The Con Artist

Sara's POV

The diamond necklace glittered under the showroom's soft lights, a piece of ten stones that screamed wealth draped over black velvet. My pulse quickened, but my face was twisted into a mask of disdain, as if the sight bored me to tears.

I sank deeper into the plush velvet cushion, letting the air conditioning's chill kiss my skin. The attendants hovered, their breaths held, eyes darting between me and the necklace.

Let them wait.

A sophisticated woman like me never rushes.

I reached for the champagne flute beside me, my movements deliberate. The liquid fizzed against my lips as I sipped, savoring the crisp bite. How would they make any profit if they serve Dom Perignon to every woman who sauntered in wearing a designer blouse and an air of untouchable wealth.

Their mistake, my gain.

Their gazes trailed my hand as I set the glass down, expecting a black card to materialize. I let the silence stretch, heavy with their anticipation.

"You came highly recommended," I said at last, my voice cool, slow.

The attendants nodded like bobbleheads on a dashboard.

"But I must say..." I paused, letting the words hang, "I'm deeply disappointed."

"Ma'am-"

I raised a manicured hand, silencing the eager one mid-sentence. Her mouth snapped shut. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a silk handkerchief, dabbing the champagne from my lips with an air of sophistication. Their eyes followed every move, hungry for my card. I crossed my legs, leaning back, and fixed them with a stare.

"I don't appreciate my time being wasted," I said. "This..." I plucked the necklace from its stand, holding it to the light. "...is fake."

Gasps rippled through the private showroom, as if I'd spat on a sacred relic.

"I've handled diamonds long enough to spot a fraud," I continued, turning the necklace over in my hands. "It's pretty, sure. Glittery. You might fool an amateur, but not me."

"We're so sorry, ma'am," one stammered, her voice trembling. "But I assure you, this diamond is-"

I reached for the champagne bottle, tilting it as if to pour, silencing them again. An attendant scurried forward, eager to serve. I let him, watching the golden liquid bubble into my glass. A good bottle shouldn't go to waste.

As he poured, I slipped a hundred-dollar bill into his hand. His eyes widened, and whispers buzzed among the others.

Rule one of being a con artist: Stay one step ahead.

While they gawked at the tip, a million-dollar diamond slipped into my bag, nestled against the lining, invisible to their greedy eyes.

I stood, smoothing my skirt. "I'm highly disappointed," I said, driving the point home.

"These diamonds are real," my beneficairy insisted, his voice earnest. "We can bring a tester to confirm it."

I nodded, settling back into the chair, letting the AC's cool breath wash over me. Tonight, I'd sleep in a five-star hotel suite, the kind with crisp sheets and a view to die for. Tomorrow, I'd be a homeowner.

But my face betrayed nothing. Just the bored indifference of Evelyn Rodriguez, heiress to a fictional European empire built by a fictional Rodriguez, my father.

The attendant returned with a diamond tester, and I watched, feigning disinterest, as they scanned the necklace. The device beeped, its red light flashing. They tried again, then again, their faces paling with each failure.

"This has been a waste of time," I said, rising. "I knew it was fake."

Brushing past their apologies, I stepped into the main gallery, where thousands of gemstones-rubies, sapphires, emeralds-gleamed behind polished showglass. I slid my dark sunglasses over my eyes, scanning for my next mark.

My beneficiary trailed me, eager to redeem himself. "These are original rubies, sourced from Madagascar," he said, lifting a ring from its display.

My glasses, embedded with a discreet camera, snapped a photo as I tilted my head, admiring the stone's deep red glow.

"I hope so," I said, dropping the ring back into his hand.

Excusing myself, I slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

"It's done," I murmured, tapping my earpiece.

Sean's voice crackled through. "Nice work, Sara. Just left the real estate office. We can secure that house you love if we pay tomorrow."

I checked my reflection, adjusting my lipstick and powdering my face. I picked a cheap perfume from my bag and spritz over me. I was thrashing this soon. "And the buyer?" I asked.

