Chapter 8 - Sloane’s Desperation
Sloane Mercer sat in a cramped,
budget motel room on the outskirts of the city,
the smell of stale smoke and cheap disinfectant filling her lungs.
The pale ivory hat sat on the bedside table,
a mockery of her brief taste of high society,
its black silk roses now looking wilted and dusty.
Her phone had been ringing incessantly,
not with congratulations or party invitations,
but with calls from her bank and her landlord.
Preston’s credit cards had been declined,
their joint accounts had been frozen,
and her own personal funds were dangerously low.
She had tried to contact Preston,
but his phone was turned off,
and she had no idea where he was or what had happened.
A knock on the door made her jump,
her heart hammering in her chest as she feared it might be the police.
She opened the door slowly,
finding a courier standing there with a large envelope,
which he handed to her before walking away.
Sloane tore open the envelope,
her hands shaking,
and pulled out a set of legal documents.
It was a lawsuit,
filed by the Whitaker Family Trust,
accusing her of conspiracy,
fraud,
and receiving stolen property.
The damages they were seeking were in the millions,
an amount she could never hope to pay in her lifetime,
meaning she was facing complete financial ruin.
There was also a personal note from Vivian,
written on elegant stationery,
her handwriting neat and precise.
Sloane,
the note read,
you wore my hat,
you slept in my bed,
and you tried to steal my life.
Now,
you will pay for every single thread you borrowed,
and I will make sure you have nothing left to wear.
Sloane collapsed onto the unmade bed,
tears of desperation spilling down her cheeks,
as she realized her dream had become a living nightmare.
She decided to call Vivian,
hoping to beg for mercy,
to offer her testimony against Preston in exchange for leniency.
She dialed the number,
her voice cracking as the call was finally answered,
and she begged to speak with the woman she had tried to ruin.
Vivian,
please,
she sobbed,
I didn't know the extent of what Preston was doing,
he lied to me too.
Vivian’s voice was cool and distant on the other end,
showing no emotion,
no anger,
and no sympathy.
You knew exactly what you were doing,
Sloane,
she said,
and now,
the law will handle your education.
The line went dead,
May you like
leaving Sloane alone in the dim room,
with nothing but her tears and a stolen piece of ivory silk.
