Chapter 1 - Lucie

After much deliberation, Lucie picked the red lipstick.

She looked good in red lipstick. After all, red was her signature color.

Technically, no, it wasn't, she corrected herself. Factually, a beige rose or pale pink lip shade would probably work better with her skin tone and hair color (Special Edition Vogue, beauty section, page 32).

But Lucie had envisioned a deep cranberry for this outfit, and dammit, she was going to wear it.

Well, shit. Where had she put it?

Lucie cursed as she tripped over a fallen pair of nude pumps on the floor, catching herself on her dresser. The glowing green numbers on her alarm clock glared at her.

It was time to the facts: A) she was going to be late, again, B) she had just stubbed her toe, and C), misplacing a flimsy (yet essential!) cosmetic item was not a good excuse for ducking out on yet another Boston town charity gala.

Ooh, lightbulb. Maybe Lucie could pretend she was sick. Then she could stay home and order Chinese, maybe watch cartoons on her plasma screen.

Nah. She'd faked cramps one too many times in the past. And if anyone else knew she did that, she'd be disowned from society. After all, Lucie Montes could be described in many ways, but childish was not one of them.

(Maybe it was immature, but when it was late and dark in the empty townhouse, some good old fashioned Nickelodeon seemed to be the only thing that helped her get to sleep.)

Lucie ran a manicured hand down the side of her dress, grimacing. It was so tight. Silver and lightly sequined, with spaghetti straps and a hem that skimmed the tops of her tanned thighs. It was also flashy and overpriced, but at least she looked the part.

Now she had about two minutes to get it together.

Gah. Where was her lipstick?? Christian and his driver were probably waiting for her outside, too polite to honk the horn.

Lucie jutted a thumb at her reflection in her table mirror. Her brown eyes were wide. Antsy.

"Get it together."

She grabbed another tube of makeup behind her mirror and haphazardly shoved it in her cream Chanel handbag without recapping it. Grabbing her pumps with the other hand, she averted her gaze from her reflection as she crossed her room and pushed open the door.

When she was younger and forced to attend these dinner parties, Lucie would hang out in the back of the room with a plate of cheese puffs. Good times.

But now that she was older, she had responsibilities— this usually only meant smiling seductively at people and trying not to run screaming out of the Hotel Rich-and-Snotty-Old-Fogies, or, wherever she was at the time.

Lucie knew that all of the other eligible young women in New England would sell their souls to get on the invite list to one of the charity galas. She should be grateful.

But it wasn't her fault they were so boring!

Lucie pondered this as she climbed down the winding staircase to the front room.

It was a shame, really, that there wasn't a dress that looked good with cheese puff powder down the front of it. If Lucie ever opened up her own boutique line, that would be the first thing she'd invent.

She turned the knob as quietly as she could and opened the front door of her father's townhouse.

Leaves were falling in Boston; invading the monuments, blanketing the park benches, coating the grey-white of the sidewalks with reddish brown leaf stains. The heat remained as a last hurrah to Indian Summer while the trees painted themselves lovely shades of apricot and yellow.

Lucie stepped off the porch with one heeled foot, peering at the twilight moon. A breeze from a passing car brushed past her ears, momentarily flipping up her hair.

Christian usually preferred her to wait inside for him to pick her up, but she liked her moments of privacy in the fresh air, scanning the blurred lights on the street. She figured there were worse things than Christian's half-hearted scolding while he placed his hand on her back and led her to the car.

A tough life for a twenty-two year old heiress.

Lucie could suddenly hear her father's Oxford's tapping through the door and anxiously craned her neck as flashing lights reared onto the driveway. Relief spilled guiltily through her as their driver pulled to a stop and Christian's three-piece suit appeared out of the shiny black doors.

Christian Beaufort was tall, handsome. Even if nothing else about Lucie could draw envious glances, having him on her arm was; with his black hair, bronzed skin, and broad shoulders that pushed out in a way that was both intimidating and appealing. Confidence rang out with every step he took.

His dark eyes sought her out. "You didn't wait inside."

"I do what I want."

Lucie's fianceé rolled his eyes. "Where's your father?"

"Damn. You just missed him."

Lucie hated being sandwiched between Christian and her father. They got along remarkably well, spoke the same business-y language. Stocks and red-blooded politics and things. It only got worse when she and Christian had gotten engaged that summer.

Christian held out his arm while Lucie dug in her purse for her lipstick.

"Are you ready? We're going to be late."

"Shit." Lucie pursed her lips. Expensive wax the color of dusty rose smeared the silk fabric. "I spilled."

His hand fell to her elbow. "I'll buy you a new one."

She quickly thanked their driver as she slid into the car, tugging her dress further down her thighs.

Their driver was quiet and withdrawn, letting them have their privacy.

"Look." Lettie pointed at the window where her fingerprint stained the foggy glass. "I drew a smiley face."

Christian hummed in response, slinging a husky arm around her shoulders. He was placid today, idle. Thinking of something else.

Lucie shifted in her seat and tugged her dress down further down her thighs. Christian began murmuring about baseball, his voice softly fading into background noise.

After a moment, Lucie turned her head to look out the window, carefully taking in each detail of the curved tree branches and peeled painting on the buildings they passed. There was something lonely about busy streets.

