Chapter 44

Mira’s POV

The silence that followed her words didn’t sit right in my chest. It pressed in heavily, like the air had suddenly thickened around us.

Zara was the first to react.

“Wow,” she said slowly, pushing her sunglasses up her head as she stepped forward, her voice dripping with disbelief. “That was incredibly stupid of you to say out loud.”

I touched her arm lightly. “Zara.”

She glanced at me, clearly ready to go off, but I shook my head just slightly. I didn’t want a scene. Not here. Not over someone like this.

“It’s fine,” I said, forcing a small, tight smile as I set the dress back on the rack, even though I didn’t want to. “We’ll just leave.”

Zara stared at me like I had personally offended her. “Mira—”

“It’s really not worth it,” I added under my breath.

I turned slightly, already preparing to walk away.

“Run along now poor little things,” the woman added sharply, her eyes flicking toward me with open disdain. “You’re holding it like you’ve never seen quality fabric before. You might damage it.”

At that moment, something inside me snapped.

I slowly turned back, the forced calm slipping off my expression as I met her gaze properly this time.

“You know what,” I said, my voice quieter now, but steadier. “I’ll actually stay.”

Zara’s head whipped toward me, her eyes lighting up instantly. “That’s my girl.”

The woman frowned, clearly not expecting that response. “I don’t think you understand—”

“No,” I cut in smoothly, tilting my head slightly as I picked the dress back up, my fingers deliberately smoothing over the fabric.

“I understand perfectly. You think we don’t belong here. You think we can’t afford anything. And you think you can talk to us however you like because of that.”

Her lips tightened.

I gave a small shrug. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not in the mood to leave anymore.”

Zara let out a soft, satisfied laugh beside me. “Yeah, we’re staying.”

The woman’s expression hardened, her patience clearly thinning. “Fine,” she said coldly. “Stay. I’ll get the manager.”

“Please do,” Zara replied sweetly, already turning her back on her like she had dismissed her existence entirely.

The moment the woman walked off, Zara grabbed my arm, practically vibrating with excitement. “I love this version of you. Where has she been hiding?”

I huffed out a small laugh, though my chest still felt tight. “Probably minding her business.”

“Well, she needs to come out more often,” Zara said, already scanning the racks again. “Because that woman was begging for it.”

I shook my head, but a small smile crept in anyway. “Let’s just pick what we came for before this turns into a full-blown war.”

We moved further into the store, the earlier tension lingering but not stopping us this time. If anything, it pushed me forward to pick more items.

I wasn’t leaving, especially not because an employee said so.

Zara pulled out a few more dresses, holding them against herself dramatically, making exaggerated faces that had me laughing despite everything.

“This one says rich wife with secrets,” she said, posing.

“That one says you’re about to ruin someone’s life,” I replied.

She grinned. “Exactly the vibe I’m going for.”

I rolled my eyes, turning my attention to another rack when something caught my eye.

It was a dress.

Simple at first glance, but the more I looked at it, the more details stood out. The cut was elegant, the fabric soft and structured at the same time, the kind of piece that didn’t need to scream to be noticed.

I reached for it at the same time someone else did.

Our hands brushed and I looked up.

The girl standing beside me looked exactly like she belonged here. Perfectly styled hair, expensive makeup, confidence dripping from every inch of her posture. She glanced at me briefly before her eyes dropped to the dress.

“Oh,” she said lightly, already pulling it slightly toward herself. “This is the one I wanted.”

I didn’t let go.

“So did I,” I replied calmly.

Her gaze flicked back to mine, this time with more attention, more scrutiny. “Then you’ll have to find something else.”

Zara stepped closer instantly. “Or,” she said sweetly, “she won’t.”

The girl raised a brow, clearly unamused. “I don’t think you understand. I’m buying this.”

“And I don’t think you understand,” Zara shot back. “We picked it first.”

The girl let out a small laugh, like the idea was ridiculous. “That’s not how this works.”

I tilted my head slightly. “It actually is.”

Her expression shifted, irritation creeping in. “Do you know who I am?”

Zara didn’t even hesitate. “Someone who talks too much.”

I bit back a smile.

The girl exhaled sharply, clearly done with the conversation. “Fine. We’ll settle this at the counter.”

“Perfect,” I said.

We walked up together, tension trailing behind us like a storm waiting to break. I placed the dress on the counter, my fingers lingering on it just slightly before I pulled my hand back.

The sales associate behind the counter looked between us, then at the girl beside me, her entire demeanor shifting instantly.

“Oh, miss,” she said warmly, her tone completely different now. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

The girl smiled faintly, satisfied. “I’ll be taking this dress.”

I crossed my arms lightly. “No, you won’t.”

The associate hesitated, then turned to me, her expression cooling. “I’m sorry, but she’s one of our valued clients. Perhaps you should consider something else.”

Zara let out a dry laugh. “Here we go again.”

“We picked it first,” I said evenly.

The associate’s smile thinned. “I understand, but realistically speaking, this might be out of your budget.”

Before I could respond, the woman from earlier returned, this time with another woman beside her who I assumed was the manager.

“There they are,” she said sharply, pointing at us. “I told you they’d still be here causing trouble.”

The manager’s eyes scanned us quickly, calculating. “What seems to be the issue?”

“They’re refusing to leave,” the first woman said. “And now they’re trying to take a dress from an actual customer.”

Zara scoffed. “Actual customer? Are we imaginary?”

The rich girl crossed her arms. “I don’t have time for this. I want the dress.”

The manager nodded slightly. “Of course.” Then she turned to me, her tone firm but patronizing. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand over the dress and leave.”

Something in me almost laughed.

Instead, I reached into my bag slowly, pulling out the black card Alejandro had given me that morning.

The movement alone caught their attention.

Zara leaned in slightly, already grinning. “Oh, this is about to be fun.”

I placed the card on the counter, sliding it forward just enough for them to see.

The reaction was immediate.

The associate’s eyes widened slightly. The manager leaned closer. Even the rich girl’s expression flickered with something that looked like confusion.

The name on the card was impossible to miss.

Alejandro Montenegro.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then the woman from earlier let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not yours.”

I raised a brow. “And you know that how?”

The manager straightened, her expression hardening. “This is a very serious matter. That card belongs to Mr. Montenegro.”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I’m aware.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Then you should also be aware that using someone else’s card without permission is theft.”

Zara’s smile dropped slightly. “Okay, now you’re reaching—”

“I think,” the manager cut in, her voice cold now, “it would be best if we handled this properly.”

A chill slid down my spine, but I didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” I said, holding her gaze.

She nodded once, then turned to the associate. “Call the police.”

The words landed heavily.

Zara blinked. “Wait—what?”

The woman from earlier crossed her arms, looking entirely too pleased. “I knew it. Thieves.”