Chapter One

The Upper Hand

The young woman left her hotel room that evening with a purse clutched in her hand. A snob, people called her. An upstart. A pretender. She was all of these things and more. She was a queen in everything but name. Her money, influence, and power carried their own weight.

Her long blush-colored dress swept down to hug her knees, matching her manicured nails. Her left ring finger attracted specific attention, with the skin still bare. Yet, there was still hope for a ring. The woman had no shortage of suitors. It was only a matter of time before the desire for more wealth and control, paired with society’s constant pressures swayed her to accept a proposal. Her leather belt snared her waist, displaying the graceful curves of her figure, the perfection subtle enough to disguise the signs of a surgeon’s skilled hand. Though she was of average height, her stiletto boots raised her slightly higher off the ground. Lipstick the color of crushed roses made her shimmering white teeth glow even brighter, and silver shadow dusted her eyelids, framed by long fluttering lashes. Her eyes shone with youth and intelligence but also with mischief: a warning of her personality to those who only saw her beauty.

Her name? 

Seraphina.

Seraphina entered the elevator, even though her suite was just one floor below the rooftop bar. She never took the stairs after her face was made up. Just as the doors began to slide shut, a young girl, about eleven or twelve, slipped between them. She had a sharp nose, freckles, and dark brown, almost black eyes that looked only at her own feet. Her long locks framed her face, a veil for her to hide behind. The girl risked a glance and then a shy smile. Seraphina didn’t return it. She raised her eyebrows appraisingly. The girl quickly returned to her refuge behind her hair. 

They began rising. Seraphina kept her hands clasped in front of her, unmoving, as she stared straight ahead. The elevator, completely transparent and located against one of the glass walls of the hotel, allowed those inside to watch the city of Paris shrink into a haze of lights as they ascended the floors of L’Hôtel Capricieux. Seraphina turned her eyes skyward and watched the untainted view of the silver moon high in the night sky. It was as though it had tried to be a sphere but had not completely succeeded. 

The doors opened once more. Seraphina got out and stepped into the night air.

The rooftop bar was modern and cold, unlike the city around it. With angular lounges scattered across the area and an obsidian fountain lazily trickling water, the place had a decidedly dark style. It sprawled so high above the city that Seraphina could barely make out the manicured lawns at the base of the hotel. A handful of people her age filled the bar. Luckily, she didn’t recognize any faces, only a look of affluence conveyed through their dress if not their manners. She saw several couples in passionate embrace, others getting pleasantly and publicly intoxicated through the haze of cigarette smoke and perfume. The pianist was striking the final chords of his mournful song when Seraphina crossed the space and slipped onto a barstool. An attractive young man with dark hair sat down next to her. His face held a self-possessed quality suggesting his appearance was not the limit of his charm but the beginning of it. 

“You look nice,” he said. Contrary to the sentiment, there was no trace of kindness in his voice, only a hint of humor.

Seraphina glared at him. She got straight to the point. “The subject you wished to discuss has nothing to do with you—or me, for that matter. Despite what anyone says.” 

‘The Lund Affair,’ people were calling it. Contrary to what the name implied, they were not accusing her of sleeping with the man—though she was sure the prospect of her seducing a married politician twice her age would have made for delightful cocktail hour gossip. Rather, they charged her with a much less salacious crime: that she’d murdered him. Seraphina did not care for the quality or perpetrators of these rumors, but neither would she dirty her hands to address them. What she would not stand for, however, was Nickolas Demerant, the man sitting next to her, using their friendship as a means to extract a profession of innocence from her. She found it undignified to refute a claim which had no proof behind it. 

She went on. “Calling me for this ‘meeting’ was pointless.”

Nick’s mere presence was an accusation, made all the more seething because he believed her capable of the crime. It was not some righteous scruples that made the idea of her murdering William Lund so preposterous. God knew she had the means—and enough hatred for the man—to have him killed if she wanted to. It was simply beneath her. 

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have come. We all know what you think of people who waste your time,” Nick said, a dry smile giving his handsome face a sinister look. She caught the barely perceptible relief softening his posture. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, she knew Nick found her perceived involvement in William Lund’s disappearance distasteful. Her offhand defense put him at ease, reaffirming a line which—despite her faults—Seraphina would not cross. “So why did you come? Unless it was simply to see me.”

She drummed her fingers against the bar. “Actually, I thought that you could help me with something, now that we’re both here.”

“Ah. There it is. Even if you didn’t deal with him yourself, I can’t do anything about the Lund situation. It’s not good for my image. The moment I involve myself, the rumors are going to come for me.”

“How noble,” she said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I may not have killed him, but I did handle him in a different way. So I don’t want anything much from you at all.” Her eyes danced in the candlelight. “I want you to pass a message along from me to your sister.”

His calm smile disappeared. “What do you want with her?” he demanded.

Seraphina laughed for what felt like the first time in ages. So many people were frightened of her, but she’d never imagined the day Nickolas Demerant followed suit. Then again, everyone knew his sister was the one person Nick cared enough about to protect. “Don’t look so worried. I only want a word with her!” 

“You’ve known her just as long as you’ve known me. Why can’t you contact her yourself?” It was true. Seraphina and Nick had been in the same social circles from infancy. The Demerants and the Lesthams were two of the richest families in the world and had been for generations. In recent decades, their fortunes had expanded even more drastically than in centuries prior. While Seraphina had never been close with Nick’s sister, Andelena, it would be simple to reach out to her directly.

