The notification came at six-seventeen in the morning, pulling me from the first real sleep I'd managed in days.

My phone vibrated against the nightstand, once, twice, then continuously as alerts flooded in. I fumbled for it with clumsy fingers, expecting maybe a message from Grandmother Foster or news from the hospital where I'd spent so many sleepless nights.

What I found instead made my blood turn to ice.

Charleigh's Instagram post filled my screen. Jackson's hand rested on her flat stomach, his fingers splayed possessively. The diamond tennis bracelet I'd seen at Lumière caught the light. Her caption read: "Our little miracle 💕👶 #Blessed #BabyReyes #PowerCouple."

The photo had been posted three hours ago. Already it had accumulated over fifty thousand likes.

I scrolled through the comments with shaking hands, each word a fresh knife wound.

"Finally a woman worthy of Jackson Reyes!"

"That Foster girl must be dying inside lmaooo"

"Upgrade of the century 😍"

"Poor Maia thought she had a chance 💀"

Someone had tagged me. Multiple someones. My own Instagram was flooded with comments, messages, people I'd never met reveling in my humiliation like it was entertainment.

I sat there in my grandmother's guest room, still wearing yesterday's clothes because I'd been too exhausted to change, staring at proof that my sacrifice had meant nothing. Less than nothing. Jackson hadn't just betrayed me—he'd created a life with someone else while I was still wearing his engagement ring.

The sacred amulet I'd given him, the one that had protected my family for generations, now hung around the neck of a man who was planning a future that didn't include me.

Three more days. The ninth day was in three more days. After that, the amulet's bond would be permanent, the Celestial Fortune fully transferred. Jackson would be protected by my family's blessing while carrying another woman's child.

I touched my collarbone where the amulet used to rest against my skin, feeling phantom weight that wasn't there anymore. The empty space felt like a wound that wouldn't heal.

No. I couldn't let this stand. The Foster family legacy couldn't end like this, traded away for a man who valued me less than dirt on his shoes.

I had to get the amulet back.

My fingers trembled as I unblocked Jackson's number—I'd blocked it after the Lumière disaster, unable to bear seeing his name—and typed out a message.

"We need to talk. It's about the amulet. Please."

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then waited, watching the screen with my heart hammering against my ribs.

Delivered. Then read.

The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then nothing.

My phone buzzed. But it wasn't a text from Jackson. It was a notification that I'd been blocked.

Again.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, my throat closing. He wouldn't even let me speak to him. Wouldn't even—

Another notification. An unknown number.

"If you want to talk to Mr. Reyes, present yourself at Sapphire & Silk on Fifth Avenue. Immediately. Do not keep him waiting."

The message was formal, cold, sent from what was clearly an assistant or courier. Not even the courtesy of a personal response.

I looked at myself in the mirror across from the bed. My hair was tangled, my eyes hollow with exhaustion and tears I'd cried until there were no more left. The blue dress from Lumière was wrinkled where I'd slept in it, a pathetic reminder of how foolish I'd been to believe in happy endings.

Sapphire & Silk. The most exclusive boutique in the city, where socialites dropped tens of thousands on a single shopping trip.

This wasn't an invitation to talk peacefully. Jackson didn't do anything peacefully anymore.

But the amulet was mine. My family's. And I would get it back, whatever the cost.

I touched my collarbone again, that phantom weight pressing against my skin like a promise. Like a reminder of who I was before I'd given everything away for a man who'd never deserved it.

Three days until the ninth day. Three days to reclaim what was mine.

I changed into simple black pants and a white blouse, pulling my hair into a neat ponytail. No jewelry—I had nothing left to wear anyway. Just me, stripped bare of everything except determination.

When I arrived at Sapphire & Silk forty minutes later, I knew immediately that I'd walked into a trap.

The boutique's floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Jackson lounging on a velvet sofa, Charleigh draped across his lap like a prize he'd won. Around them clustered at least a dozen people—socialites I recognized from charity galas, sales staff holding champagne flutes, phones already out and recording.

This wasn't a conversation. It was a performance.

And I was the villain in Jackson's carefully staged production.

