The Secret in the Diamond
People on social media always say we are the model couple. Every time I hear that, I smile and look at Richard beside me.
He would always gently stroke my hair, the smile in his eyes as if soaked in warm water, making me feel safe and secure.
Richard Silva treated me so well, so much so that he clearly remembered every single anniversary of our relationship.
For our first anniversary, he gave me a platinum necklace, with a delicate diamond pendant that scattered tiny shards of light under the sun.
The second year, it was a rose gold necklace, the diamond larger than the one from the previous year, and he said he wanted to give me the very best.
The third year, he gave me a K-gold necklace, with a circle of tiny diamonds surrounding the main stone; worn around my neck, even my collarbone seemed to shine a little brighter.
I cherish all these necklaces; I'm usually reluctant to wear them, so I bought a walnut jewelry box to keep them safe and occasionally take them out to clean.
That weekend, sunlight streamed through the cracks in the curtains into the bedroom. Since the weather was nice, I took out the jewelry box to care for my necklaces.
As I was wiping the platinum necklace from the first year, my fingers accidentally brushed the inside of the pendant.
A subtle unevenness beneath my fingertips didn't feel like the usual markings of diamond settings.
Curious, I held the pendant up to the sunlight and saw two tiny engraved letters—"RL".
At first, I thought it was a brand abbreviation, but when I picked up the rose gold necklace from the second year and turned over the pendant, the same initials—"RL"—were engraved in the same spot.
My heart dropped. Trembling, I took the K-gold necklace from the third year and ran my fingertips over the back of the pendant; those same two letters appeared again.
"RL," I whispered silently, searching my memories but unable to recall anyone I knew with those initials.
The necklace Richard Silva gave me—why would it bear someone else's initials?
The moment that thought surfaced, it wrapped around my heart like vines, tightening more and more.
I sat on the carpet, clutching three necklaces in my hand. Although the sunlight was warm, I felt a chill wash over me.
Memories from the past three years flashed through my mind—Richard Silva's gentleness, his thoughtfulness, how he remembered every one of my preferences. But now, all of it was cast under a shadow.
Was he good to me because he loved me, or was it for some other reason?
Who exactly was that "RL"?
Countless questions swirled in my heart, and for the first time, I began to suspect that this relationship, the one everyone envied, had secrets from the very beginning.
In the days that followed, I was constantly restless; whenever I looked at Richard Silva, my eyes held a hint of probing suspicion.
I tried casually asking him about the brand of the necklace, and he said they were all custom-made with no fixed brand. I didn't dare press further.
I feared the answer wouldn't be what I wanted to hear, and even more feared that if I shattered that thin veil, not even the current calm could be preserved.
But the doubts in my heart were like a thorn, piercing me until I couldn't sit still.
I recalled Richard once mentioning that the necklaces he gave me were made at the city's largest custom jewelry workshop, called "Starlight Atelier".
Perhaps I can find the answer there.
One weekend morning, I found an excuse to go shopping and took a taxi alone to Starlight Atelier.
The atelier was exquisitely decorated, with all kinds of jewelry displayed in the cases. A shopping guide greeted me warmly and asked what I was looking for.
I took a deep breath, pulled up a photo of the necklace on my phone, and said to the shopping guide, "Hello, I'd like to ask if these necklaces were custom made here?"
The shopping guide looked at the photo and nodded, "Yes, these were custom made by Mr. Silva. He orders one every year."
Hearing the name "Mr. Silva," my heart skipped a beat, and I quickly asked, "Do you know what the 'RL' engraved inside the necklace pendant means?"
The shopping guide was momentarily stunned, then seemed to remember something, a complex expression crossing their face: "This... Mr. Silva specifically instructed us not to reveal it."
"Please," I grasped the shopping guide's hand, my voice full of pleading, "this means so much to me, please just tell me."
After a long hesitation, the shopping guide finally sighed, "The truth is, every year when Mr. Silva orders a custom necklace, he brings some powder for us to melt into the diamond."
"Powder?" I frowned. "What powder?"
"He didn't specify what it was, only that it was his eternal lover," the shopping guide lowered her voice. "He said he wanted his lover to always be with him, so he fused the powder into a diamond and made a necklace to give to the person by his side."
"Eternal lover..." I murmured, repeating the words as if my blood had instantly frozen.
What exactly is that powder?
Is that "RL" the eternal lover he spoke of?
I stumbled out of the workshop, my mind in a whirl, forgetting even to hail a taxi, just wandering the streets without direction.
It wasn't until my phone rang, and I saw it was Richard Silva calling, that I came back to my senses.
"Nola, where are you? I just twisted my ankle and I'm at the hospital." Richard's voice was weak.
My heart constricted as I pushed down those dreadful suspicions for the moment and took a taxi to the hospital.
