Chapter 11
787 Words
Dasha echoed, feigning offense with theatrical flair. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a sleek golden credit card that caught the overhead lights like a captured star. “Just because you see our friend here in a uniform doesn’t mean we’re not rich.”
Elena’s eyes widened to saucers. The card gleamed with an embossed logo of an elite international bank, its surface pristine, untouched by the wear of teenage hands. Never in her life had she seen anything so audacious.
“Never ever in your life ask a rich girl if she has money,” Kira added, her tone laced with mock indignation, playing along perfectly.
The saleswoman’s skepticism lingered, a faint crease between her brows. Dasha noticed it immediately. “You can check the balance,” she said, extending the card with the poise of a seasoned executive. “Go on.”
The woman instantly took it, her fingers brushing the cool metal. Dasha turned to her friends, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. “So ridiculous that they’re doubting us,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yeah, I can’t believe it,” Kira chimed in, shaking her head.
Dasha elbowed Elena gently, prompting her into the act. “Yeah, yeah… can’t girls go to the shop alone after school?” Elena added, her voice steadier now, though her heart hammered against her ribs. “We should’ve gone to the place we went this Sunday…”
The saleswoman swiped the card into her terminal, her expression neutral at first. Then her eyes widened imperceptibly. The screen displayed a balance so astronomical it bordered on the absurd—millions of rubles, the kind of figure reserved for oligarchs and old money dynasties. Extreme wealth, the sort that could fund private jets or summer homes on the Black Sea.
She glanced up sharply. “Why do you have this card? Whose is it, exactly?”
“You can see the details,” Dasha replied coolly, producing a folded paper from her other pocket—a printed statement, crisp and official, bearing the cardholder’s information.
Kira’s eyes flicked to it with feigned surprise. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re still carrying that paper!”
“Yeah,” Dasha said with a casual shrug. “There are some people out there who don’t believe a girl my age can be that rich.”
The name on the document was not Dasha’s—It was Elara, paired with a phone number. The saleswoman dialed it, her movements deliberate. The line connected. At that exact moment, Dasha’s phone rang. She picked it up casually and answered “Now do you believe it’s mine?”
The saleswoman’s face transformed. Color rose in her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, handing back the card and papers with reverent haste. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Anything you need.” She called over a younger assistant from the back room, gesturing discreetly. “Show them the collections—the private ones.”
“No thanks,” Dasha said with a gracious wave. “We are old enough to select whatever we want. Come on, girls. Let’s explore.” She linked arms with her friends again, steering them deeper into the racks with the effortless grace of someone who belonged there.
As they turned a corner, the crowd thinning around them, Elena’s whisper escaped like steam from a pressure valve. “Is this really your money? The paper has a different name…”
“My aunt,” Dasha cut in softly, her eyes darting to ensure no one lingered nearby. The words carried the weight of confession, but her tone remained steady, almost breezy.
“What?” Elena’s shock rippled through her like a chill wind off the Moskva River. Her steps faltered. “Are you going to spend her money?”
“Relax,” Dasha replied, scanning the aisles with practiced nonchalance. “No, we’re not. This is the money my aunt collected for her marriage. In other words, her life savings. But we’re not touching a single ruble of it for real.”
“Then why did you bring it? How did you even get it?” Elena’s voice trembled with fury and confusion, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she leaned closer.
“I stole it,” Dasha admitted, the word dropping like a pebble into still water. No remorse clouded her features—only the spark of calculated daring. She pointed ahead to the row of elegant changing rooms, their doors paneled in dark wood with frosted glass accents. “That’s where we’re going to execute the real plan. Grab 2 dresses, one which you like, the other one size larger.”
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