"Just got off the phone with him. He's hooked, as long as it's the real deal."

Oh, it's real, alright.

I smirked at the mirror. "We're rich, Sean. No more of your ratty, run down apartment. Book the best suite in the city's top hotel. I'm craving luxury tonight. Wine, silk sheets...I'll get some sexy lingerie."

"Oh, baby," he purred. "Am I getting a show tonight?"

"Be ready, Sean. I've got plans that'll make your head spin. Meet me at the hotel, 4 p.m? Don't forget to text the location."

"Perfect. Keep those babies safe, Sara. This is our ticket out."

I adjusted my wig, ensuring every strand was flawless. "I've got my eye on another baby, Sean. A ruby. Worth millions."

The plan was simple: Photograph the target, hire a forger to craft a replica, pay him to keep quiet, swap fake for real, and walk away a millionaire.

"See you tonight," I said, ending the call.

I glanced at my bag, where the diamond nestled, my key to escaping the ugly life I'd clawed through for twenty-four years. I could already taste it. Private yachts, impulsive trips to Paris, Dubai, Tokyo, and finally getting anything I desired.

The bathroom door creaked open, snapping me out of my reverie.

Another rule of a con artist is to never rush out but never linger for too long.

I was about to leave, but a glance in the mirror caught the intruder. The angle of the mirror made it difficult to see their face, but the tailored suit and the sound of his shoes screamed that it was a man.

In a women's bathroom?

My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral, adjusting my sunglasses.

What was he doing here?

Sara's POV

I couldn't betray a flicker of panic. Not now. I had to stay in character. Evelyn Rodriguez, the untouchable heiress.

"Don't you read signs?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain. The man's tailored suit screamed wealth, his polished loafers screaming wealth under the bathroom's light.

I can smell the rich ones from a mile away. And this one was-

He slipped off his sunglasses, and my stomach lurched.

Thomas Grey.

America's billionaire bachelor, owner of this glittering empire. And lots more.

His face twisted into a scowl. "Sara Anderson. Wannabe socialite and sophisticate."

My heart pounded in my chest, but years of cons kept my expression ironclad. How did he know my real name? Evelyn Rodriguez was a ghost, known to a few I had dealt business with. And Thomas Grey was certainly not in that list. At least, not in that way.

Sara Anderson?

She didn't exist to men like Thomas Grey.

He stepped closer, the air thinning with each stride. Even with that frown and the anxiety clawing my chest, I couldn't ignore how devastatingly handsome he was up close. I'd seen him on screens, in public spaces from afar, and a night in a dim lit room, but those piercing green eyes? They were new. And they looked ridiculously charming.

His hand grabbed my wrist, yanking me from my thoughts.

"I have a job for you," he said, voice low, commanding.

I wrenched my arm free, glaring. "I don't know who you think you are," I spat, "but you've got the wrong woman. This Sara Anderson is surely Not me. Now, if you'll excuse me."

I brushed past him, aiming for the door, my mind screaming. I would never come back to this building.

But a hulking figure stood in the doorway, his face a stone wall, stern. My pulse quickened. Had they seen the swap?

Thomas sauntered toward me, a predator's smile curling his lips. "You'll do as I say, or you'll rot in jail."

I rolled my eyes, masking the thunder in my chest. "Jail?" I scoffed. "Do you know who I am?"

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. I caught the scent of his cologne

Creed Aventus, sharp and decadent, the kind that could fund a month in Bali.

If he weren't threatening me, I might've imagined tasting that scent on his skin.

Again.

"Like I said," he murmured, "Sara Anderson." He straightened, eyes glinting. "Drop the Evelyn Rodriguez act. I know what you've done."

He nodded to the hulk, who snatched my purse with a force I couldn't resist. Before I could scream assault, the diamond necklace, my million-dollar ticket, dangled from his fingers, its face glistening under the light.

My dream...gone.

Thomas caught the necklace, cradling it in his pampered hand. "When I saw you strut into my mall, I knew you were trouble," he said.

I squared my shoulders, voice steady despite the throb in my throat.

