Layla's POV
I stared at the sketch again, my fingers brushing over the pencil strokes as if in an attempt to convince myself of its reality.
It was all mine.
The necklace Grace had flaunted as her design, the one that had brought itself into the spotlight of the fashion world, was stolen. Not with inspiration. Not with similarity.
I recall the night I drew it. I was in my dorm room at the time, a cup of cheap coffee by my side, sketching designs for fun while taking a break from assignments. That necklace came to me in a moment of solitude. I was not trying to impress anyone; I just wanted it to be beautiful. Something different.
And now there it was on posters, in articles, and trending online. And Grace? Prancing around it like a proud designer, posing for the cameras, s
