Burn Me Once Burn With Me (Ruby Grayson) novel Chapter 37

Still, even if Ruby had spent eighteen months behind bars, there was no way the brilliant, once-glamorous top attorney could have ended up looking like… this.

Gennifer's eyes narrowed in distaste as she gave Ruby a slow, appraising look from head to toe, then instinctively took a few steps back to widen the distance between them.

Clearly, she'd made a mistake. This was just some shabby woman who happened to share Ruby's slender build—nothing more.

"All right, you can go now."

Gennifer waved her off, a superior air in her every gesture.

She didn't even realize she was blocking the sidewalk, forcing people to step around her.

Ruby kept her head down, jaw clenched, and shrank back even further, almost fleeing in her haste to get away.

Gennifer lifted her chin, casting a scornful glance at the retreating figure before folding her arms and striding off.

Just standing next to someone like that made her feel as if the very air around her was tainted by the stench of poverty.

She pinched her nose theatrically, waving her hand in front of her face as if to clear away the imaginary odor.

Instead of hailing a cab as Morgan had suggested, Gennifer called one of her law firm's junior associates to pick her up in the company's car.

While Ruby waited outside for her ride, Gennifer slipped into her waiting town car without a backward glance.

With her perfect figure and understatedly luxurious velvet dress, Gennifer looked every inch the picture of privilege and success—an heiress, even when she tried to keep things low-key. The admiring stares that followed her down the street were impossible to ignore.

Ruby, unwilling to let herself be seen, hid behind the hospital's massive flowering tree, quietly watching every bit of Gennifer's extravagance.

Her hands curled into fists. A flicker of hatred sparked in her eyes.

Climbing to the top by stepping on someone else's bones—must feel amazing, doesn't it?

A soft, insistent "dadada…" came from her arms.

Ruby glanced down. Mira was staring up at her with wide, sparkling eyes, a sweet little grin on her lips as she babbled happily.

Lately, Mira had been learning to talk, her random syllables sometimes sounding eerily like "dada."

Ruby's heart twisted. Was this just the natural jumble of baby talk, or—as Pamela always insisted—did every child really need a father?

Her daughter's cherubic face made her heart melt. Ruby bent down, pressing her forehead against Mira's smooth skin, nuzzling gently.

The ache in her chest grew sharper, more bitter.

Sensing her mother's change in mood, Mira reached up to grab a loose strand of Ruby's hair, her dark, curious eyes sparkling like black pearls.

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