Episode 5

The boardroom door opened before me. I adjusted the lapel of my dark suit with an automatic gesture, pulling the sleeve of my white shirt until the cuff was perfectly aligned, and entered the room with slow, firm steps. The sound of my shoes echoed discreetly on the light marble floor, and all eyes present turned to me almost immediately.

It was always like this. In any environment I entered, there was a tacit recognition. It was the respect that was earned with effort, sweat, and cold decisions. The respect I built, in the job she said I would never achieve.

I scanned the room with an attentive look, greeting with a slight nod the directors and investors who were already waiting for me. My face maintained the impassive mask that had become my second skin. It left no room for unnecessary smiles. There was no warmth in my posture.

Then I saw her.

Sitting near the end of the table, her body rigid in a desperate attempt to remain calm. The floral dress she wore clashed with everything in that room—the dark ties, the starched suits, the heavy atmosphere of money and power. And yet, she was the most attention-grabbing thing.

The shock was instantaneous, cruel, treacherous.

My chest tightened without me being able to prevent it.

Our eyes met. And in that single second, all the years that separated us collapsed between us.

She blinked, surprised, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. And I looked away before any weakness could betray me.

I sat at the head of the table, adjusting the chair calmly, feeling every fiber of my body scream to get up and do something. Anything. But I remained still. Cold.

The room settled back into the same respectful silence as before.

I looked directly at her, as if she were just another name on the list of contractors.

"We can begin," I declared, my voice echoing coldly.

I nodded towards the prepared projection on the wall.

Helen raised her face. Her eyes wavered for a moment, but she quickly stood up, clutching the folder as if it were armor. I saw her hands trembling, but she kept her chin up.

"Miss Dupont, please present your work. I would like you to explain the concept of each piece developed," I asked, with the same naturalness that I would use to request a financial report.

She nodded, walking with firm steps to the front of the room, although I knew that each movement was costly. I knew her better than anyone there. I knew that, inside, she was trembling.

Helen opened the folder and removed the drawings, positioning them under the projector. The light highlighted each line, each curve, each design choice she had made.

"The first model," she began, her voice soft but controlled, "was created in white gold. The concept is strength. Intertwined geometric lines represent a solid foundation, a firm construction that does not break easily, even under pressure."

Her eyes scanned the room, but carefully avoided mine.

I watched her without looking away, but without letting anything show.

The second image was projected.

"The second model is in rose gold. The small stones, distributed in the shape of drops around the ring, symbolize memories, significant moments. Each diamond represents an instant, a victory won together."

There was a raw emotion in her voice, an almost imperceptible tremor, which she tried to disguise with technique.

I ran my eyes over the drawing, but in truth, I was only watching her.

The way her fingers brushed the papers. The way her breath wavered when she spoke of love.

The third piece appeared on the screen.

"The third is made of pure platinum. A ring without adornments, polished, simple. It represents eternity. The purity of a commitment that needs nothing more than its own truth to exist."

She took a step back, allowing everyone in the room to contemplate the three models together.

Strength.

Love.

Eternity.

I felt my jaw tighten, controlling the urge to slam my fist on the table.

Because those rings... those damn rings were our history.

It was what she destroyed.

And now she delivered it all packaged in platinum and gold, without even knowing who she was designing for.

Silence filled the room.

For long seconds, no one spoke. Not even me.

I maintained my cold expression, my impeccable posture.

"Any questions?" I asked, in a dry, almost bored tone.

Some executives shook their heads, others made brief notes.

Helen remained standing in front of the room, her face neutral, but I saw the sparkle in her eyes. A mixture of pride and happiness, that no one was speaking ill of her projects.

"Miss Dupont," my voice came out icy, "before creating something as symbolic as rings based on strength, love, and eternity, perhaps it would be prudent to reflect if the person's own life minimally represents any of these concepts."

Her face paled.

I saw her chin harden, I saw her fingers tighten on the folder.

I continued, relentless.

"Because it's easy to draw beautiful words on paper, Miss Dupont. It's much more difficult to sustain them in practice. Don't you think?"

I looked at the projected drawings, and even knowing they were excellent, I publicly scorned them.

"I ..."

She tried to speak, but I interrupted her.

"As for your models, I appreciate the effort... but I don't intend to put these pieces of junk on the finger of the woman I love," I said in a tone filled with coldness.

The directors exchanged embarrassed glances. Some lowered their eyes to their notes. Others simply froze, not knowing how to react.

Helen remained motionless, like a porcelain statue cracking from within.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.

"Redo everything. I want three new projects. Without cheap philosophies, without empty speeches. Something worthy of the name Moreau’s Jewels. Something worthy of my fiancee."

She didn't answer. She didn't question.

She just nodded with a minimal movement of her head, struggling to maintain her composure.

"You may leave, and go to your office," I finished, indifferently. "You will have three days to show me the new projects in my office, three days."

"Yes!"

"The meeting is adjourned," I warned them, and everyone left.

Helen closed the folder slowly, as if each movement hurt, and left the room without looking back.

I waited until I heard the door close.

I grabbed the pen on the table tightly, without lifting my head.

Strength, love, eternity.

Words that, coming from her, sounded like an insult. Words that were once ours and that she threw away as if they were trash.

I took a deep breath, controlling the silent rage that burned under my skin.

She was back in my life.

But this time, it was in my world.

Under my rules.

And Helen would learn, in the most painful way possible, that some scars do not heal. They become weapons. And I still knew exactly where to strike to make her bleed.

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