6
Ruby
I woke up with a groan, blinking against the sunlight that filtered through the cream-colored curtains. My limbs felt heavy, like they were made of concrete. For a moment, I just laid there, staring at the ceiling. My head was foggy, my chest tight with a familiar ache I hadn't been able to shake off for the past three days.
I reached for my phone without looking and winced when the screen lit up.
10:02 AM.
Great. Another day starting way too late and already feeling like a disappointment.
It's been three whole days since that interview with RCH Corporation, and even now, thinking about it made my stomach twist. I had messed up. Completely. There was no sugarcoating it. The second I walked out of that ridiculously sleek building with its glass walls and cold perfection, I knew I'd blown it.
But still… there was this tiny, stubborn part of me—this pathetic sliver of hope clinging to the edges of my heart—that kept whispering, Maybe. Maybe they'll see past it. Maybe you weren't as awful as you think.
I hated that voice. I hated that I hadn't moved on yet. I'd already sent out two more applications—one had an online interview, the other was just a boring questionnaire—but I couldn't stop myself from wondering what might've happened if RCH had used that format. If they'd just sent questions. If I didn't have to sit face-to-face with him—that rude, arrogant CFO with his judging eyes and expensive suit and impossible jawline.
I pushed the thoughts away—shoved them into the deepest part of my mind—and forced myself to get out of bed. My body resisted every step of the way as I dragged myself to the bathroom and freshened up, the cold splash of water doing little to wash away the disappointment sticking to my skin.
The apartment was quiet when I made it to the kitchen, too quiet.
Cassie and Stella must have gone to campus already. Stella had that major Corporate Finance test she was stressing about all week, and Cass had her usual Thursday lectures.
I was reaching for the fridge when my eyes landed on something strange on the counter.
A note.
My name was scrawled across the paper in big, dramatic letters—Rue—and… was that lipstick?
I blinked, leaning in. Yup. Lipstick. Bright red.
I didn't even need to open it to know who it was from. Stella would never waste a good lipstick like that. Which meant it could only be one person.
With a sigh and a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, I picked it up and unfolded it.
"You were so fast asleep, and you looked adorable with drool on your face—I just couldn't wake you. So… I may have borrowed your midnight-blue satin dress (yes, that one) because I have a hot date tonight, and suddenly, I hate everything in my wardrobe.
I won't be back tonight—lectures end late, and I have International Human Rights Law for four straight hours—aka torture, so I'll just freshen up at school. I have to look my absolute best.
I love you forever.
P.S. I left you a half-eaten turkey and pesto sandwich as a token of my eternal gratitude. You're welcome."
I stared at the note, lips parted in disbelief before a small laugh escaped. Cassie. She was unbelievable.
I shook my head, dropping the paper onto the counter like it had personally offended me. "She borrowed it, huh?"
The midnight-blue satin dress. My most expensive piece of clothing. I had splurged on it after a very rough day, too much wine, and too many tears. It had cost me $950—which was insane, yes—but the moment I tried it on, it felt like it was made for me. Soft, sleek, hugging every part of me like a whisper.
And now it was probably being twirled around in some Columbia Law School hallway by my hopelessly romantic, fashion-obsessed best friend.
I sighed and walked over to the counter, eyeing the sandwich she left behind like it might bite me. Half-eaten. Figures.
Still, I picked it up, took a bite, and made a face. "Thanks, I guess," I muttered around a mouthful of turkey and pesto.
I opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of orange juice, taking a long sip straight from it.
The kitchen was still quiet. Too quiet. And even with Cassie's chaos and Stella's order nowhere in sight, all I could think about was that stupid interview. That stupid man. That stupid company.
I leaned back against the counter, biting into the sandwich again, and whispered to myself, "You're so lucky I was asleep, Cass. You're going to owe me for that dress."
My voice sounded small in the silence, like even it didn't believe me.
Laundry was one of those oddly comforting chores for me. Something about sorting colors, measuring detergent, and the rhythmic hum of the machine made the world feel a little less chaotic. So I gathered the small pile of clothes from my hamper, tossed them into the washer, and pressed play on my favorite playlist.
Gracie Abrams' That's So True poured softly from my phone speaker.
I let the melody wrap around me like a soft blanket. Her voice, fragile and honest, echoed in the quiet of the apartment as I moved slowly—sorting, folding, breathing. That song had been on repeat for the past hour. I wasn't tired of it. Not yet. It felt like someone else saying all the things I didn't know how to admit out loud.
Then—just as I poured fabric softener into the washer—the music stopped.
My phone buzzed, screen lighting up.
Mum.
I felt a warm tug in my chest as I wiped my hands on my pajama pants and swiped to answer.
"Hey, Mum."
