Chapter 3
In the heart of downtown Linburn, the city’s most extravagant mall stood as a beacon of wealth and exclusivity. Every detail, from the gleaming marble floors to the designer storefronts, seemed to scream luxury.
The three women from the Harper family stepped out of their sleek car and into this world of privilege.
Beatrice, AKA Mrs. Harper, moved with the grace of someone who frequented these gilded halls. Mabel, though not as seasoned, still carried an air of familiarity. Then there was Rhea nervously gripping her mother’s arm. It was her first time here, and to make matters worse, she was squeezed into that fire–engine–red dress so tight it turned walking into an athletic feat. Her awkward shuffle attracted curious glances, her discomfort as loud as the clacking of her heels.
Mabel turned to her, a mask of concern covering her otherwise sinug face. “Rhea, are you feeling alright?” she asked in a syrupy tone that practically dripped with faux sympathy.
Rhea bit back a curse. She’d spent nearly half an hour wriggling into this slender dress of Mabel’s, determined to make ant impression. The last thing she’d admit was that the dress was now a prison, squeezing her into submission.
Mabel’s look was an infuriating contrast composed and effortlessly chic. She wore a crisp white linen blazer paired with tailored gray jeans and a designer bag casually slung over her shoulder.
Her glowing, doll–like complexion was framed by silky hair tied back in a simple ponytail, the kind of simplicity only the truly privileged could pull off as glamorous. When Mabel smiled, her almond eyes curved into a mesmerizing crescent, drawing admiration like a magnet. The sight of her sister in all her flawless glory stirred something ugly in Rhea – jealousy mixed with the sting of inadequacy.
Still, she managed to plaster on a fake grin. “It’s nothing. Just some carsick. Really.”
Beatrice’s maternal instincts flared, her hand reaching for Rhea’s. “Are you sure, sweetheart? Maybe we should swing by the hospital. Shopping can wait.”
Rhea shook her head furiously. Going back from a mall, empty–handed? No way.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she added.
As Beatrice relented, Mabel’s sharp gaze darted to the dress,
The silk fabric was strained to its limit, seams barely holding against Rhea’s middle. A flicker of amusement crossed Mabel’s face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“Rhea, come here! You HAVE to see this. She grabbed Rhea’s arm with an exaggerated enthusiasm.
Before Rhea could protest, Mabel whisked her toward the mall’s centerpiece- a towering indoor waterfall that descended dramatically from a height of 130 feet. Crowds of people milled around, snapping pictures and marveling at the spectacle that’d cost millions.
Rhea’s unease grew with every step, the dress tightening like a vice. And then it happened. “ZaaaapThe sound was sharp and unmistakable. Rhea froze in horror, her breath catching as her dress betrayed her, splitting open along the waist.
Mabel gasped theatrically, loud enough to carry over the din of the crowd. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, clutching her chest as though witnessing a tragedy. Her voice was a siren, pulling every gaze in the atrium toward Rhea.
The red dress had already been a magnet for attention. Now, with a gaping tear exposing her skin from hip to waist, Rhea was the centerpiece of a scene she never wanted to star in.
She panicked, her hands flying to cover herself, but bending forward only made matters worse.
Rhea hadn’t expected the flimsy dress to tear so easily. As she scrambled to cover herself, the sudden movement only made
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things worse – the rip doubled in size. Half of her pale backside was now exposed to the air, and from the side, even her chest was dangerously close to spilling out.
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The tear extended with a cruel snapping sound, revealing more of her bare body. Without underwear for support an ill- fated choice meant to avoid panty lines there was nothing left to the imagination.
The crowd that had once marveled at the breathtaking indoor waterfall now aimed their lenses squarely at the new “centerpiece.” Rhea. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the bystanders as phones and cameras recorded the spectacle unfolding in real–time.
Mabel casually sidestepped the commotion, ensuring she was far from Rhea’s humiliating spotlight.
Rhea, meanwhile, was drowning in humiliation. Her face burned, tears stinging her eyes as she frantically tried to cover herself. She couldn’t decide which indignity to shield first – her chest or her exposed rear. The more she fumbled, the worse it got, her humiliation snowballing with every passing second.
From a safe distance, Mabel observed the scene, her lips curling in a private moment of triumph. ‘So much for your boldness, my dear sister. Always want public exposure, huh? Now there you go.
Beatrice, frozen at first, snapped out of her daze with an urgent command. “Cover your face first!” she barked, her priorities crystal clear.
Beatrice wasn’t just concerned about Rhea’s modesty; she was terrified of the Harper family name being dragged into a viral. scandal. Cameras weren’t kind, and the internet never forgot
As if on cue, Beatrice maintained a calculated distance, unwilling to risk being caught in the inevitable social media storm.
Mabel, of course, made no move to help either. If Beatrice wasn’t going to dirty her hands, why should Mabel – a mere foster daughter – step up? Instead, she stood on the sidelines, enjoying the chaos she’d helped orchestrate
Finally, a compassionate mall employee intervened. Grabbing a tablecloth from a nearby café, she rushed to Rhea’s rescue, wrapping her up and steering her to a quieter corner.
