Chapter 13
Princess
I slip out of the front entrance, avoiding anyone who might recognize me. The night is alive with distant music and the murmur of conversation, but out here—in the shadows, beyond the reach of glittering chandeliers and polite smiles—it’s different.
Quieter. Darker.
Making my escape through the stone archway leading outside, I step out into the cold night air. The sharp contrast between the warmth of the ballroom and the crisp evening chill makes my skin prickle beneath the silk of my gown.
I’ve left Lucio behind. For now. I have something else to deal with.
Taking off my heels, I descend the marble stairs in silence, my bare feet soundless against the cold stone. The air is damp with the scent of rain that hasn’t fallen yet, thick with the weight of something unseen.
Then, voices.
I freeze, pressing myself into the shadows near the curve of the staircase, listening.
Dana Hoffman, Lucio’s date. Her voice is low, pleading, laced with desperation. And then, the other voice: James. His London accent comes through strong, unimpressed and sharp.
I peek from behind the stone railing, my breath slow, controlled. The golden glow from the ballroom doesn’t reach them, leaving their figures shrouded in shadows beneath the carved pillars of the terrace. I can’t believe that they’re still talking after she tried kissing him.
“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice wavering.
James exhales, the sound one of impatience, irritation. “Then you’re thicker than I thought.”
She takes a step closer to him, and I see it: her desperation. The way her hands clutch at her gown, the way she tilts her chin just enough to mask how fragile she is beneath it all.
“It’s just an arrangement,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to love her. You don’t have to love anyone. Besides, fidelity in our world isn’t expected.”
James scoffs. Cold. Dismissive.
“I don’t love her,” he says simply. “But that doesn’t mean I want you. And you of all people should know how much I hate cheaters.”
Silence.
It stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Dana’s breath hitches, a quiet, ragged thing. Then she laughs. A choked, bitter sound.
“You’re lying,” she says, desperate now. “You…you used to want me. Before.”
She sounds borderline unhinged.
James stiffens slightly, his shoulders squaring, expression darkening. She’s pushed too far.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. But his voice? It turns to ice.
“Take the rejection and fuck off.”
Her breath catches as if he’s struck her, as if the weight of those words alone is enough to shatter whatever fragile hope she was clinging to.
I don’t need to see her face to know her eyes are burning, her throat closing around the sting of humiliation. Still, she doesn’t move.
Foolish girl.
James sighs heavily, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, more dangerous.
“Did you hear me?” he murmurs. “Or should I say it louder?”
That does it.
Dana stumbles back, her movements stiff, sharp. I can feel the embarrassment bleeding off her. The anger. The quiet, seething rage that comes from being discarded like she’s nothing.
But she is nothing. At least she will be soon.
James leaves, his footsteps sharp and agitated as he vanishes into the night. His rejection lingers in the air, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Dana like a noose she doesn’t yet feel tightening.
She doesn’t leave right away. She stands there, trembling, her breath uneven, her delicate fingers clenching around the fabric of her dress. She’s unraveling. A pathetic little thing, discarded and unwanted.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, she stumbles forward. She moves with no real direction, just the blind instinct to flee.
I don’t follow immediately. I wait. Watch. Let her get lost in the maze of manicured hedges and forgotten pathways.
She’s heading toward the man-made lake at the edge of the hotel grounds.
Perfect.
I pad forward, my bare feet silent against the damp earth. The cold air bites at my skin, but I don’t feel it. Not really. The thrill, the anticipation, is too consuming and intoxicating, wrapping around me like a second skin.
She reaches the lake’s edge, sobbing softly now, hands shaking as she braces herself against the wooden railing that separates the land from the still, black water.
There are no cameras here. No witnesses. Only the wind rustling through the trees and the distant, eerie call of a fox somewhere in the brush.
She doesn’t hear me. Not until it’s too late.
I move behind her, swift and silent. My fingers brush the delicate chain around her throat—a fragile thing, gold and dainty, like her. But it’s thick enough to get the job done.
She gasps, jerking slightly, but I’m already moving. I grip the necklace and pull.
Her breath chokes off instantly, her hands flying to her throat, nails clawing desperately at the chain as it bites into her skin, cutting off her air.