"Just because you own a jewelry store peddling fakes doesn't mean every gem is yours." I pointed at the necklace, letting my tone sound with feigned hurt. "That was my mother's. I came to find a replica, only to discover your shop is a sham."

A dry chuckle escaped him. He gestured to his guard, who dropped a photo into his hand.

"Carlos Alvarez," Thomas said, holding it up, ignoring my perfect act.

My blood ran cold. I knew that name. Everyone who was involved with the men and women that mattered knew him.

Mafia kingpin and ruthless. They were mere rumours. But we all knew it was true. But who could say it?

"He's moving into my city, trying to outshine me," Thomas continued. "Your job is to expose him for the criminal he is."

Was this billionaire insame? Send me to infiltrate Alvarez's life? I'd take a jail cell over that death sentence. A swap wouldn't land me more than a few years, would it?

I shook my head. "You can't make me. I won't."

He stepped closer, brows knitting, his intensity swallowing the room. "Oh, you will, Evelyn, master con artist. But for this, you're Irene."

The hulk produced an ID card. My face stared back with a different name. Irene Peters.

My facade cracked. Had I walked into a trap? Had he knew all along that I was coming here?

"What the hell is this?" I hissed, Evelyn Rodriguez evaporating. No point pretending to a man who knew too much and was already rewriting my identity.

"Your mission," Thomas said. "Alvarez's businesses launch in six months here in this city. You have stop him. You can't fail."

"I'm sorry," I said, voice flat, steady and my mind made up. "I can't."

"It's not a choice."

Carlos Alvarez? I'd be dead before I got close.

He extended the ID card. I took it, curious.

"There's an opening for his personal assistant," Thomas said. "You'll convince him to hire you. I've crafted a CV with all the credentials and work experience you'll need, but you'll need more than papers to seal the deal. Get the job."

I stared at the card, my mind racing. "If I do this, what's the pay?"

"How does a million dollars sound?"

Mind-blowing.

"And if you don't hold up your end?" I pressed.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'm Thomas Grey. My word never gets broken." He set the necklace on the washbasin, its sparkle taunting me. "You'll get this when you secure the job."

I eyed the diamonds. "What's stopping me from running once I have it?"

He moved toward the door, pausing to glance back. "You won't."

He said it with so much confidence that frightened me.

Sara's POV

Sean's text buzzed on my phone, shattering my focus. Our evening plans were now in ruins.

I stared at the screen, reading his message.

Sean had outdone himself, booking a private lounge at the Milton.

Milton!

That was a five-star hotel, where champagne flowed like water and bills for a night could buy a house. My stomach twisted. I had nothing but a few crumpled bills in my purse.

His call came through before I could think about the mess we were in.

"The manager's here at the door, demanding payment," Sean said, his voice tight.

I bit my lip, hard. "Then leave, Sean. The deal fell apart."

"What do you mean?" Urgency spiked his tone. "I've been here for hours. I've already ordered food and drinks."

Sean was going to be my downfall.

"Couldn't you wait for me?" I snapped. "Do you have any money?"

"A hundred bucks."

That couldn't even pay for a night in a lounge at Milton.

"Hold on," I said. "Tell the manager I'm on my way and you're just my PA."

I ended the call, slipping back into Evelyn Rodriguez.

At the hotel, I strode through the marble lobby, exuding confidence that turned heads. Designer sunglasses perched on my nose, my lips curled in a disdain of a rich, spoilt heiress.

I stopped at the reception desk. "I need the manager," I said, my voice crisp and commanding.

The receptionist nodded, flustered. "Right away, ma'am."

I tapped my manicured nails on the polished wood, the rhythm steady, practiced.

This always worked.

The manager appeared minutes later, apologies escaping from his mouth as he saw my fur coat and haughty air. I didn't remove my sunglasses or acknowledge his apologies.

"Why was my PA harassed this afternoon?" I asked, my voice icy. "This hotel came highly recommended. I'm disappointed, to say the least."

