"I am not going on TV," I snap as Serena bursts in with the laptop. "Please, Coral—this is our shot!" Serena drops the bag, then the laptop, then breathes like she ran three blocks uphill. I slam a page of sketches face-down on the worktable. "I won't pretend to fall in love on camera." "You're not pretending to fall in love. You're not pretending anything," she says. "You're pitching our jewelry to millions." "I sell jewelry, not feelings," I say. I push a spool of chain back into the tray. "And I will not act for likes." Serena walks the studio in two quick steps and plants both hands on the table, close enough that her bracelet brushes mine. "Listen. Rent is due. Suppliers called. We have two customers this week if we're lucky. We have no runway." "Drama doesn't pay the electric bill," I say. "Good Love pays a commercial fee up front, plus product placement. They push the featured brand on Instagram, their merch shop, three promos. It's not charity." She taps the screen. "Open it." I don't move. I look at the unfinished necklace on the bench like it might answer for me. "Open the file, Coral." Her voice is flat now. No pleading. Working-Serena. I pull the laptop toward me with one hand and press the thumbnail image. The invitation pops up in glossy type: Good Love — Mariner Heights Villa — Invitational Guest Call. Beneath that