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Saturday | 3 a

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Saturday | 3 a.m.

The call came at three in the morning.

The ringtone sounded obnoxiously throughout the spacious dark bedroom, only illuminated by the faint glows of New York City's nightlife filtering in from between the curtains.

As loud as it reverberated through the sleepy silence, it wasn't doing anything to wake the girl up in the slightest. Remy Ruby was in a sleep so deep she wasn't a slight bit disturbed by the ringing noise overpowering her soft snores.

It was only by the third call that she finally stirred from her sleep.

Rey stuck out her right hand towards the bedside table, blindly feeling for the flat rectangular device, her face still buried in a pile of feathery pillows. Her phone continued to ring alarmingly loud, as if it was on a life or death mission to wake the girl up.

Her hand swept through the smooth wooden slab of the table, accidentally knocking off the clock on it. The sharp sound of the glass face shattering immediately made Rey to wake up with a jolt. She sat up, alarmed, her body tangled in the dark brown sheets.

Rey wondered who on earth was calling her at this ungodly hour and reached for her phone, her sleepy eyes barely registering the pile of shattered glass on the carpeted floor when she glanced down at the mess briefly.

She looked at the caller ID and was surprised to see it was the butler of her family's mansion, Tony. Why would he be calling her at this time, she wondered.

"Hello," she answered groggily, her voice still heavily laced with sleep. This better be good, she thought. She had had a long day and was not in the mood for any family drama.

"Miss Remy?" The elderly man sounded panicked, his raspy old voice shaking.

A coil of dread started to blossom in Rey's insides. Nothing good ever came when someone from her house called, especially at three in the morning. "You have to be at the mansion right now."

As Rey continued listening to Tony, her sleep induced state started to wear out, her emerald green eyes widening every passing second.

By now, the coil of dread had already developed into a thunderstorm inside her chest and it wasn't subsiding as she rushed out of her bed, shrugged into the first clothes she could grab or as she drove to the mansion as fast as she could.

This can't be true, Rey thought, and she kept repeating the same thing inside her head like a mantra throughout the whole drive from her apartment in Manhattan to the outskirts of the city where huge estates were located in the seclusion of tall trees, in their own exclusivity.

Tony had called to tell her that her sister was dead. Chevelle was found dead during one of her parties. Rey couldn't believe it. She wouldn't, until she could confirm it herself.

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