance.

"You told Nancy that Dylan can't perform? Holy— wait, can he actually not?"

Paige's composure was shakier than she let on. Back at the apartment, recounting the evening to Elena, she felt that familiar churning in her stomach—disgust mixed with something else.

"..."

"Hold on—is that why you two never had kids? Because Dylan couldn't?"

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think you're missing the point here..."

A flicker of regret surfaced. If Dylan found out about this... But what was done was done. Too late now.

Elena remained skeptical. "There's no way, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe Nancy's the exception for him. Maybe they'll have a baby any day now—" She gagged. "—ugh..."

Mid-sentence, a wave of nausea hit her. She bolted for the bathroom.

"Paige? What's wrong?"

She dry-heaved over the sink, her face draining of color. When she finally lifted her head, the reflection staring back at her was ghostly pale. She gripped the edge of the counter, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"It's nothing. Didn't eat tonight. Just hunger making me queasy."

Elena went quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "When was your last period?"

"..."

The question stopped Paige cold. Her cycle had always been erratic—she never bothered tracking it. Dylan had made it clear from the start: no children. They'd always been careful. He'd always been careful. Every single time, without fail. He'd refused to let her take anything, worried about side effects on her already fragile constitution. The responsibility had always been his.

"Paige..." Elena's voice was gentle but insistent. "Maybe you should see a doctor tomorrow. Just to be sure."

It hadn't even been two weeks since her divorce from Dylan. Counting the days, if she really was pregnant, it most likely happened two months ago.

Dylan had come back for one night two months ago. She'd just returned from shopping with Elena, wearing a dark teal cheongsam that hugged every curve—cinched waist, full hips, black hair swept up, red lips. The kind of look that made it impossible to look away. That night, the dress ended up in shreds on Dylan's floor.

He rarely lost control—never at night, never outside the bedroom. But that time, something had slipped.

Which meant she couldn't be sure if he'd used protection.

But Paige didn't have time to go to the hospital. The next morning, she woke up to a message from Mrs. Chavez demanding compensation, complete with so-called "plagiarism comparison photos" and threats of a lawsuit.

Nancy's fingerprints were all over this.

Ebony Fernandez, the studio's junior assistant, went pale when she heard they were being sued. "Paige, what do we do? I've looked at that design—there's nothing wrong with it. They look nothing alike! The only similarity is the color, and you can't claim plagiarism just because of a color!"

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. This was personal. "We handle it the way we always do."

"But..." Ebony bit her lip. "I heard Mrs. Chavez's husband is seriously connected. Isn't it dangerous to cross her?" Fresh out of college, still young—her fear was understandable.

Paige gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry. She's coming after me, not you. If you're scared, take the next few days off. Come back when this blows over."

"But can you handle this alone?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, you've been pulling overtime all week—you've earned a break."

Ebony was just an assistant. There wasn't much she could do to help, and since Nancy had aimed this attack squarely at Paige, she didn't want anyone else dragged into the mess. After sending Ebony home, Paige pulled out her phone and arranged to meet with a lawyer.

Jeffrey Dickerson was a friend of one of the other partners and served as the studio's legal consultant.

Saying she wasn't scared would be a lie. Paige was rattled—she just didn't let it show. When she sat down with Jeffrey and explained the situation, his expression grew serious. He seemed to know Mrs. Chavez.

"If you can settle, settle," he advised. "Mrs. Chavez isn't someone you want as an enemy."

His meaning was clear: don't make waves. If this escalated, she'd be the one who suffered.

Paige took a sip of water, teeth pressing into her lower lip. "If we actually went to court—do I have any chance of winning?"

"You do. But weighed against the time, money, and energy you'd pour into it? It's not worth it. And given who Mrs. Chavez's husband is..." Jeffrey trailed off. He didn't need to finish. Paige understood.

Her stomach sank. She didn't want to swallow this injustice—but she couldn't let her stubbornness hurt the studio. It wasn't just her blood and sweat that had built it.

"I understand. Thank you, Jeffrey."

The words had barely left her mouth when another wave of nausea rolled through her. She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Excuse me—I need the restroom."

"Of course."

She barely made it to the sink before the dry heaving started. In the mirror, her face was chalk-white. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her cheeks, forcing herself to breathe. Get it together.

Steadying herself against the wall, she stepped out of the restroom—

And walked straight into someone.

"Sorry, I—"

The apology died on her lips. She looked up into Dylan Farley's face—that impossibly handsome face—and froze.

Her scalp prickled. Why was he here?

Just her luck.