Hailey's POV
The ring was supposed to cost more than ten bucks.
That was Kingsley's exact phrasing when he told me to get dressed.
It was not valuable, not appropriate and definitely not symbolic.
Just: more than ten bucks.
I should have known that meant excess.
The boutique sat on a private stretch of Orchard Road, discreet in the way only obscene wealth could afford to be.
There was no sign outside, no display windows, just a single pane of smoked glass and a security detail that scanned Kingsley before the door even opened.
The moment we stepped inside, the air changed.
It felt cooler, more quieter.
The kind of silence that swallowed sound instead of reflecting it.
Every surface gleamed—marble floors without a single scuff, glass cases that looked bull
