Melinda’s POV
The ring wasn’t flashy.
It wasn’t oversized or loud or iced in diamonds.
It was simple — a brushed gold band with a single oval-cut sapphire in the center. Deep blue. Like a storm held in glass.
James had chosen it himself.
No designer. No assistant. Just him.
When I asked why, he said, “Because it looks like something you could wear while building the world.”
And somehow, that mattered more than any diamond ever could.
The press called it “unexpectedly elegant.”
The gossip blogs said I’d “won.”
But I hadn’t won anything.
I’d survived.
And chosen to live.
Big difference.
The letter came three days later.
Unmarked. No return address. Just slipped into the office mail pile between architectural sample catalogs and a congratulatory bouquet from a client.
I opened