In the hospital room, Richard sat on the bed with his right foot in a cast. Seeing me arrive, he gave that familiar, gentle smile: "Why did you come so late? I thought something had happened to you."
I walked over to the bed and tucked in his blanket. My fingertips brushed his hand, but I instinctively pulled away.
He didn't notice my unease and kept telling me how he had twisted his ankle earlier, his tone light, as if it were nothing.
I looked at his face—the face I had loved so deeply for three years—yet now it felt utterly unfamiliar.
That night, I stayed by Richard Silva's bedside at the hospital. He was asleep, breathing steadily.
I sat in the chair beside the bed, staring out into the night, as fear and doubt weighed heavier in my heart.
Could that powder really be... ashes?
The moment that thought crossed my mind, a chill ran through me. I quickly shook my head, telling myself not to imagine things.
But the harder I tried to avoid the thought, the deeper those terrifying suspicions burrowed into my mind.
The next morning, Richard Silva woke up, and seeing the dark circles under my eyes, said with concern, "Didn't sleep well last night? Maybe you should go back and rest."
I looked at him, and suddenly an idea struck me—maybe getting married would force him to tell the truth.
I took a deep breath, gathering my courage to say, "Richard, let's get married."
The smile on Richard Silva's face froze. He was stunned for a few seconds before slowly answering, "Nola, wait a little longer."
"Wait for what?" I pressed, "We've been together for three years. Isn't that enough?"
"It's not that it's not enough," he avoided my gaze, his tone vague, "it's just not the right time yet. Give me a bit more time."
Looking into his evasive eyes, the last trace of hope I had flickered out.
He did have a secret—a secret he wouldn't even let me touch, not even as we were about to marry.
After returning from the hospital, my relationship with Richard Silva became somewhat fragile.
He still treated me well as before, but I could always feel a distance deep in his eyes.
I knew that if things continued like this, I would never uncover the truth.
That day, Richard Silva stayed late at work, and I was alone at home.
I walked into the study and stared at Richard Silva's computer, hesitating for a long time.
I knew it was wrong to look through someone else's computer, but I desperately wanted to know the truth, even if it would break me.
I opened the computer, entered the password I knew, and surprisingly, I logged in successfully.
The computer desktop was clean, with only a few frequently used software icons.
I opened the documents and skimmed through them; they were all work files with nothing unusual.
Then I opened the folders containing pictures and videos; most were photos and videos of Richard Silva and me, appearing perfectly normal.
Could I have been overthinking?
Just as I was about to shut down the computer, I accidentally noticed a hidden folder.
The folder's name was a string of garbled characters—impossible to spot unless you looked closely.
I hesitated for a moment but still double-clicked to open the folder.
Inside, there was only one video file named "Memorial".
My heart was pounding as the mouse pointer hovered over the play button, reluctant to click.
Finally, I bit my lip and pressed play.
The video was dimly lit, as if it had been shot in a cemetery.
Richard Silva stood before a tombstone, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. His face, usually gentle, was now heavy with sorrow.
"Ruby, I've come to see you," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "This year, I had another necklace custom-made, embedding your ashes inside, so you'll always be with me."
The word "ashes" rang in my ears like a thunderclap. My whole body trembled, and I nearly dropped the mouse from my hand.
So those powdery bits really were ashes! That "RL" was Ruby Lawrence!
"Ruby, you know, I met a girl who is so much like you," Richard Silva continued, his eyes filled with longing. "I gave her the necklace with your ashes, and seeing her wear it was like seeing you again."
"I know this is unfair to her, but I can't help it. I miss you so much. I can't live without you..."
The video was still playing; Richard Silva was still pouring out his longing to the tombstone of Ruby Lawrence. But I couldn't bear to listen any longer.
I turned off the video and slumped into the chair, tears falling like broken pearls.
The love I held for three years turned out to be nothing but a lie.
What I believed was deep affection was only his obsession with another woman.
What I thought was happiness was just self-comfort as a substitute.
I was merely a vessel for his memories of his first love, a fool wearing a necklace containing someone else's ashes.
A wave of overwhelming sorrow and fury crashed over me—I felt like I was suffocating.
When Richard Silva came home late from work, I was sitting on the living room sofa with those three necklaces spread out before me.
Seeing him come back, I didn't stand up to greet him as I usually would; instead, I just looked at him coldly.
Richard Silva sensed that something was off and walked over, his tone tinged with confusion: "Nola, what's wrong? Who upset you?"
I picked up one of the necklaces and held it out to him. "Richard, tell me—what is this powder inside?"
His expression instantly changed, and he avoided my eyes, his voice hoarse: "Nola, please let me explain..."
"Explain?" I sneered, "Explain how you melted Ruby's ashes into a diamond, then gave me the necklace, expecting me to stand in for her and be with you?"
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