Chapter 4: The Necklace War

A woman’s gut feeling is rarely wrong.

Even after just one meeting, I could tell Laura had other intentions toward Michael. The way she watched him when she thought no one was looking—hope flickering beneath her smile. I’d seen that look before, but it hurt more coming from someone so close.

I thought my warning would be enough. But the next day, the necklace from the auction—meant for me—was around Laura’s neck.

Heather, Michael’s chief assistant, sent me a photo and a screenshot of Laura’s Instagram Story. The necklace rested on Laura’s fair neck, the picture filtered to make her skin glow. Her eyes were red, but she smiled—a mix of misery and triumph.

The Story read:

[The boss says girls have to be strong even when life gets tough. Wipe away the tears. Yes, sir, my boss.]

A few fist-pump emojis, and a picture of the necklace in its box.

My blood froze. My phone suddenly weighed a ton. I scrolled through the Story again and again, heart pounding.

It was unbearable. I almost wanted to show up at the office, heels echoing, just to put her in her place. The fantasy was tempting.

But looking at my own hand, I knew it was beneath me. I flexed my fingers, steadying my breath. I was Rachel Jennings—not a high school rival.

Instead, I called Melissa at Tiffany’s.

"Mrs. Jennings, don’t worry. Even if I have to clear out the store, I’ll gather all the necklaces and make sure they’re delivered to you."

By the end of the workday, every female executive assistant and staff member—except Laura—received a Tiffany necklace from me. Forty-six women, each with a necklace worth $18,000.

It didn’t match the $300,000 auction piece, but the gesture was clear. Heather had everyone post on Instagram Stories and the office group texts exploded with memes and GIFs about the drama:

[The boss’s wife says every girl deserves better. Clench your fists. Yes, ma’am, my boss’s wife.]

The sea of Tiffany blue took over my feed. I could almost hear the gossip humming through Slack and over group lunch orders.

Some clever ones added: [The boss’s wife really knows how to play.]

By the end of the hour, the whole company knew. My phone pinged nonstop—wives’ group chats, society columnists, all wanting the inside scoop.

Laura’s face went ashen. Humiliated, she hid in the restroom to take off the diamond necklace. Two colleagues walked in, exchanging knowing looks.

Her cheeks burned as she slipped the necklace back into its box and hurried past the glass offices, head down. I could almost see her reflection—haunted, nothing like the bright girl from before.