Ruth's POV
The office was uncommonly still-the sort of stillness that made me hypersensitive to every sound: the hum of the air conditioner, the gentle click of my pen, even the soft rustle of papers as I worked. But my mind was a different story altogether. I couldn't seem to shake off the stormy argument between Frank and me earlier. What hurt more than his accusations were the accusing looks he shot my way-as if I was some stranger, not to be trusted.
I let out a sigh and pushed the memory aside, focusing instead on the sketches in front of me. The competition deadline was looming, and I needed every ounce of concentration to pull this off. My fingers traced the pencil lines delicately, each stroke adding more life to the design. Jewelry was my passion, my escape, and right now, my on
