by Melissa
Part 20. Striking a deal with the devil.
The morning sun, filtered through heavy silk drapes the colour of clotted cream, cast a soft glow across the opulent bedroom. I, Melissa Jones, stirred, a groan escaping my lips. My head throbbed, a dull ache that mirrored the unease churning in my stomach. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light, taking in the room's extravagant details. A four-poster bed, crafted from dark, polished wood and draped with a canopy of sheer, shimmering fabric, dominated the space. Ornate, gilded mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the plush, velvet chaise lounge and the antique writing desk tucked near the window. A thick, Persian rug, rich with intricate patterns, muffled my bare feet as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
Though I'd been living in this room for weeks, it rightfully belonged to the other Melissa Jones, the redhead. And that thought, sharp and insistent, was the source of my headache. The previous day's events also replayed in my mind, a chaotic jumble of flashing lights, raised voices, and the terrified face of the poor redhead. The one whose life I had so casually, so brazenly, usurped. The one who had been led away in handcuffs and was now sitting in a jail cell, accused of theft. A theft that I knew, with a sickening certainty, I myself was responsible for.
I rose, the cool air sending a shiver down my spine. A silk robe, embroidered with delicate silver thread, lay draped across a nearby chair. I slipped it on, the smooth fabric a stark contrast to the rough texture of my conscience.
The adjoining bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and glass. A freestanding clawfoot bathtub, gleaming like a pearl, sat beneath a window overlooking the manicured gardens. A separate shower enclosure, with jets spraying from every angle, promised a refreshing start to the day. The air was fragrant with the subtle scent of lavender and sandalwood, emanating from a diffuser perched on a small table beside a pile of fluffy, white towels.
