No More Picking Up His Pieces Chapter 06

No More Picking Up His Pieces Chapter 06: The Spotlight

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Brooke held the phone in both hands, barely daring to breathe.

Arabella took it. The woman’s Twitter avatar showed her side profile, and her name was Daisy Hart.

The photo was clearly staged. The lighting was soft, the bridal diamond tiara gleamed, and her hair and makeup were flawless. Every detail made her look like a cherished princess.

The caption was even more calculated: [Thank you, Mr. Kingston, and thank you to the Kingston family for letting me be part of something so special.]

Arabella stared at the line for a long time, while Brooke watched her carefully.

Then Arabella handed the phone back. “Look into this.”

Brooke froze. “Look into what?”

“Her.” Arabella turned and walked toward the restoration bench, her voice calm. “Who she is, how she knows Maxwell, who took that photo, who sent it to her, and who fed her that line.”

Brooke finally understood. “Got it. I’m on it.” She rushed back to the computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Arabella stood beside the restoration bench and lowered her head to gather the restoration logs she had spread out earlier.

She moved slowly, smoothing each page flat before stacking them neatly, as if nothing had happened.

But Brooke knew her too well. The calmer Arabella looked, the angrier she was.

Arabella suddenly laughed. “She wears my bridal jewelry set, flaunts it in my face, and still expects me to thank her.”

Brooke went tense and lowered her voice. “She’s such a pick-me.”

Arabella gave a soft hum. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. After that post, she’s no longer just some woman who borrowed the set for one night.”

She lowered her eyes and pushed the hard drive back into the drawer. “She put herself out there and claimed that spotlight for herself.”

Brooke kept searching while glancing up at her. “Arabella, she’s provoking you, right?”

Arabella didn’t deny it. “Of course she knows I’ll see it. She knows it’ll piss me off too. She posted it anyway.”

Arabella’s mouth curved faintly. “Then she must think she has someone backing her.”

Brooke felt a chill crawl up her back. Arabella was terrifyingly calm right now, and anyone with sense would know to stay far away from her.

Arabella said nothing else. She lowered her head and opened the wooden box beside her.

Inside, she had kept odds and ends from over the years: old pliers, broken hair forks, discarded diamond settings, and a small gold mount.

She picked up the gold mount and studied it for several seconds. It was the first tiny piece that had come loose from the bridal jewelry set.

Back then, she had worked until three in the morning, her fingers worn raw.

Maxwell had come to pick her up and leaned against the doorway for a long time before asking, “Do you really have to fuss over it that much?”

Without looking up, Arabella had answered, “You’re not a restorer. Don’t talk.”

He had gone quiet after that.

Only after she finished for the night did she notice the cup of warm milk he had left on the table.

That was the first time Maxwell had come to pick her up late at night, and the first time she realized that, for all his sharp words, he wasn’t completely heartless.

Now, none of that mattered. Whether he had understood her work or not, he had still handed that set to someone else.

Arabella’s phone buzzed with a message from Maxwell. [I’ll handle the Twitter post.]

She stared at the words for two seconds, then smiled.

Brooke looked up at once. “Mr. Kingston?”

Arabella placed the phone face down on the table. “Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’ll handle it.”

Brooke let out a breath. “That’s good. At least he knows—”

“Knows what?” Arabella cut her off and looked up. “That the first thing he should do is get that post taken down?”

Brooke fell silent at once.

Arabella nodded. “Of course he’ll handle it. Social media, trending topics, PR, demand letters. That’s what he does best. But look.”

She tapped the phone lightly against the table. “He still hasn’t said a single word about me.

“He hasn’t asked how I felt when I saw that post. He hasn’t explained why Daisy posted it, how the bridal jewelry set ended up with her, or what he actually plans to say to me about tonight.”

At that, the smile finally slipped from Arabella’s face. “He hasn’t changed at all. When something happens, he controls the damage first. I’m always an afterthought.”

Brooke couldn’t find anything to say. She knew Arabella was right.

Arabella pushed the phone aside and looked away from it. “What did you find?”

Brooke immediately snapped back to work and turned to the screen. “Daisy Hart, thirty-one, art curator. She came back three years ago and has recently been working as an outside consultant on Kingston Group’s cultural projects.”

Brooke frowned as she continued, “Her Twitter is usually pretty clean. Tonight’s post feels way too deliberate, like she was waiting for you to see it.”

Arabella nodded. “Keep going.”

“I can’t tell who took the photo yet. It looks like someone backstage at the gala did it. As for her connection to Mr. Kingston…” Brooke paused. “There isn’t much public information, but I found a group photo from two years ago.”

She turned the laptop toward Arabella.

Arabella lowered her eyes. It was a photo from a Kingston Group cultural foundation reception.

The photo looked ordinary enough at first glance. Daisy stood slightly behind Maxwell and to his right, but the way she looked at him was anything but ordinary.

Arabella pushed the laptop back. “Go further back. Check earlier records.”

Brooke watched her expression and asked carefully, “Arabella, do you want to respond publicly?”

Arabella didn’t answer. She walked to the window and pushed it open a crack.

The night wind rushed in at once, stirring her hair. Down on the street, headlights swept past now and then before disappearing into the dark.

Arabella stood there for a few seconds as a cool draft slipped in through the slightly open window, then turned back. “Yes. We respond publicly.”

Brooke immediately sat up straight. “What should we post?”

Arabella walked back, opened Daisy’s post again, and read the caption aloud, word by word. By the time she finished, the corner of her mouth had curved. “Nicely written.”

Brooke nodded quickly. “Yeah. And seriously disgusting.”

