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“From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.”
~ Socrates
My twin brother was missing. Fear shot down my arms as I moved through the ballroom, following the flow of the crowd. People whispered as I passed them. Rumors spread across the room like smoke in the wind. The Devil’s Creek elite offered fake smiles and pleasantries when our gazes met, pretended they weren’t talking about me.
“That’s Alexandrea Wellington,” a blonde woman said with her hand in front of her mouth, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
“She’s beautiful,” another woman commented. “But I heard she’s crazy like her mother.”
My cheeks flushed with heat. I considered correcting her but held my tongue. Pops had coached me before the party, warned me about the nosy townspeople. So I ignored them, keeping my ear to the ground as they gossiped.
The Salvatores hosted their annual Midsummer Night’s Dream party at the end of July. Everyone from the prestigious coastal community attended. And since the Wellingtons were among the founding families, it required me to play my part. So I would be the dutiful granddaughter for one night.
An hour ago, my grandfather had disappeared from the ballroom with Arlo Salvatore, leaving Aiden and me to fend for ourselves against the wolves. My grandmother drank flutes of champagne with her snotty friends, but I kept my distance. She made it clear she hated me. I didn’t know anyone in town, nor did I care to know any of them.
My brother pounded shots of Patrón as he muttered about everyone in Devil’s Creek being stupid rich fucks with no vision. Aiden said that about anyone who gave him shit for his street art, a hobby frowned upon by the masters of the universe. I eventually grew bored watching him drink himself into a coma, so I wandered off and got separated from Aiden.
“She’ll probably run like her mother,” a red-haired woman said about me, flicking her long locks over her shoulder. “The Salvatore men can’t keep the Wellington women around long enough to make an heir.”
A pretty blonde in her late forties tipped her head back and laughed. “If she’s anything like her mother, she won’t last until the wedding day.”
I craned my ear to listen, but the loud orchestra music drowned out their voices. Wedding? An heir? What the hell was she talking about?
Head down, I tugged on my carnival mask and pushed my way toward the ballroom entrance. My name was on everyone’s lips. They wanted to know why my grandfather had kept me hidden for the past eighteen years, why he’d waited to introduce me to his friends.
Men gawked at me, while women studied me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. I knew when I wasn’t wanted somewhere, a lesson I had learned from my shitty parents. So I slipped out of the room and ventured down a long tiled hallway.
Expensive paintings donned the elaborate walls, everything from van Gogh to Metzinger, and I couldn’t help but study them with fascination. The ceiling was so high voices echoed and traveled with me, the sounds growing farther away as I approached the back of the estate. I ascended the long staircase, and though I knew not to pry, I needed to find my brother.
All night I’d dreamed of taking a walk on the beach with Aiden before heading back to Wellington Manor. Neither of us could stand our grandparents dressing us up like dolls, all for the sake of showing us off to their friends. I was on my best behavior all night, and I wanted nothing more than to strip off my heels and feel the sand between my toes.
As I tiptoed down the corridor, a chill rolled down my spine. I was barely dressed, the tulle skirt of my pixie costume riding up my ass. My grandmother had insisted I meet the Salvatore brothers in this ridiculous outfit. I looked like a perfectly wrapped present for them to open on Christmas morning. But they’d just stared at me as our families made the introductions.
Midway down the hallway, a flash of light seeped out from one bedroom. The door was open a crack, wide enough to see a tall, muscular man rip off his suit jacket. He had black hair, tanned skin, and a black and gold masquerade mask rested on his forehead. I watched as he stripped off his shirt and dropped the white oxford on the floor with a silk tie. My mouth fell open as I stared in disbelief at dozens of scars on his back.
A gasp ripped from my throat, and he spun around, nostrils flared. Luca Salvatore was the oldest of Arlo’s boys, heir to billions, and only a few years older than me. And possibly the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen in my life.
