Chapter 50 Escape to Boston
Boston lacked Silverlight City's finesse but exuded an extra touch of decadence.
In the city's neon blur, the strange disconnect nearly drowned Jasmine.
Curled up in the corner, she shivered fiercely.
Boston was not Silverlight City. There, even without a true winter, the cold cut deep. Here, the winter was real.
Snow swirled at night, with passersby hustling through the flurries.
Leaning against the glass of a storefront window, Jasmine watched the heavy snowfall.
She'd loved snowy days as a child because Silverlight City never had them. Her longing to see snow was that much stronger.
"Jasmine, this year I will take you to see the snow in Philadelphia."
She remembered the winter before her ruse was exposed. Her brother, Evan, had arranged everything – whisking her away straight from school to give her a wondrous surprise.
As a child, Evan's love was unquestionable, giving his sister every bit of protection a brother could. It had felt so deserved back then, now it seemed like a debt to repay.
For years, Jasmine endured the Wilson family's schemes and Serena's wrath in silence because, for the first two decades of her life, she had received warmth that was never meant for her.
She understood Serena's hatred.
"I checked the forecast; the snow starts right when our plane lands."
That year, Evan fondly ruffled Jasmine's hair, taking her to marvel at Philadelphia's snowy canvas.
Bundled up in a thick down coat, she was warm despite the chilly air.
But now, she was awake from that dream, facing the stark reality that was rightfully hers.
"Jasmine!"
"Wake up, Jasmine!"
Jasmine had dozed off by the window. The call startled her, and she hugged herself in a panic.
"Afraid of what? I'm not going to bite," quipped a woman squatting in front of Jasmine. Despite the snow, she was clad in a miniskirt, her eyes smudged with dark makeup.
Jasmine let out a sigh of relief. "How did you know I was here...?"
"The ATM's shelter is the only spot to crash near the train station, and it's safe," the woman said with a chuckle. Lighting up a cigarette, she pulled one from her bag. "When you called yesterday, I thought I'd misheard. I told you to hit me up as soon as you got out. Why did you only show up now?"
A bit embarrassed, Jasmine replied, "I spent a few days at home with my kid."
"Alright, come with me."
The woman's name was Emily, Jasmine's ex-cellmate, and also the one who had gotten out early. She had followed the wrong man before landing in prison – a guy who was kept by his wife and had made his fortune with her family's help before shamelessly taking on a mistress. When his wife found out, she demanded Emily repay the money. When Emily refused, the man and his wife sued her for extortion.
He was clever; he toyed with Emily for three years.
"I heard on the phone that you're looking to make some money?" Emily gave Jasmine a once-over, noting her shivering. She thought she was too fragile. "You wouldn't last a day in our business."
"I can handle it; I'm tough," Jasmine insisted, shaking her head. "I can hustle; waitressing, serving drinks, you name it."
After taking a deep drag, Emily cracked a knowing smile. "Jasmine, don't tell me you actually believe... that I’m just a waitress? Pulling in ten, twenty grand a month?"
Jasmine froze, finally catching Emily's drift. "I... I can't."
"You're the one who said you're desperate for cash," Emily retorted as she ushered Jasmine into a taxi. "If you're really in need, do the details matter?"
Leaning against the cab window, Emily casually flicked her cigarette butt outside.
Instinctively, Jasmine wanted to protest—littering just wasn't right.
Emily caught Jasmine's intent but laughed it off without malice. "What, you think you're still the Wilson family heiress?"
Jasmine flinched and shrinked into the corner.
Yeah, she should return that pride and bogus nobility to the Wilsons. She was meant for the muck.
Evan and Daniel wanted her to rot in it.
In the cab, Emily's voice took on a solemn tone. "The place I'm talking about doesn’t favor freeloaders. Heads up, you’re a knockout with a dancer's grace—that's your edge. If you play this right, no one can top you in the game, and the cash flows fast." She sighed heavily.
"The choice is yours. "
Jasmine hung her head in silence.
"Jasmine, five years in prison, huh? You were the most obedient, the one who tried the hardest to turn your life around. Yet every time there was a chance for parole, your name was mysteriously absent. Anyone with half a brain could see you were being played; someone was stepping on you. You think you can make a clean living, just like that? If that were possible, you wouldn't have come looking for me. Am I right?"
Emily hadn't always been the sharpest tool in the shed, but the school of hard knocks and her entanglements with a string of no-good men had honed her wits.
Seeing Jasmine go mute again, a flicker of pity crossed Emily's eyes, but to what could she do? She was in enough hot water as it was. She was hardly able to save herself, let alone someone else.
"I wish I could help you... What good is a conscience if you lack the means to act on it?" Emily said with a bitter laugh.
She knew what it was like to be caught in the storm and wanted to offer Jasmine shelter, but was she even qualified to hold an umbrella?
"I'll... I'll try," Jasmine said, her voice hoarse.
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