Katie barely slept until dawn. When she opened her eyes, sunlight filled the room, and Victor stood by the bed, smiling.
“I waited all night for you. Where were you?”
“Little one, see? Nothing happened to me. Get ready, and we’ll go out for breakfast,” Victor said.
Outside, the summer air was warm.
“Fancy an ice cream?” Without waiting for an answer, Victor stepped up to the kiosk and bought her favourite caramel swirl in a wafer cone.
“You’re in a good mood. Did you win at cards?” Katie asked, licking the top of her ice cream.
“Not even close. I’ve got an idea—and I’ll need your help to pull it off.”
“But you’ve never taken me along before. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing. Just be there. But if you don’t want to, I can manage alone.”
“No, I’ll go with you,” Katie agreed quickly.
“Knew you’d say yes. Pick out a white dress,” Victor said, indulgent in his good mood.
“Really? Are you proposing?” The girl beamed, forgetting the ice cream in her hand.
No woman had ever dared hint at marriage with Victor—but Katie was different. She’d become his lucky charm. A year ago, he’d rescued her from three thugs.
Katie had lived with her mother in a small town. After her father left, her mother turned to drink. Things got worse when a man moved in, eyeing Katie with unsettling interest until one night he tried to force himself on her. She escaped, boarded a train, and ended up in the city—penniless, with no one to turn to.
Lost and frightened, she caught the attention of a group of lads loitering by the station, always on the lookout for easy prey. It might have ended badly—but Victor heard her screams and stepped in.
Katie fell for him instantly. Tall, strong, well-dressed, with a smile that put people at ease, he radiated safety—even though he never hid his less-than-honest dealings. Still, he kept her out of it.
They sat on a bench by the river. The ice cream melted fast in the sun, the cone turning soggy, sticky syrup dripping onto her dress.
“Blast it!” Katie jumped up, holding the cone away before it could make more of a mess.
“Just chuck it,” Victor said lazily, squinting at the sun like a contented cat.
She tossed the cone in the bin and licked her hand clean.
*Still such a child,* Victor thought fondly.
“The job’s a sure thing, but we can’t slip up. A bloke with a fiancée is more convincing than a bloke alone.”
“Fiancée?” Katie sat back down.
“That’s you.” Victor wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him.
“Yesterday, I heard about this batty old woman. No family—husband long gone, only son died in combat years ago. She forgets and still waits for him some evenings. Never takes off this ring she wears. My guess? She’s got more where that came from. Her husband wasn’t just anyone.”
“You mean to steal her jewellery?” Katie guessed.
“Not like that. She’ll *give* it to us. We’ll show up as her grandson and his bride-to-be. Your job? Get her to *want* to gift you her sparklies for the wedding.”
Victor had standards. But Katie pitied the old woman. Cheating wealthy officials was one thing—conning a lonely, trusting widow? She hesitated.
“Get a modest dress, something she’d approve of,” Victor said, ignoring her unease.
“What if she realises? If she doesn’t believe you’re her grandson?”
“Her memory’s shot. Doubt she’d recognise her own son these days.”
Two days later, they stood before a steel door on the third floor of an old brick building. Victor gave Katie a final once-over—her demure look satisfied him.
“Keep quiet, yeah?”
She nodded.
Footsteps shuffled behind the door. A petite elderly woman answered, dressed in a vintage frock with a lace collar, silver hair pinned back with a black bow.
“Can I help you?” she asked, squinting slightly.
“If you’re Margaret Elizabeth Whitmore. This may sound odd, but I’m your grandson,” Victor said solemnly.
“I don’t understand… My son never married.”
“May we come in?” Victor flashed his infallible charming smile.
“Of course.” Margaret stepped aside.
“Just as I imagined you.” Victor strode in, pausing by a framed photo of a young man in military dress uniform.
“Mum has a different picture—him as a cadet.” He turned back to her.
