My heart hammered as the SUV eased into the compound.
I swallowed when it rolled to a stop. Vega sprang out and swung the rear door open for me; I gave a small, nervous nod and stepped onto the gravel. A fountain rippled behind us. The house stopped me cold and breathless. A sight endowned in modern opulence: glass-walled balconies, vast first-floor windows, a private driveway where Vega had pulled in. Every surface shouted wealth. This was where Ruby lived — this was the life she chose while our mother lay dying in a hospital bed.
The front door opened for me before I could reach it, and I walked inside as if pulled. The foyer had two stories, dominated by a curved staircase with an intricate wrought-iron balustrade. A massive sectional in creamy white faced a low coffee table; the air smelled of polished wood, leather, and something sweet and expensive that made me inhale against my own wish.
I went upstairs, took the left corridor, and lucked into the master suite. I didn't linger on the bedroom; I had a job to do. The dressing room was a museum of designers. It has floor-to-ceiling glass wardrobes, rows of designer shoes, handbags with price tags stamped in my imagination. My chest tightened.
The rainy night came back to me: the quick rush of mom to the hospital. It was two months since Selene ran, and the post on her private account boasting an engagement ring worth one-and-a-half million dollars. I had texted every device I could, begged her to help, told her the doctors said mom needed surgery or she would die. I needed $250,000. At midnight she called and spat into the phone after I spent all day trying to reach out, begging her for held, she called me a pest, said she was no longer part of our family, she said she was no longer Selene but someone new. She threatened to report me for stalking and hung up.
Standing before a drawer filled with jewelry and watches, I felt the pain in my bones. If I sold one bag or one bracelet here, I'd have double what mom needed for surgery. I opened the drawer and found three neat bundles of cash. My fingers hovered. I first picked out a few garments Arman might wear, stuffing them into a bag. Then, I packed the bundles, picked few jewelries including bracelets, earrings and necklaces that I knew cost a fortune. That I knew Arman wouldn't notice was missing and even if he finally did, I'd have been long gone. But then my hands stopped.
No. This was stealing. If I was going to take something or steal, I have to do it properly.
Something like taking an identity.
I put the jewelry and the bundles back, smoothed the drawer shut, and straightened as if I could pull myself into the person I needed to be.
I changed into something from Ruby's wardrobe that felt like me but better: a short, romantic dress in dusty pink and brown florals, a square neckline, sheer black chiffon sleeves with a slight puff. A black lace and velvet corset cinched the waist; the skirt pleated and flared. Probably the first time I had ever worn a designer dress. I looked good.
Rest in peace, Ruby.