I saw that the studio had stepped in to respond, with my colleagues confirming they'd watched me design the jewelry with their own eyes. But the moment they spoke up, users mass-reported the post, and the flood of abuse forced them to shut down the comments.
The blood drained from my face. Who else could it be? The only person with access to my computer and my study, the only one who could have taken my original drafts, was Warren.
He'd stolen my design sketches and passed Yvonne off as the original creator.
I never imagined he would go this far for her.
I called Warren. He picked up almost immediately. "Having regrets? Leonora, I told you—I gave you one night. But you did nothing."
My voice caught in my throat. I couldn't get a single word out.
How had it come to this between us? The man who once couldn't bear to see me cry, who'd sworn he never wanted to see my tears again—that same man was now destroying my reputation for another woman, trying to bury me alive.
"Warren, do you really hate me that much?"
