Chapter 19: Don't Push This Any Further

"I'm still disgusted you ever set your sights on me. And your taste now? Just as pathetic." Sylvia's voice was icy as she pulled out her phone, thumb poised to call the police.

A sharp, entitled female voice rang out from the doorway.

"Well, isn't this lively? Sylvia, caught stealing from the company again?"

Heads turned. Rosa strutted in on high heels, her arm hooked through the elbow of a sharply dressed young man with an air of quiet refinement—Vincent Warner. Rosa's smirk deepened when she spotted Sylvia in the middle of the crowd, her glee barely concealed.

Sylvia's brow furrowed at the sight of Rosa, while Joyce lit up as if salvation had arrived. She switched instantly to a sugary tone. "Ms. Brooks? What brings you here?"

The Brooks Group had business ties with Alex's family company, so Joyce had met Rosa a few times. Now she clung to Rosa's arm like a favored confidante, adopting a posture that screamed she expected Rosa to back her up.

Rosa ignored the greeting, turning instead to give Sylvia a disdainful once-over. "I told you… you haven't changed."

"This," she said, tilting her chin toward the man beside her, "is Master Penrose's last and most valued disciple—Mr. Vincent Warner." A slow, knowing arch of her brow followed. "And if I'm not mistaken… there was something about a necklace?"

Vincent's gaze flicked to the two necklaces in Joyce's hands, a faint crease forming between his brows out of professional instinct.

Sylvia had no interest in their petty taunts. Her thumb pressed down on the call button.

Rosa lunged forward, snatching the phone from Sylvia's hand and hitting the end call button without hesitation. "Steal and then act like the victim? That pathetic look of yours—didn't anyone ever teach you some manners?"

Sylvia swallowed her anger, meeting the face that resembled hers yet dripped with malice. "Give me back my phone," she said coldly.

"Give it back?" Rosa scoffed, tossing the phone carelessly onto the desk. She folded her arms, chin tilted high. "You shack up with some guy who rides a scooter, and now your standards have shrunk to match. Your delusions, though… those just keep getting bigger. Be smart, Sylvia—kneel down and apologize to Joyce, and we'll let this go."

Sylvia let out a laugh, sharp as glass. "Rosa, are you out of your mind?"

The tension was thick enough to cut. Alex, worried Sylvia might offend Rosa, stepped in quickly. He tugged at Joyce's arm, masking his irritation with a tone that pretended to be fair. "Let's not drag this out. Joyce was just anxious—losing something so valuable. Let her check, it's not going to kill you."

His words carried the verdict before any evidence was considered.

With Alex and Rosa behind her, Joyce's confidence swelled. She wasn't about to let Sylvia walk away unscathed. "My necklace goes missing, and you just happen to show up wearing one that looks exactly like it. It's fake, isn't it?"

Sylvia's lips curled into a cold smile. First a thief, now a fraud? Joyce's imagination was running wild.

Joyce's eyes flicked toward Vincent. In a heartbeat, she donned a helpless expression, holding the two necklaces out to him. "Mr. Warner, you studied under Master Penrose. You're the expert—could you tell me if this one's genuine?"

Rosa chimed in instantly, her tone dripping with pride. "Vincent, give her a proper appraisal. Let these people see what a real luxury piece looks like, instead of parading around with a fake and pretending to be high society."

Vincent adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. He had no interest in meddling in petty office drama, but his eyes landed on the necklace in Joyce's palm and his professional instincts took over. He reached for it, examining it with practiced care.

Joyce leaned in, pointing at the clasp. "See, Mr. Warner? That butterfly is definitely a knock-off!"

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Their eyes on Sylvia turned sharper, tinged with scorn.

Then, from the edge of the crowd, a tentative voice broke the tension.

"Uh… Joyce? Is this what you were looking for?" A colleague fresh from the restroom held up a necklace uncertainly. "It was under your desk. I thought maybe you didn't want it anymore."

Joyce froze.

So her hummingbird necklace had simply fallen under her workstation—it had never been stolen at all.

Silence swallowed the office whole.

Every gaze swung toward Joyce, a mix of shock, disdain, and the kind of amusement reserved for watching someone's downfall.

"So your necklace falls, and you accuse me?" Sylvia's voice was glacial. She stepped forward, snatching back her own butterfly necklace from Joyce's hand before the woman could react.

The broken chain and cold pendant lay in her palm, a mute testament to what had just unfolded.

Sylvia's fingers tightened around the necklace. Her eyes locked on Joyce's paling face, each word cutting like a blade. "Apologize."

Color flooded Joyce's cheeks. Being forced to apologize to Sylvia in front of the entire office—and Alex—was worse than death.

Her lips trembled as she forced out a weak defense. "How was I supposed to know? You flaunt a fake, and I thought I'd expose you… I lost my head."

Rosa jumped in, quick to deflect. Her gaze swept Sylvia's necklace with open contempt. "A piece of glass, and you treat it like treasure? Did your boyfriend pick it up at a street market for fifty bucks? When it broke, did he cry himself to sleep? That's probably a week's worth of his meals."

Muted laughter rippled through the crowd.

Alex cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. "If it was a misunderstanding, let's leave it at that. Joyce didn't mean it. Don't push this any further, Sylvia."