Applause filled the hall. Under a thousand lights, I stood onstage with my hand in Alexander's. The centerpiece of *Dawn* rested cool against my skin. I had drawn every line and approved every stone.
The finished piece held the starbursts and clean angles I had once been too frightened to draw again. Its weight against my collarbone was real and familiar.
“Chloe Vance has returned to haute joaillerie and changed it,” the host announced. “*Dawn* carries the proof of her resilience in every piece.”
I smiled into the lights. The collection held two years of work, from my first unsteady sketch to the finished necklace at my throat. Alexander had believed in me throughout, but the work was mine.
I knew the failed drafts, the stones I rejected, and the nights I started over. I touched the ce
