Chapter 6
Fifteen minutes later, two police officers walked into the guest room.
Grace Cole stood behind them, holding an inventory list with the serial numbers and photos of the ruby jewelry set.
"Mrs. Grant reported that this jewelry set was last seen in Emily's possession. We need you to cooperate with the investigation," she said.
I stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by open suitcases. "I didn't take it."
The officer glanced at Charles.
He sat in a chair by the door, one arm around Olivia, and gave a slight nod toward me. "Search."
They went through my suitcases, pockets of my coat, hidden compartments in my bag, and between my clothes. But they didn't find the jewelry.
"Nothing," the officer said, closing the last suitcase.
"Search again," Charles said, his voice cold and unyielding.
Grace walked over, bent down, and lifted a corner of my mattress.
A red velvet box was sitting there, perfectly still, on the bed frame.
She flipped it open.
Inside, the ruby necklace and earrings were lined up perfectly.
"Ms. Sutton, please come with us," the officer said.
"I didn't put it there," I protested.
But nobody listened.
Olivia was pressed against Charles's chest, sobbing so hard that she could barely breathe. "Charles, how could she do this to me? I can take her hitting me or yelling at me, but stealing is too much."
Charles's features hardened.
He stood up and walked over to me.
He reached out and slid the ring off my ring finger.
That ring was old. He'd had it made by a craftsman when he got his first big break. It was silver, engraved with my name in tiny letters: [Emily].
Back then, when he knelt on one knee in front of me and slipped it on, he said, "When I have more money, I'll get you a ruby one.
"When I'm richer, I'll get you a diamond one. But this one will always stay because it's the very first."
He slid the ring off my finger.
I watched him slip it into his pocket. The pale band left behind after ten years, untouched by sunlight, stood out starkly on my skin.
"Spend a few days inside and reflect. Maybe it'll clear your head," Charles said.
His face was so close.
I waited, searching his eyes for a hint of hesitation.
But there was nothing.
He turned and pulled Olivia into his arms. "Let's go. Don't waste your time on her."
The officers led me out.
As I passed through the front gate, I glanced back at the villa.
The living room light was still on, and the wind chime on the porch jingled in the evening breeze.
I was the one who hung that wind chime up three years ago.
The sound of the chimes lingered behind me, echoing long after I'd gone.
*****
The cell had no windows.
With the lights always on, day and night blurred together.
I curled up on the hard bed in the corner, holding my stomach. The dull ache kept coming in waves. It was not sharp, but it never really stopped.
On the third day, the door finally swung open.
Grace was standing outside. "Ms. Sutton, Mr. Grant sent me to pick you up."
I thought this meant I was finally getting out. "Where are we going?"
"Mr. Grant is waiting for you at Sunrise House," she replied.
We drove for over twenty minutes.
I leaned back against the seat, eyes shut. My face was drained of all color, lips dry and cracked. I hadn't really eaten in three days.
Grace glanced at me in the rearview mirror, looking like she wanted to say something but held back.
The car pulled up to the entrance of the club.
As soon as I pushed open the door to the private room, the noise inside hit me like a tidal wave.
Seven or eight people, both men and women, were sprawled out on the sofas, the air thick with smoke and the music blaring.
In the center, Charles was lounging, his tie loose, with Olivia curled up in his arms.
She dipped her finger in some cream and playfully dabbed it on his lips.
He caught her wrist and leaned in, closing the distance between them.
The whole table erupted in cheers and applause.
I stood in the doorway; the smoke burned my throat, making me cough.
I stood there for who knows how long before Charles finally noticed me.
His gaze locked onto my face and lingered for a couple of seconds. "How did you get so skinny? Did someone give you a hard time in there?"
Before I could say anything, Olivia snickered. "Charles, you really dote on her. Locked up for three days and she comes out looking all pale. What a performance."
Charles started to get up, but then settled back into his seat.
He stuck a cigarette between his lips, and Olivia quickly moved in to light it for him.
"Now that you're out, get over here and apologize to Olivia," he ordered.
"Apologize?" I muttered.
"Still pretending you didn't take the jewelry?" Charles said, blowing out smoke. "Olivia's already letting you off the hook. Say you're sorry."
Olivia sat up straight in her white dress, playing the innocent.
She looked at me and shook her head. "Emily, honestly, I don't want to make things hard for you. I've been thinking about it these days. You and Charles have been together forever, and I barged in. Of course you'd be upset."
She paused for a moment, then said, "But you had to go and insult my parents."
"When did I ever—" I protested.
"Maybe you don't remember," Olivia said, dropping her lashes and biting her lip, looking the right amount of pitiful.
She said, "You said my family's from the sticks, my parents pick up trash for a living, and we're not good enough to hang out with people like you."
"I never said anything like that," I replied.
"Forget it." Olivia waved her hand, brushing it off. "Doesn't matter if you said it or not. Say sorry."
I closed my eyes for a second. "I'm sorry."
"Saying it isn't enough. They can't hear you anyway." Olivia shot a glance at the coffee table.
There was a perfect row of glasses, each one filled with a fizzy, colorful drink. The one at the end was dark green.
She picked up a glass and held it out to me. "Words aren't enough. Drink up."