-

Despite appearances, Lucie was actually very aware of everyone's gazes on her. Evaluating her appearance, measuring how her dress fell against her skin and highlighted her light brown complexion.

For anyone else, it might have been nerve-racking, but all Lucie felt was a vague dullness, and she hoped it showed on her face.

The general public opinion of Lucie was positive, anyway. Not a Massachusetts native, but still a longtime resident in Boston, and being the only child of a real estate mogul, she was the sole heiress of her late mother's oil fortune that had deemed her ridiculously wealthy.

Her engagement to Christian had made a splash in her favor, and she had no family drama to speak of. She gave to charity. She looked and dressed like a Parisian. Like any other Boston socialite her age, she was young, beautiful, and rich; as far as the public was concerned, she had a life anyone would wish for.

Lucie gave a loud, exaggerated sigh and pulled the strap of her dress higher on her shoulders. It was the same old crowd. All the wealthies grouped together into one large house; new money and old and everything in between. The short-skirted society girls whispered together in the corner. There was a mixture of emotions in the room; excited, mostly. Some worried. Some absolutely blank.

Lucie glided through the multitude like a princess looking down on her subjects, meeting the gazes of those she knew and bestowing upon them aloof, icy smiles.

Finally Christian's hand left the small of her back.

"I'm going to talk to Danny and the guys," he murmured. Lucie nodded, barely hearing him as he wandered away.

The Vandeweghe house was always so outré. The Federal architecture, stringed lights, garish decorations. Lucie wanted to take one of their fancy champagne glasses and throw it into someone's face just to see the ensuing reactions.

She didn't.

Lucie sometimes wondered at what point exactly it was that she'd developed such a bad attitude. Probably when Wendy's discontinued their spicy chicken nuggets.

"Lucie!" A hiss cut through the noise and she glimpsed a gloved hand waving at her above the crowd. Moments later, her friends Diana and Violet emerged from the color, grinning at her. Lucie felt just the tiniest bit of relief.

"Hey you." Diana's ebony coils bobbed slightly when she nodded. "I hope you got rid of Christian, because we need you to entertain us."

Lucie gave tall, blonde Violet a quick side hug. "I was thinking of throwing M&Ms into Hennessey's wig to pass the time. That thing is like a spider web-"

"She's wearing her other one tonight."

"Really? Damn. Hey, is Lane not with you guys?" Lucie inquired suddenly, thinking of the daughter of the house- and their third redhead friend.

"If you find her, let us know." Diana popped a grape into her mouth. "Nathaniel Abrams is here, and you know she's had the hots for him since grade school."

The three stood in silence as they watched the glamour in front of them. Some people had started to dance in the center of the polished wooden floor of the ballroom, offset by a soothing jazz melody.

"Jeez," Diana grumbled, lifting her drink to her lips. "I hate drunk old people."

"Careful," said Violet. "That'll be us in forty years."

Lucie's shoulders hunched slightly at the thought. She glanced at her two friends, but their faces were impassively content.

"I kind of want to dance," Violet began, and, after a pause, Diana murmured in agreement.

"I'm going to make Joey Fitzpatrick ask me. Lucie, you coming?"

Lucie couldn't think of anything she wanted to do less. She glanced around as she thought wildly for an escape.

"Uh...  one sec. I need some air," she mumbled finally, making a swift exit as the music changed to something poppy and fast-paced.

She shouldered past a few of the elderlies, dodging greetings as she passed.

"Hi, Lucie!"

"How's your father?"

"Where's your dress from, Lucie?"

"Where's she going?"

"Oh, off somewhere. Lucie's always been sort of a lone wolf. You know what they say about-"

The hall was cramped and somewhat empty. Thank goodness. Lucie stepped around a white column and leaned against it, letting her head rest against the cool surface while her heartbeat slowed down. She closed her eyes.

It was too loud. Everyone in the house exuded noisy, selfish, self-conscious auras like pheromones. Usually Lucie could tune it out, but she could tell when she needed a break.

As soon as Lucie opened her eyes, an icy, prickling feeling abruptly crawled over her, like a tingling spider on her back. She frowned.

Something wasn't right.

The muffled voices of people gradually began to disappear the further Lucie went into the corridor.

She followed the cold, nervous sensation she was feeling to the living room, where the Vandeweghes stored all of their expensive art. It was dim and quiet. Sometimes Lucie liked to hide in here and sit on the loveseat when she was tired.

She pushed open the sliding glass door and was immediately greeted by a cool rush of air. Goosebumps rose lightly on her forearms, and she absently chafed her hand on her wrist.

It was dark, quiet, but something restless lingered, stirring, in the air. And it smelled sort of strange, too. Lucie tensed, her hand slipping to the pepper spray she'd hidden at the bottom of her purse. She felt silly about it almost immediately; it wasn't as if anything was wrong. She was so paranoid.

Something wet and thick dripped onto her shoulder. It was runny, like egg yolk. Red egg yolk.

Lucie stumbled backwards, unable to contain the gasp that flew from her lips.

Blood.

**annd that's a wrap on chapter one!! First impressions of Lucie?? Next chapter you guys will meet Milo ;) HOPE YOU LIKE/LIKED**