**Diary Entry**
After work, Emily stopped by the shopping centre. The head accountant had a milestone birthday coming up, and their department had tasked her with picking a gift. She’d spotted a few options, snapped photos on her phone, and planned to show her colleagues tomorrow—whatever they chose, she’d buy. Riding the escalator down to the ground floor, she longed to escape the crowds and chaos.
“Emily?!” a woman’s voice called out.
She turned left, scanning the faces of people moving upward, but none were familiar.
“Emily!” the voice came again.
This time, Emily glanced back and spotted a girl with fiery red hair, clumsily descending the ascending steps.
“Wait for me at the bottom—don’t leave!” the girl shouted.
Emily stepped off and waited. The garish red hair vanished briefly at the top before reappearing as the girl hurried down, bumping into others. The vibrant locks distracted from her face—until recognition struck.
“Scarlett!” Emily exclaimed, realising it was her stepsister.
“Surprise! Been wandering the city, hoping I’d bump into you. Knew it’d happen eventually. There’s a café downstairs—let’s chat.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two weeks already. So glad I found you,” Scarlett said, beaming.
They settled into a café booth. Emily studied her: crimson hair, clumpy mascara spiking her lashes like pine needles, red lipstick mirroring her locks. Petite features gave her a doll-like, almost cartoonish prettiness.
At just four years younger, Scarlett was nearly twenty but dressed like a teen—pleated miniskirt, sheer tights with knee-high socks, chunky trainers, a denim jacket hanging open over a crop top. Heads turned as they sat.
“You look amazing,” Scarlett said.
A waitress handed them menus. Scarlett ordered pizza, cake, and coffee; Emily stuck to coffee.
“Starving. Lucky you—eat whatever you want and stay slim. I’m stuck on brutal diets,” Scarlett sighed.
“Really?” Emily arched a brow. Scarlett had always been scrawny.
“You haven’t seen my mum. Weighed a tonne, no joke. No wonder Dad left. You got the good genes. D’you think they serve beer here?”
“Ask, but I’m driving,” Emily said.
“You’ve got a car? Blimey. Say, any jobs going at your place? Been here two weeks—still unemployed.”
“How’ve you survived?”
“Robbed Dad,” Scarlett giggled. “He’d only drink it away. After you left, he got sacked, scraped by odd jobs. Then shacked up with some dinner lady—free meals, more booze.”
Emily listened, stunned—though she shouldn’t have been. She’d never liked Scarlett’s father, but Mum had dismissed her objections as jealousy. When he moved in, he brought Scarlett along. Emily, then in sixth form, clashed with her stepsister instantly—stolen clothes, smeared makeup. Mum excused it: “She grew up without a mother.”
Then Mum fell ill. Four months later, she was gone.
The so-called stepdad expected Emily to work straight after school, but she fled to London, using savings from grocery money. She studied, worked evenings at Burger King, and later landed a manager role. She scrimped, bought a flat, met Daniel at work. Six months back, he helped her buy a secondhand Ford.
“What qualifications do you have?” Emily asked, snapping back to the present.
“Seriously? School was a struggle—worked a corner shop till Dad got fired for drinking. Came here ’cause his new girlfriend’s just as bad. No future back there.”
Emily smirked. A shopgirl with no prospects, indeed.
“What job d’you want?”
“I’d make a brilliant secretary. Your boss single?”
“Married, with a secretary.”
“Shame. Won’t clean toilets, FYI,” Scarlett said, eyeing her pizza greedily.
“Money’s money—filing or mopping. I’ll ask around.” (A lie. Letting Scarlett near her office? Like inviting a fox into the henhouse.)
“Got a bloke?” Scarlett nodded at Emily’s ringless hand.
“Not married, but seeing someone. Two years—planning to wed.” (Another lie. Daniel stayed over but cared for his sick mum. Marriage would burden Emily with her—he’d hesitated.)
Scarlett scoffed. “Smart girl like you? If he hasn’t proposed in a year, he won’t. It’s now or never.”