“I still don’t quite follow…”
“I’m from Manchester. Your son trained there, didn’t he? Mum met him just before graduation. When he left, she found out she was pregnant. He never wrote, never called. She thought he’d abandoned her. Only recently did she tell me the truth. I tracked you down… learned he’d died a hero.”
Margaret gasped, sinking into a chair, tears welling.
“My boy… Christopher…”
“Mum named me after him.”
Katie watched, mesmerised. Victor lied so convincingly, she nearly believed him herself. Margaret, too, was under his spell. She fetched an album, flipping through photos of her son.
Katie’s throat tightened. What she wouldn’t give for a father like that, a grandmother like this… Her mother wouldn’t have drunk herself into ruin, wouldn’t have let strangers into their home.
She realised Victor barely glanced at the photos. Of course—this was just a role. He wasn’t here to reminisce. He was here to rob a grieving woman.
Suddenly, Katie couldn’t stomach it. Every instinct screamed *no*. She wanted to protect Margaret. Victor caught her look and understood.
“Oh, where are my manners? You’ve just arrived—where are your things?”
“At a hotel. We’re only here a couple of days,” Victor—now “Christopher”—said.
“Nonsense! My grandson, staying in a hotel?” Margaret fussed.
“Work calls, Gran. And the wedding—so much to arrange. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“If only Christopher had lived to see this. And your mother?”
“Remarried, then divorced. She thought he’d abandoned her.” Victor smoothly painted his fictional father as flawed—while he, the son, deserved love.
Margaret bustled off to make tea.
“Don’t feel sorry for her. It’s just a job,” Victor whispered. “That ring she’s wearing? Get her to show you the rest. Understood?”
Katie nodded.
Over tea, Margaret spoke of losing her son, asked about his time in Manchester. Victor improvised, spinning tales.
“Were you a teacher?” Katie asked suddenly.
“Yes. Forty years teaching English literature,” Margaret brightened.
“You remind me of mine. She wore a green ring too—and a brooch sometimes. Round, with a blue stone and little white ones around it.”
“My husband gave me the ring. This… oh, I forget the name…” Margaret left the room.
“Clever girl,” Victor mouthed.
She returned with the brooch.
“Like this?”
Victor’s eyes gleamed. He took it, fingers trembling.
“Too heavy to wear often. But this is for you.” Margaret handed Katie a ring. “A diamond. My wedding gift.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Take it,” Margaret insisted. Victor’s glare warned Katie not to refuse.
She slid it on. A perfect fit.
“Thank you. I’ll never take it off,” Katie whispered, eyes welling.
*Just the beginning,* Victor’s look said.
Margaret offered to shop for dinner. Victor insisted they’d go instead.
Outside, Katie asked, “Why didn’t we stay? We could’ve searched the flat.”
“And let her chat with neighbours? No. We leave clean.”
When they returned, Margaret was cooking. Katie helped with salad. From the living room came faint sounds—drawers opening.
Later, Victor “went for a walk.” Katie stayed with Margaret. They talked. Then Margaret brought out a jewellery box. Gems sparkled inside.
“Husband’s gifts. No use to me now. Take them.”
“No, really—” Katie backed away.
“If I die, strangers will get them. Better they stay in the family. Don’t tell Christopher. Wear them at the wedding—surprise him.”
Katie took the box to the spare room. She hid the jewels in a shoebox, tucked the empty case behind linens.
That night, Victor whispered, “You got them?”
She nodded.
“Good. Once she’s asleep, we’re gone.” He kissed her. “Found some cash too—funeral savings, probably. The brooch alone’s worth a fortune. Simple, eh?”
Guilt gnawed at Katie. But crossing Victor? Unthinkable.
Half an hour later, Margaret’s snoring sounded.
As the years passed, Katie became the daughter Margaret never had, and though the sting of betrayal lingered, love and kindness slowly mended what deceit had broken—proving that even the darkest paths can lead to light.