Arabella handed the phone to her. “Then let’s write our own.”

“What do we write?”

Arabella didn’t answer right away. She looked at the backstage photo from the gala, her eyes settling on the bridal diamond tiara on Daisy’s head.

Arabella knew every strand of filigree and every diamond setting in that piece.

At first, she had planned to settle this between herself, Maxwell, and the Kingston family.

But since Daisy had chosen to step into the spotlight, Arabella had no reason to hold back.

Arabella reached out, took the phone back, and opened Twitter herself.

Brooke watched with her heart in her throat. “Arabella, you’re really posting it yourself?”

“Yes.”

“What about Mr. Kingston?”

“Didn’t he say he’d handle it?” Arabella said calmly. “Then let him handle his side.”

She lowered her head and typed. Before long, she had written only one short line. [Borrowed bridal set doesn’t make the spotlight yours.]

Brooke’s eyes lit up the second she read it. “That’s good.”

“Sharp enough?” Arabella asked.

“Yes,” Brooke nodded. “But not messy. It doesn’t make you look unhinged. She looks like she set herself up for this.”

Arabella looked at the sentence without speaking. A few seconds later, she hit post.

Almost as soon as the tweet went out, her phone buzzed again. It was Maxwell calling, and she answered without hesitation.

Maxwell’s voice came through after a brief pause, low and heavy. “Who told you to post that?”

Arabella smiled. “That’s a funny question, Mr. Kingston. Do I need permission to speak now?”

Maxwell’s breathing grew heavier. “I told you I would handle this.”

“You handle your side,” Arabella answered quickly. “I’ll speak for myself.”

“Do you think things aren’t messy enough already?”

“Messy?” Arabella walked to the table and looked down at the restoration drafts. “I think it’s pretty clear.”

His voice dropped even lower. “Arabella.”

“What now?”

“Delete the tweet.”

Arabella stared at the restoration authorization form on the table and suddenly found it almost funny. “Maxwell. Have you still not figured out why I’m angry?”

Maxwell fell silent.

Arabella lifted her eyes, her voice cooling bit by bit. “I’m not angry because Daisy posted something. I’m not angry because people online are talking. I’m angry because even now, all you care about is controlling the situation.

“Daisy posted that tweet, and your first instinct was to get it taken down. Kingston Group tried to put its name on my work, and you still wanted to smooth it over like nothing happened.

“If you want to keep trying to shut this down, go ahead.” She drew in a light breath. “But don’t stand there and tell me how to keep this looking pretty.”

Maxwell was quiet for several seconds before he spoke. “Do you have to talk to me like this?”

Arabella almost laughed. “How should I talk to you, then? Like before? Wait until you’ve handled everything, then sit there while you give me some half-hearted apology?”

Maxwell’s voice sank. “When did I say I wouldn’t make it up to you?”

The words hit the last thread of Arabella’s patience, and it snapped.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Right now, your idea of making it up to me feels less like an apology and more like throwing scraps at my feet.”

When Maxwell spoke again, his voice had turned completely cold. “Arabella, don’t push your luck.”

The air in the workshop seemed to go still. Brooke sat nearby, her hands frozen above the keyboard.

Arabella lowered her eyes to her fingertips and went quiet for two seconds. Then she laughed once. “Fine. I’m pushing my luck. What about you?”

Her voice grew softer, but it cut deeper. “Maxwell, you lent out the bridal jewelry set, put Kingston Group’s name on my work, and used my pride to keep your side looking good. What do we call that?”

Maxwell didn’t answer, and Arabella didn’t bother waiting. “Forget it. Don’t answer. Right now, hearing your voice is giving me a headache.”

With that, she hung up.

The moment she set the phone down, Twitter notifications started flooding in. People were reposting, commenting, and taking screenshots to compare Arabella’s tweet with Daisy’s.

Brooke stared at the screen, wide-eyed. “Arabella, it’s picking up fast.”

Arabella gave a soft hum. “Let it.”

“What if Kingston Group comes after us?”

“Let them.” Arabella tossed her phone aside and reached for the hard drive. “I’m more worried they won’t.”

She had just plugged the hard drive into the computer when Brooke suddenly let out a small gasp. “Arabella.”

“What again?”

“Daisy deleted the tweet.”

Arabella kept working. “Then let her delete it.”

Brooke stared at the screen, her expression shifting. “No, she didn’t just delete it.”

Arabella finally looked up. “What did she do?”

Brooke handed her the phone, her throat tight. “She posted on Instagram instead. Someone already took a screenshot.”

Arabella looked down. This Instagram caption sounded much more innocent than the tweet, but it was far more poisonous.

[I didn’t want to explain, but it seems Arabella may have misunderstood. The bridal jewelry set was lent to me by the Kingston elders. Maxwell only stepped in because he didn’t want me to be put on the spot.]

The post came with a photo. The tiara was nowhere in sight. Instead, a man’s coat was draped over a woman’s shoulders. No face was visible, only one cuff at the edge of the frame.

But Arabella knew that obsidian cuff link too well. It was Maxwell’s.

Brooke cursed under her breath. “She’s not explaining. She’s twisting the knife.”

Arabella stared at the photo, her eyes narrowing. A few seconds later, she suddenly smiled. “Good. I was worried she wouldn’t go low enough.”

She set the phone down and closed the page on the computer. “Brooke.”

Brooke looked up at once. “Yeah?”

“Help me set up a meeting.”

Brooke froze. “With who?”

Arabella lifted her eyes, her voice terrifyingly calm. “The gala’s styling director. I want to know who put that bridal jewelry set on Daisy’s head, and I want to meet them tomorrow.”