Though her body was finally covered, the damage had been done. The crowd dispersed slowly, still buzzing with excitement. over the scene they’d just witnessed, their phones heavy with evidence.
Moments later, Rhea emerged from a fitting room in a plain outfit provided by the mall staff. Her eyes were swollen, her tear–streaked face a pitiful canvas of embarrassment and fury.
Beatrice’s maternal instincts returned in full force. She wrapped her arms around Rhea, murmuring soft reassurances. Then, like a thunderstorm brewing, she turned her wrath on Mabel. “Was this your doing?” Beatrice demanded, her voice sharp and accusing.
Mabel’s big eyes widened, her hands rising in faux surrender. “Whoa… Mom! How could you say that?” she protested, her tone sweet but edged with mischief. “Didn’t YOU say this dress would suit her better than me?”
Beatrice faltered for half a second. It was true; she had plucked the ill–fated dress from Mabel’s closet and insisted Rhea wear it
But her anger, now fueled by guilt, only burned hotter. “Watch your tone! Look at what you’ve done… Just admit it, or don’t ever go back home.”
The scolding continued until Rhea, playing her role to perfection, interjected with a sweet plea. “Mom, please don’t be so harsh on her. I just want to get out of here. I need proper clothes Let’s just go shopping, okay?” she said, nuzzling into Beatrice’s arms like a helpless kitten.
Mabel had to bite back a laugh. She had underestimated Rhea’s chameless resilience.
Most people would’ve fled home, devastated, after such a public embarrassment. Not Rhea. Her sights were already set on
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the nearest designer boutique
Beatrice, still fuming, shot Mabel a parting glare. This isn’t over she hissed before shepherding Rhea away.
Rhea’s composure returned with alarming speed.
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By the time they stepped into the next high–end store, she was positively glowing, Rows of designer gowns and glittering accessories had a magical way of erasing her earlier ordeal.
“Mom, how do I look in this one?” Rhea asked, spinning in a sleek evening dress
“Does this color suit me, Mabel?” she teased, holding up a shimmering cocktail number with a sly grin.
“Oh, wow, look at this dress and that one! I’ve only ever seen clothes like this in magazines!” she gushed, her excitement infectious and almost childlike.
Beatrice, softened by her daughter’s enthusiasm, indulged her without hesitation. This was a familiar dynamic. In Mabel’s previous life, Rhea had mastered the art of playing the sweet, innocent girl who tugged at her mother’s heartstrings. Not matter what Rhea lacked in natural grace or beauty, Beatrice was determined to compensate with luxury. Draped in designer clothes, Rhea could pass for the perfect little princessa transformation Beatrice never tired of funding-
In this lifetime, the dynamics had shifted, and not entirely in Rhea’s favor. As she gleefully accumulated over a hundred outfits – each more lavish than the last – Beatrice’s expression began to sour. Even with her calm face, the growing total, likely in six digits, gnawed at her composure.
Rhea, ever perceptive, sensed the tension. She adjusted her tone immediately, softening her voice and allowing her eyes to glisten with carefully crafted regret. “Mom, am I being greedy?” she asked, clasping her hands. I didn’t know how much these would cost. I just wanted to spend some quality time with you… but maybe I’ve gone too far. Let’s put it all back. I don’t need them – I just need you.”
Mabel, observing from a comfortable distance, hid her amusement behind a faint smirk. She saw through the charade with ease, but what fascinated her more was Beatrice’s hesitation.
It wasn’t a question of love – it rarely was with Beatrice, No, her pause reflected a far more pragmatic concern: Was Rhea worth the investment? The earlier scene at the mall had tarnished the Harper family’s image, and no amount of silk or sequins could undo that.
For Beatrice, appearances maltered most, and the bond she shared with her daughters was always secondary to the family’s reputation.
Sensing the perfect moment to stir the water, Mabel stepped in with an air of feigned support. “Mom,” she said, her voice light and innocent, “you worked so hard to bring Rhea back into the family. Surely, you don’t want her to feel unloved, right? Just a few dresses are nothing for us Harpers. It’s not like we can afford it.”
Rhea’s heart raced at Mabel’s words, her earlier performance forgotten in an instant. JUST a few dresses?‘ she thought, her eyes lighting up like a child’s on Christmas morning.
She turned to Beatrice with a hopeful gaze, practically bouncing with anticipation.
Beatrice hesitated, her eyes flickering between Rhea’s pleading expression and the towering pile of designer clothes. Finally, she sighed, the weight of the moment settling on her shoulders. Alright,” she said firmly, though the resolution in her tone sounded more like surrender. I will buy it for you.”
She took a cautious look at Mabel before she reached into her designer handbag, carefully retrieving a sleek black card from its most protected compartment. Handing it to the eager salesperson, she sighed, “Take this one, then.”
Mabel’s smirk deepened as she watched the scene unfold. She knew Beatrice didn’t have that money.
Without Mabel, the Harpers‘ glittering appearance of wealth and power would crumble faster than Rhea’s ill–fated dress.
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Mabel knew Beatrice would eventually take the card out, the card that belonged to Mabel in the first place.
“Swipe away, Mabel thought coolly her mind spinning with icy satisfaction. The more you spend, the steeper the fall. You will pay it all back – with interest – soon enough.”
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