She didn’t walk into that jail cell as Scarlett the struggling farmer’s daughter…She came as Scarlett the lady—wrapped in green velvet, chin high, every step rehearsed. 💃✨
Her perfume hung in the air. Her smile… carefully crafted.
Because today wasn’t about charm. It was about survival.
The iron bars between them couldn’t hide her determination.
She leaned in close to Rhett Butler, her voice dripping with warmth and familiarity.
But when his fingers closed over hers, the mask cracked.
Calloused. Rough. Worn by long days in the fields. 🤲💔
Not the delicate hands of the high-society woman she was pretending to be.
Rhett’s eyes sharpened—cool, calculating.
“Why are you really here, Scarlett?”
The warmth in his tone was gone, replaced by something harder… sharper.
She tried to hold her poise, but the truth spilled out.
She needed $300.
Tara was on the brink. Taxes were due.
Her “everything’s fine” had been nothing but a lie.
Rhett leaned back, amused and cold all at once.
“What can you offer in return?”
Earrings? No. Tara itself? Still no.
Her last card—the one she thought might win—was a whisper:
“If you still loved me…” ❤️
The silence that followed felt like it could crush her.
Then his gaze locked on hers, and the words came—slow, deliberate, final:
“You’re not worth $300.” 🥀💵
The velvet dress no longer looked like elegance.
It looked like desperation.
And as Rhett turned away, the truth was clear—she hadn’t just failed to get the money.
She had lost far more than she came for.
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