The Con Artist

Sara's POV

The corridor was long and silent like a graveyard.

Whoever designed this house was a psycho that hated people. Because...why was my door a hundred feet away from the next door?

Seems it was a mansion with just three rooms and the main rooms were long corridors just designed to keep everyone at arms length from each other.

I scoffed annoyingly and gently closed my door.

Not that anyone would hear me.

I knew where the CCTV cameras were already. While Pat led me to my room, my eyes had caught them all.

Straightening my back, I walked confidently. I was just going to get a cup of water after concentrating my poor system with that glorious wine. Or, I was just admiring the mansion.

That wasn't a crime.

It was art.

The endless corridor led to a spiraling staircase. One part descending to the hall that I had entered the first time. And the other arm, ascending to the quarters that Carlos occupied.

I grabbed the second arm and started my ascent.

My spectacles were on. It gave the look of who had no idea of what she was doing. Maybe there was an eye condition that made up look like down. And I was suffering from it.

I laughed at my joke and kept going up the stairs. Another waste-of-money stairs later, I arrived at another corridor.

Now, this corridor was certainly Carlos' quarters. From the marbled floor to the picture frames lining it, and the bright chandeliers, everything screamed luxury. My skin prickled with desire.

I thought of the two million dollars Thomas had promised me. It couldn't get me a mansion like this - this screamed billions. But I could afford something like this.

Something mine.

I could imagine Sam chasing Sophie around.

It was a dream worth working hard for.

And that was enough motivation.

I moved, eyes straight. I saw the cameras. But I wasn't stealing. I was just looking around. No harm in discovering the place you're living in.

And I had to be quick.

Carlos' large bedroom door loomed ahead. I expected there would be a secret door that led to a secret passageway. It was like that in every goddamned bad guy story.

Carlos couldn't be any different.

I stopped before the door and knocked like I thought he was in the room.

Even though Carlos had bought me some conditioners and I had treated my fake hair, I didn't forget my signature. I tousled a handful of my fringe in my hand, waiting.

Knocked again.

"Mr. Alvarez?"

That was enough.

I pushed the door open. Not like Carlos would be going over his CCTV recording everyday. Records like that were only meant for important days.

Carlos' room was heavenly. There wasn't even a word to describe it.

And frankly? I would be willing to be Mrs. Alvarez if he could give up this room. The coolness, mixed with the fragrance, embraced me, pulled me in.

It was almost palpable.

And the bed?

Oh, father!

I wanted to touch it. Feel it. It was surely softer than mine and I wanted to know the feeling.

But the image of a nameless lady riding him on that bed threw my eyes away.

Once I had shut the door, I threw my facade away. No one puts a CCTV camera in their room. At least, not a mafia boss. He wasn't a porn star at the very least. Neither a creep.

There were endless drawers in the room. Locked.

And I had no key.

So, I moved to the table. Strewn on it were documents.

Thomas said he needed something. I was going to get him something, okay.

They were mostly receipts. Things he was buying. The receipts were in thousands. Millions.

My heart raced as I read through them.

I didn't know if they would be important for Thomas. But evidence is evidence.

I took pictures of as many as I could.

But something else called me. The light and coolness coming from the inner room. I could see its blue reflection against the soft curtains. And even the way the curtains draped over the window was like a fantasy.

I would have walked to the window and imagined myself as the owner of the room. Picture what Carlos saw when he woke.

But not with that belly-down man.

I moved to the inner room. It was a storage room, as expected. Gold watches. Rolex. Designer suits. Diamond chain. A shrine of wealth.

They all screamed my name.

'Evelyn Rodriguez, come to us!'

I stood there, hesitant. This wasn't why I was here.

But how could Evelyn remain later in the presence of money?

I'll just have a feel.

That would be enough to give me financial orgasm. Imran the suit through my hand. Carlos' smell was woven to them like the very fabric.

The smell was intoxicating. I shut my eyes and sniffed.

God.

I shouldn't be doing this...

But I did anyway. I ran my hand through the fabric, weighing its worth. The weight of wealth was strangely...

Light and breathtaking.

Those fabrics were too good to cost less than a million dollars.

I ran the chain through my fingers and lifted the watch.

My mistake.

Because the moment I did, I realised there was a hidden fingerprint panel underneath. The automated voice threatened me, slicing through the quiet.

"Fingerprint."

I stared in horror, thought of a bullet slicing through my brain, and returned to the glaring , unyielding screen.

I had been reckless.

How was I going to explain this to Carlos? How do I explain lifting his Rolex?

This time I wouldn't be getting a deal. In fact, I wouldn't be getting prison. I bit my lips tightly and watched as the blue light on the screen turned red.

"Thirty seconds," it threatened.

I groaned in agony and watched as the time ticked away. Tears stung my eyes and I fell on my knees..

If I survived this, I was done. No more Carlos Alvarez. Thomas Grey could kiss hell.

But how was I going to survive this?

"Ten seconds," the machine chimed, despite my agony.

I stood up, undecided. But when I saw the time blinking three seconds, I slapped the watch on the panel.

And then...

Silence.

My heart nearly stopped.

I didn't care about Thomas's mission anymore. I bolted from the room, swearing never to return.

Mrs. Alvarez?

Damn that fantasy!.