The manager spun to the receptionist, demanding answers.

"The lounge hasn't been paid for, nor the services," she stammered.

He faced me, practically bowing. "My deepest apologies, ma'am."

"Evelyn Rodriguez," I said, letting the name carry weight. "I flew in from Mexico this morning, and my day's been dreadful. Have someone bring the bill tomorrow when I've exchanged my currencies." I pressed a hand to my forehead, feigning a wince. "I have a headache and won't like to be disturbed."

"Of course," he said, nodding vigorously. "My apologies."

I gave a curt nod and strutted toward the elevator, stifling a smirk. That was the Evelyn Rodriguez magic, never failing.

In the lounge, I locked the door, tore off my blonde wig, and let out an exasperated sigh. The room was stunning with crystal chandeliers, velvet couches, and a view of the city's glittering skyline from the window.

But we couldn't afford a single hour here.

Sean lounged on a sofa, emptying a bottle of champagne. He grinned, stood arms outstretched as I entered.

I pushed him back. "You're useless, Sean." I gestured to the food cart, laden with half-eaten dishes fit for a banquet. "What were you thinking? Who eats like a pig when we're broke?"

His grin faded. "Don't take it out on me, Sara." He softened, opening his arms. "C'mon, don't I get a hug?"

I sank into his embrace, the fight draining out of me.

"What happened with the necklace?" he asked, voice low.

I kicked off my six-inch heels and pulled out of my gown, Sean's eyes tracing my form as I crossed the room to a bottle of merlot. I poured, the wine's sharp tang soothing my parched throat, and slumped into a chair.

"You won't believe who I met," I said, setting the bottle down. "And what he offered."

"Spill."

I took more. "Thomas Grey."

Sean choked on his champagne. "The Thomas Grey? Did he recognize you?"

I shook my head. "No way. He was too drunk that night, and the room was dark."

Three years ago, I'd spotted Grey in a bar, drowning his sorrows, his Rolex my reason for approaching him. A billionaire in a place like that? Something had broken him. I'd offered a night to forget his pains, my eyes on the watch.

The night was good but the money from the Rolex was better.

"Will you tell him about-"

"No." I stood, cutting him off. Sean knew not to touch that topic. Whatever happened with Grey stayed buried right there in the past.

I fished the ID card from my purse and tossed it onto the bed. "He offered me a job."

Sean's eyes flicked to the card. "Irene Peters?"

"That's not the amusing part." I sat, restless, the encounter with Grey still buzzing under my skin. "He wants me to spy on Carlos Alvarez."

Sean's face mirrored the dread I'd felt when Grey dropped that name. "Did you agree?"

"I had no choice."

"Fuck, Sara!" He shot up, pacing. "You'll get yourself killed. Alvarez is a monster. You can't do this."

"For two million dollars, I can." I moved to him, cupping his face, my lips brushing his. "We need this, Sean. A break. A vacation far from this chaos, with Sophie and Sam."

He nodded, reluctant, worry written all over his face. "What does Grey want?"

I pulled away, grabbing the merlot and draining the bottle. "To sabotage Alvarez's business launch. I've got six months." I pointed to the card. "That's my ticket in. I apply as his PA under that name."

Sean took my hand, his grip tight. "You sure about this?"

"Think of the money. I've conned politicians, Sean. I can handle Alvarez."

"A ruthless mafia boss?"

I flashed a grin. "Maybe he's never met a desperate con artist."

I crossed to the mirror, adjusting my wig and reapplying lipstick. Blood-red and bold. "First, we need cash to cover this lounge and have the night we deserve. Ben's charity dinner is tonight."

"You're not tired?"

I slipped into the emerald gown I'd bought en route, its silk hugging my curves. "Will resting pay the bill? We can make enough tonight to stay here three days before crawling back to your dump." I laughed, bitter. "Maybe if I land this PA gig, I'll move in with Alvarez."

"That's not funny."

"My life's a joke lately."

I studied my reflection, Evelyn Rodriguez reborn. Ready to charm, con, and survive another night.