“Since when are you a sage?” Emily glanced at her ring—a delicate band, tiny diamond. Matching studs, bought by Daniel in Amsterdam, caught the light beautifully. Proof of love, but she didn’t argue.
“It’s a diamond,” she said.
“So he’s loaded?” Scarlett paused mid-bite.
“Not at all—he just loves me.”
Scarlett gave her a odd look, then dropped her gaze. “You?”
“Looking. Had a fling… Want someone rich—flat, car, the lot.”
(*Ah. Husband-hunting.* Emily doubted Scarlett’s neon getup would attract tycoons.)
The coffee was drunk; conversation stale. Emily craved home but knew Scarlett wouldn’t vanish.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, flagging the waitress. Scarlett let her pay—though Emily had only had coffee.
“You’ll ask about jobs?” Scarlett pressed.
“Yeah,” Emily lied, standing.
Outside, memories flashed: Mum and her alone, then Scarlett’s dad moving in. Emily had loathed them. After Mum’s death (cancer, the doctors said), he’d drunk harder. Miraculously, he’d never found Emily’s hidden savings—her escape fund.
Time to part ways.
“Em, you renting?”
“No—bought with a mortgage.”
“Wow. Can I crash with you? Just till I find work.”
“Where’ve you been staying?” (*Here it comes.*)
“Mate’s place.” Scarlett looked away. “Need out.”
Emily hesitated. Letting Scarlett in meant no privacy with Daniel. But those puppy-dog eyes…
“Fine. One-bed flat—sofa bed in the kitchen.”
Scarlett beamed, darting into Emily’s car.
For two weeks, Scarlett lazed about, scrolling her phone, then left evenings “job-hunting”—returning reeking of smoke and booze. (*Club-hopping for sugar daddies,* Emily guessed.)
“Any luck?” Emily finally asked.
“Was gonna ask you,” Scarlett countered.
“Only cleaner jobs—beneath you, right?”
“Tired of me? Kicking me out?”
“No, but I like my space. Clubbing’s pricey—surely you can afford rent?”
“Blokes pay my way,” Scarlett shrugged.
“Shocker.”
Daniel grumbled too. Intimacy was awkward with his mum nearby. And Scarlett pilfered Emily’s clothes—denials pointless. She’d done it since childhood.
“Could work at Burger King, like I did. But leeching suits her.”
“Let me talk to her,” Daniel offered.
One evening, the doorbell rang. Scarlett answered—wearing shorts and a tight top, flaunting her figure.
“Blimey,” Daniel said.
Over dinner, Scarlett flirted shamelessly—passing dishes, brushing against him. Emily excused herself, fuming. Then—a shriek. She rushed to the kitchen.
“Stop. Your ‘charms’ won’t work on me. Had enough exploiting Emily? Jobs exist—you just don’t want one. Or a bloke who’d fall for this act.” Daniel gripped her wrists.
“You’re hurting me!” Scarlett hissed.
Emily froze in the doorway.
“He attacked me!” Scarlett whined.
“Liar. You came onto me. Out by tomorrow—or I toss your stuff into the street.” He released her. Red marks bloomed on her wrists.
Emily stayed silent. Scarlett fled.
“Don’t follow her,” Daniel warned.
Drawers slammed.
“Steal anything, and I’ll know,” he called.
Scarlett left with two bags (one more than she’d arrived with).
“Keys,” Daniel demanded. The door slammed.
“Where’ll she go?” Emily fretted.
“Her problem. Check if she took anything. I’ll change the locks.”
Life normalized. Daniel stayed over; Scarlett didn’t call. Then Emily noticed missing dresses, trousers, underwear—even her holiday savings. No police report; they’d never find her.
Daniel proposed. They set a autumn wedding.
Then—at a café—they spotted Scarlett. Wearing Emily’s dress, hair darkened to match, makeup subdued. From afar, she could’ve passed for Emily. An older man sat with her.
“Let’s go,” Emily muttered, leaving.
“She’s copying you. Should’ve confronted her,” Daniel gripedThe police never found Scarlett, but as autumn leaves began to fall, Emily finally stopped glancing over her shoulder, learning that some shadows fade when you stop feeding them with fear.