"Rue Bear!" she exclaimed in that tone that always made me smile—soft, excited, and like she was hugging me through the phone. "How are you, baby? Are you eating well? Sleeping enough? You sound tired, are you tired? Wait, you're not skipping meals again, right? You know how you get when you do. And have you been drinking enough water? You do have fresh groceries in the fridge, don't you?"
I laughed, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. "Mum—Mum! Slow down. I'm fine, I swear. You don't have to worry so much."
"You say that every time, Ruby," she sighed dramatically. "But I know you. You hide things. Like that one time in middle school when you had a fever and still went to class for three days."
"That was ten years ago."
"Exactly! You've always been a stubborn little thing."
I leaned against the counter, smiling as I listened to her fuss. My mom, Eleanor Kensington, had always been the kind of mother who showed her love in big, loud, smothering ways. She was affectionate, nosy, and incredibly intuitive. She knew when I was upset before I did. She always kept tabs on me and Amber like we were still ten.
And I loved her for it.
She was my person. The one who sat with me through every meltdown, celebrated every tiny win, and believed in me more than I believed in myself.
Dad, on the other hand... well, he was just there. Maxwell Kensington fulfilled his duties, sure—paid for school, came to birthdays, bought us gifts—but we'd never been close. Not really. Our conversations rarely went past surface level, and most of the time, it felt like I was talking to a polite stranger in a suit.
But Mum? Mum was everything.
I remembered the way she cried for two days straight when I was leaving for college, clinging to me like I was going to the other side of the world.
"Mum," I'd told her at the time, "it's just two and a half hours from Manhattan to New Jersey."
"I know," she'd sniffled, "but that's still too far to hug you whenever I want!"
It had taken both me and Amber to convince her I wasn't vanishing forever.
Even now, three years later, she still called at least three times a week.
"So…" she said, voice softening a little, "have you heard anything from RCH yet?"
I hesitated. My stomach did that uncomfortable little twist again. "Ehm… no. Still waiting for their response."
There was a brief pause.
"I'm sure you'll get it, dear," she said firmly, like it was a fact and not just something nice to say. "They'd be absolute fools not to accept you. No one works harder or shines brighter than my Ruby."
I smiled tightly, swallowing the lump in my throat. I hadn't told her about the disastrous interview. About the way I'd fumbled my words, snapped at the CFO, and walked out knowing I'd ruined it.
If I told her, she'd worry. And I couldn't handle the guilt of that.
"I also applied to two other places," I added quickly, trying to sound casual. "There's Evermark Consulting, and this remote spot at Luna Tech. Just… you know, playing it safe."
"Well, they'd better treat you like gold," she said. "But you'll get RCH, my darling. Don't worry."
I didn't say anything.
Because if I did, I might cry.
"You're still coming for Easter weekend, right?" Mum asked, her voice lifting with hope.
I smiled softly, even though my heart was still heavy with unspoken things. "Of course, Mum. I come every year, don't I?"
"Oh, right!" she laughed. "Habit, I guess. Just making sure my Rue Bear doesn't forget her favorite mother."
"You're my only mother."
"And still the favorite," she said with a chuckle that made me feel ten again, like I was wrapped in a blanket with hot cocoa and a kiss on the forehead.
But just as I was about to reply, a muffled voice broke through the line—faint, but sharp with emotion.
"I'm 28 and I still don't get a say in my life!"
Then—slam.
I froze.
That voice. That frustration. That door slam.
"Was that… Amber?" I asked, a frown creeping across my face. "Is everything okay, Mum?"
There was a pause, too long for comfort. I could almost hear her composing herself on the other end.
"Oh, yes, baby. Everything's fine," she said, trying to sound light. "You know Amber—always so dramatic. We'll talk when you get here, okay?"
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
I knew that tone. The one she used when she was trying to protect me from something. The one that told me not to ask questions because I wouldn't get any answers.
And I knew better than to push. She wouldn't budge.
"Alright, I do hope nothing bad has really happened " I murmured, though the unease in my chest settled in like a storm cloud. "I'll see you in two weeks."
"Take care of yourself, my darling. Eat something real, not just cereal. And drink water!"
"I will, Mum."
"Love you."
"Love you too."
The line went dead.
Silence filled the apartment like fog creeping in. The soft hum of the washing machine carried on. Then, slowly, Gracie's voice faded back in, the song resuming from where it left off, as if nothing had happened.
But everything had.
Amber was already home.
She was supposed to be in San Francisco, working on that new campaign. She wasn't due back for Easter until three weeks from now.
Something wasn't right.
I grabbed my phone again and pulled up her contact.
Calling Amber…
It rang once. Then voicemail.
I tried again.
Still voicemail.
Again.
No answer.
I sat there, the taste of unease stronger than anything else.
Something was definitely wrong.
And I had no idea what I was walking into.