The necklace was hanging heavily her neck, but she smiled. She didn't feel the burden of it. Never in her life had she dreamed of purchasing such a wonderful, exquisite thing – dreamed for sure about it, but it had been out of her reach.

Until that certain day, when everything had changed…

"To think that I lived my whole life without even knowing that you existed," she smiled at her reflection at the mirror, holding up the diamond. It was glittering and shining against the light. Despite having a roof over her head, she had never been rich. Like other people she had had to worry about buying food, paying her debts and above her the sword Damocles of hanging, fearing her landlord might fire her.

Now she didn't need to pay attention anymore to these ridiculous devices. Mrs. Pearson was happy, radiating her appearance to the outside. Really, the day couldn't have been better.

She was born to a family of peasants, but had managed to become friends to the most popular men in the city. In the beginning she had been execrated, when they had touched her in places that were normally taboo for men.

When the first one of them had moved his hands over her, taken her virginity, she had wanted to throw up. But then she had forced herself together. When her father had found out, he had been furious, hit her and told her that she was nothing but a whore.

Silently on that day she had cried herself to sleep, knowing deep in her mind that he had been right.

Her mother had shed tears instead, locking her up into her room, but hadn't been able to stop her. She had run away with one of them, away from her old life and hadn't been back since – now some twenty years.

"My god, I'm an old woman."

Indeed her mirror-image had transformed into that of her mother.

"But a rich one that is. Well suited..."

She heard the sound of the doorknob clicking and shortly the face of a man was joining hers in the looking glass.

"You look beautiful, Mrs. Pearson," he told her moving his lips to her neck. "And what a nice exquisite necklace you've got."

He always called her Mrs. Pearson, rather than Mary, which was her real name, telling her the name of the holy mother didn't fit to her actions.

Instinctively her hand moved down coming to rest around the neck.

He laughed drawing back slightly.

"Ha, ha! Do you think I'm going to steal it?"

She shot him a strange look, knowing exactly what being poor could do to people, especially, if they had suddenly turned rich.

"I've seen and met many men like you, Mr. Osborne. You know settled down with beautiful wives, nice little children, but…," she began her voice not showing any emotion.

"But?"

"….but all liars," she finished breaking down laughing her hand returning to the necklace.

She could see his lips transforming into some mixture of disgust and angriness, causing just more giggling from her side.

"I'm sorry."

Both knew she didn't mean it.

He was about to turn around, leaving her, when she stopped him by forcefully holding back his arm.

"Mr. Osborne…Robert…don't be angry with me," she said turning her head to him.

They had been lovers for ten years already, but never marrying, because Robert was married. Mary didn't like his wife. She thought her to be the typical naïve debutante, beautiful on the outside, but nothing on the inside.

"Now, come on, you know I only wanted to tease you. You know how much I love you."

"You've an odd way of showing," he growled rolling his eyes.

The room was crowded with furniture. Normally a person wouldn't have felt comfortable among the 18th century-like stuff, but Mrs. Pearson liked to be displaying what she had got. She always claimed it to be a compensation of the poor childhood she grew up in and didn't think much of the fact that the room was in reality not very much like that was a high-society lady.

Someone like Ruth Dewitt Bukater would've instantly recognized that she didn't belong to her class, because real richness never would've presented itself in such a bizarre way. But as Mrs. Pearson had never known people of her kind, she couldn't know. She was only happy she didn't have to think about money anymore and she was far from considering that anyone could be hurt.

"Robert…," she made her voice sound like a little pet standing up and leading her head on his shoulder, her way of telling him she was inferior to him, the woman he could play with. Every other man would've taken her into his arms and kissed her. Not so Robert.

He had heard this tirade and her promises to change too often to still believe them. With a harsh gesture he shoved her arm away. Mrs. Pearson was agitated. If there was one thing she didn't like, it was people having a different opinion than she, especially, if this person was called Robert Osborne, a man she thought to be her play-thing.

She took a fan from the desk, clutching it her hands like she had seen the ladies doing many times, to back of an unwanted admirer.

"Do you think yourself better than me?" she hissed waving with the fan as if wanting to catch flies, but more to show him, who was having the upper hand.

Robert, Mr. Osborne, chose not to answer, something that angered her even more. Now could he just ignore her?

"Should I tell your wife about our relationship, Mr. Osborne? Do you think she'd look kindly on…?"

Snap.

She could feel his hand connecting with her cheek. He had slapped her, really struck out his hand against her. For a moment she was too shocked to react, but she soon found her voice again.

"You hit me! Don't you know you don't smack a woman?" she screamed.

Robert just shook his head.

"You're no woman. In fact I'm not sure, if you're even a human-being. You're a humiliation to every real lady on the earth," he stated calmly, before withdrawing from the room.

Mrs. Pearson was in her element, taking hold of a glass and shoving it after him. It broke, when connecting with the closed door.

"Damn you, Mr. Osborne! You're nothing without me. I'm the one with money and power now. You're just a little millionaire that I chose to be accompanying me."

The first glass was followed by a second and third, before she stopped herself in her outburst. She placed her hand around the necklace once more and laughed. Twenty years ago she had decided that she didn't want to live a life in poverty and yesterday her plan had finally come to an end.

While she had found her composure again and set down before the mirror, admiring herself and her new conquest, she could hear the ruffling of sheets at the next door and crying mixed with heavy moaning.

Indeed having money without a doubt also meant, someone needed to be lacking it.

"It would've been a shame for you, to be staying with her," she giggled referring to the diamond not having the slightest mercy with the girl being tortured next door.