Loyce didn’t rush. With a small movement, she turned the necklace clasp outward so everyone could see.
“Since Ms. Langley mentioned craftsmanship,” she said coolly, “then please look closely. Authentic royal pieces have a hidden serial marking and maker’s stamp to prevent counterfeits. Inside my clasp is engraved ‘V.E.’—the mark of Edmund, a royal jeweler.”
Guests leaned in. Sure enough, there were tiny, precise letters inside the clasp. Those who knew even a little about antique jewelry immediately understood what that meant.
“It does look… different,” someone murmured.
Sylvie’s face stiffened. She reached for her own clasp, only to find nothing. No stamp. No marking at all.
Loyce continued, voice steady. “And genuine royal sapphires show a velvety sheen under certain light—an optical effect created by the natural formation of the stone. A replica can’t reproduce it.”
She angled slightly, letting the chandelier light fall across the gem. In an instant, the sapphire seemed to deepen, like ocean water moving under moonlight—layers of shadow and shimmer flowing inside it, breathtaking and unreal.
Sylvie’s sapphire, though similar in color, stayed flat—bright blue, but lifeless.
The room went silent.

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