Seraphina contemplated telling Nick the truth: that the matters she wished to discuss with Andelena were too delicate to be transferred through technology. But Nick’s loyalty to his sister surely outweighed his allegiance to Seraphina. The moment he heard the letter she had in her purse contained information that could put Andelena’s life at risk if seen by the wrong people, he would insist on knowing more. And then she’d be forced to lie. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Of course, it’s my concern.” Any trace of the cavalier young man dissipated with the new entrance of stakes to a game he’d been playing with Seraphina for years.

“Like I would do anything to her!” Seraphina said with a laugh, to which Nick narrowed his eyes. He came close to rivaling her in manipulation, and that gave him a certain reverence she didn’t extend to anyone else. Their friendship, though sometimes halted by their fierce personalities, was a strong one. She could afford to toy with him. He couldn’t pretend he’d never done the same to her.

“Either you tell me what you want with her, or you don’t get what you want.”

She looked him in the eyes, her pupils like quicksand. “Listen to me, Nick: your sister can handle her own. Besides, it’s only one letter I need you to give her. There’s nothing nefarious about the matter. It will save me time and peace of mind to have my sentiment as close to untraceable as I can manage.” As he assessed her words, Seraphina felt herself gaining the upper hand. “Please.” It wasn’t a request, but from experience, Seraphina knew that it was easier to get what she wanted without the need for other forms of persuasion. People liked thinking their cooperation was a choice.

His face relaxed a little bit, but his body still held tension. He must have known he’d lost the edge that was his at the start of their conversation. Or maybe he began to wonder if he’d ever had the upper hand with her at all. Straightening his back, he gave in. “I’ll fly in to see her on Friday night. But she’s a bit… unpredictable.” 

With victory within reach, Seraphina shifted back to her usual disposition. “I know.” A grin showed off her perfect teeth. 

“Oh?”

“It’s not like we haven’t met. I do my research, Nick,” she said, eyebrows raised. She heard a ringtone and glanced at her phone. She recognized the name immediately. Seraphina subtly tilted the screen towards her chest; it was a hand of cards she did not want to reveal to Nick. The lie came easily. “My mother is calling me again. I have to take this.” She cursed herself for the poor excuse—her mother never called her—yet Nick seemed too preoccupied to catch the slip-up. Seraphina walked through the double glass doors, back into the hotel, her heels clicking off the ground with every step. 

“No, he agreed,” she reassured when out of earshot. “I convinced him on my own.” The caller said something, and she laughed. “I told you not to doubt me. We should have the deal made soon. She seemed nearly on board before.” They replied with a question. “It went well; I just don’t want to converse so openly.” She paused. “Yes. See you soon. Bon voyage.” She hung up and walked back outside to the bar. She motioned for the bartender to take their order. “Since you took the trouble to come here, the drinks are on me.” 

Five minutes later, her French 75 arrived, a martini for Nick.

They spoke of the pleasantries and the less pleasant affairs of society. The circles the two of them ran in left no scarcity of scandals to speak of. For twenty minutes, they drained their respective glasses and were back to the usual intimacy they afforded each other when they weren’t screaming. 

Their topic of conversation shifted to Nick’s recent stock market victory. “The Psyche stock jumped last week, didn’t it?” Seraphina asked.

“Yes, it’s good I bought in when I did.”

Alcohol thrummed through her bloodstream, just enough to make her want to push the limits. “So not all new beginnings are cause for mistrust?” she asked. 

Nick caught her meaning immediately, his face hardening, but not enough to give warning to the coming storm. “How many times do I have to say it to get it through your head? I want no part in your sordid cases or investigating.” Seraphina finished her cocktail and signaled the bartender for a second. Nick did not stop. “You don’t deal with the real issues. You dig up stories; half of them might be lies for all we know. And even if it’s not by your doing, the rumors always get out. Is this really the best you can do?” She opened her mouth but was cut off by Nick. “No one ever looks past the surface with you. Don’t you understand that? All they see is a rich girl with a pretty face—”

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked, her lips turning into an innocent grin. She watched Nick’s knuckles turn white against the marble bar.

“I should get going,” he said, “No point wasting time here with you when I could be with people whose talents consist of more than waving a credit card around.” 

“I’m not asking for a definitive answer. I just think you should keep your options open until you realize the significance of what I’m offering you,” she said, raising her eyebrows. The speech was crafted well, but there was no passion behind it. They’d had this conversation many times over. It always ended the same way: with neither she nor Nick swaying on their stances. Even as the words left her mouth, Seraphina barely registered uttering them. Her body had gone on high alert, distracted by something she couldn’t place. Nick turned around and stalked out of the bar without another word. She did not stop him.

The letter was still in her purse. The main mission of the night hadn’t been accomplished, but there were other ways to get what she wanted. The bartender handed her the drink, and she brought it to her lips.

The next day, Nick’s assistant brought him a creamy white envelope on a silver platter. He opened it to reveal a thick piece of paper with a dark border. Each letter branded his mind. The panic struck before he could finish. How is this possible? He thought. A scream built in his throat. He needed someone to tell him it wasn’t true. 

His last conversation with Seraphina echoed through his head.