She kicks and struggles, but I am unmoved. I tighten my grip, twisting the chain against her windpipe and pulling her back against me.
The smell of perfume and desperation clings to her, mixing with the cool night air.
Her struggles grow weaker. Her nails scrape against my sheer gloves, but she has nothing left. Her legs buckle, her body convulses, and her gasps turning into silent, strangled cries.
And then…
Nothing.
I hold on for a moment longer, just to be sure. Then I let go. She crumples to the ground, her lifeless body slumping against the damp earth, eyes wide and empty.
There’s a slight tremor that rakes over my body, but I steel my back. I should feel something. Regret. Guilt. A sliver of humanity. But all I feel is satisfaction.
I kneel beside her, working quickly, dragging her toward the bushy area by the water’s edge. The foxes will come. They should, anyway. This area is full of them.
When I retrieve the small flask from my purse, the scent of alcohol fills the air as I drench her body in it. A sloppy detail, meant to mislead, to confuse. A girl—humiliated, rejected, drunk and careless—stumbling toward the water.
A tragedy. A mistake. An accident. Not a murder.
I step back, adjusting my dress, The black silk remains pristine, the night hiding my sins. My gloves, however, are tainted—the sheer fabric now damning evidence of my crime. I peel them off, slow and methodical, stuffing them into my purse before turning on my heel.
And then I walk away. Back toward the ballroom. Back toward him.
I make sure to put my heels back on once the ground turns back to stone instead of grass.
My heartbeat remains steady, my steps measured.
The warmth of the estate embraces me as I slip through the grand doors, the whim of conversation and the clinking of glasses replacing the silence of the dark garden.
I glance at my reflection in the towering mirror by the entrance. Perfect. Untouched. Unbothered. Like I never left at all.
The ballroom is warm, alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of crystal glasses, but I remain untouched by the vibrancy of it all. I move effortlessly through the crowd, my pulse even, my expression one of bored indifference.
No one knows. No one suspects. I should feel safe, confident.
But then I see it.
A smear of mud against the silk of the gown. It’s faint, barely noticeable under the dim glow of the chandeliers, but I see it, and that’s enough.
A flaw. A mistake. Unacceptable.
My fingers tighten around my clutch, my mind working quickly, calculating, assessing my options.
I need to leave. I need to change. I need to burn the gloves before the fibers trap the memory of the pulse against my fingers.
I glance around, searching for an opening. And then I find it.
A waiter moves through the ballroom, balancing a tray of drinks—crimson wine glistening under the light, deep amber liquor reflecting gold. Perfect.
I shift forward, walking straight into his path. The impact is deliberate—a sharp, timed collision.
Glass shatters. Liquid spills. A loud gasp ripples through the nearby guests as red and gold explode over my dress, soaking into the dark fabric, masking the evidence beneath it.
The waiter stumbles back, horrified. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry, miss?—”
I shake my head, putting on a show as I press my fingers against my chest like I’m stunned, embarrassed.
“No, no, it’s alright,” I murmur, my voice breathy, just shaken enough to be believable. “It was an accident.”
People are watching. Exactly as I intended.
A woman gasps. “That dress. Oh dear, it’s completely ruined.”
I exhale, shaking my head. “It’s fine. Really.”
I glance toward my mother, who is already frowning, no doubt calculating the damage done to my presentation.
Good. Let her think I’m embarrassed enough to want to leave.
She approaches swiftly, her gaze sharp as it sweeps over the disaster.
“Princess,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You need to go home and clean yourself up before anyone else sees you like this.”
I nod, playing the part. “I’ll have the driver take me back. It won’t take long.”
Because I’ll be staying home.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue. “Good. I’ll make sure Daniel doesn’t think you ran off.”
Ah, Daniel. I had already forgotten about him.
I bite back a smirk. “Tell him I’ll see him another time.”
Maybe in hell.
She waves me off, turning her attention back to the women she was speaking to. I take my exit swiftly, my soaked dress clinging to me, reeking of liquor and wine.
But I don’t care. Because now I have my excuse. And I have work to do.
By morning, every trace of tonight’s kill will be scrubbed off me and burned.