The boutique's crystal chandelier cast rainbow fractals across the marble floor as I stepped inside, my heart hammering against my ribs. The carefully orchestrated scene before me made my stomach clench—Jackson sprawled across the velvet sofa like a king holding court, Charleigh perched on his lap in a dress that cost more than most people's rent, and at least a dozen socialites arranged around them like an audience waiting for a show.

My show. My humiliation.

"Maia!" Charleigh's voice rang out, sickeningly sweet. "You actually came. How... brave of you."

Every phone in the room turned toward me like weapons. I could see the red recording lights, the eager faces of people who lived for other people's pain. Someone whispered something about "the livestream" and "two million viewers already."

Jackson's eyes found mine across the boutique, cold and calculating. The sacred amulet—my family's amulet—hung prominently around his neck, resting against his designer shirt like a trophy. The sight of it made something inside me break and reform, harder than before.

"Well?" His voice carried that familiar cruel edge. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk."

I forced myself to walk closer, each step feeling like walking through quicksand. The socialites parted slightly, creating a semicircle that reminded me of a colosseum. Someone giggled. A camera flash went off.

"Jackson, please." My voice came out smaller than I intended. "Can we speak privately? About what I gave you. What it means to my family."

Charleigh's laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "Oh honey, we don't have secrets. Do we, baby?" She traced her fingers along Jackson's chest, deliberately touching the amulet. "This old thing? Jackson told me it's just some family trinket you were desperate to get rid of."

The words hit me like physical blows. Family trinket. Desperate to get rid of. As if the Celestial Fortune that had protected generations of Fosters was garbage I'd been eager to discard.

"It's not—" I started, but Jackson cut me off.

"Maia, you're embarrassing yourself." He shifted Charleigh on his lap, his hand resting possessively on her hip. "And frankly, you're embarrassing me. Do you see how uncomfortable you're making everyone?"

I looked around the circle of faces, searching for even a flicker of sympathy. Instead, I found anticipation, hunger for drama, phones recording my every expression. These people fed on humiliation like vampires.

"I just want what's mine," I whispered.

Jackson's smile was razor-sharp. "What's yours? You gave it to me freely, remember? To save my life?" His voice dripped with mock gratitude. "Though I have to say, the whole 'mystical family blessing' story was a bit much. Did you really think I'd believe that nonsense?"

The boutique fell silent except for the soft hum of recording devices. Charleigh's eyes glittered with malicious delight as she lifted her phone, angling it to capture both of us in the frame.

"Say it," Jackson commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Tell everyone what you told me. About your little fantasy."

My throat closed. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The amulet seemed to pulse against Jackson's chest, and for a moment I could swear I felt its pull, the connection that had bound my family for generations now twisted into something ugly.

"I..." The word came out as a croak.

"Louder," Jackson said. "For the cameras."

Charleigh held her phone steady, her followers watching in real-time as I fell apart. "This is going out to two-point-three million people," she said conversationally. "You're famous, Maia. Isn't that what every girl wants?"

I thought of my grandmother, waiting at home. Of my parents, wherever they were, trusting me to protect our legacy. Of the generations of Foster women who had worn that amulet with pride and dignity.

And I thought of Jackson, lying motionless in that hospital bed while I poured my family's power into saving a man who would use it to destroy me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words tasting like poison on my tongue. "I'm sorry for... for bothering you. For making up stories. For being emotional and unstable."

The apology hung in the air like smoke, recorded and broadcast to millions of strangers who would never know what it cost me to speak those lies.

Jackson leaned back, satisfaction radiating from him like heat. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Charleigh lowered her phone, her smile triumphant. "You should probably go now, Maia. Before you embarrass yourself further."

I turned toward the door on unsteady legs, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Behind me, I heard Jackson's voice, casual and dismissive: "See? I told you she'd be reasonable once she understood the situation."

The boutique's door closed behind me with a soft chime, sealing me out of the performance I'd never wanted to star in. On the street, I pressed my back against the cool glass window and finally let the tears fall.

Two days until the ninth day. Two days until the amulet's bond became permanent.

Two days to find another way.