Alex

Prologue

Bethany Dalton was an enigma. One that a girl like me should never have dared to underestimate.

I crashed into her when I was only twenty-one as I ran home from work in the freezing English rain. She was standing underneath a Moschino embellished umbrella, her snow-white coat clean and untouched by the water. Her dark-red leather stilettos were a stark contrast to the otherwise dreary day, somehow withstanding the harsh weather as the droplets ran straight off the side onto the dirty ground.

Outside of work, I'd never even dared to wear heels that high. Instead, my own battered black trainers were sodden; my socks drenched and brown coat soaked. My mother had taken the only umbrella we owned that morning, leaving me with nothing but my tiny black bag to try and shield myself from the harsh weather. It had, understandably, failed miserably.

I stumbled backward when we collided. Her gaze instantly lifted from the ground, giving me a view of her full red lips as they parted. She let out a small gasp as her own feet wobbled.

'I-I'm so sorry,' I stammered before she looked me in the eye. Her blue gaze mirrored my own, and she gave me a small smile.

'I should have been watching where I was going,' I continued, babbling as the rain streaked down my face, blurring my vision. I blinked like crazy in a vain attempt to keep the water from seeping into my eyes.

'It's an awful day,' she replied, her voice calm and innocent. Her accent gave her away, and I instantly knew that she wasn't from this part of London – she almost certainly lived in a borough with tall white town houses that cost five hundred years' worth of my salary.

'It is,' I agreed, nodding. 'I'm still sorry.'

'Come with me,' she offered, gesturing in front of her. There was a sleek black car parked beside the pavement and I shook my head. 'Let me give you a ride home.'

'I couldn't—'

'Nonsense.' She laughed, throwing her head back and letting her glossy chestnut hair fall over her shoulders. I was mesmerised by the sight, knowing that my own dull bedraggled brown strands were the complete opposite. 'I insist.'

For some unknown reason – maybe it was the rain or maybe the pure intrigue this girl exuded – I got into the car and let her drive me home.

I had no idea why she ever picked up a poor, drowned-looking girl off the street, but from then on Bethany would text me every week to check in and ask how I was. After six months, she finally invited me out for drinks, disregarding my request for a cheap pub and dragging me into a high-end cocktail bar, insisting on paying for every last drink.

From there, our friendship spiralled – drinks every other Sunday and dinner every three Wednesdays. She would FaceTime me to ask which outfit she should wear to every event she attended and every club she partied in. In return, I would message her to find out what fancy words meant whenever they cropped up in one of the books I enjoyed reading.

Eventually, in the summer I turned twenty-three, Bethany insisted on treating me to a holiday. Despite her being someone you never dared say no to, I tried. Following persistent begging and my numerous, futile attempts to shoot her down, I finally gave in, and she flew both of us to Lanzarote for two weeks of luxury and pure indulgence.

It was absolutely insane, the first holiday I'd ever gone on – forever ingrained in my mind. I roamed the hotel behind Bethany, watching the way she swanned around the resort, demanding this and that from every employee, leaving me absolutely speechless before she'd flash one of her pearly-white smiles and hand me a drink.

I was in absolute awe of the power Bethany possessed, drawing all the attention in a room and making herself the centre of attention without even trying. Every man ogled her; every woman stared. They couldn't help it. She'd turn up every day in a brand-new outfit, something I'd never seen before, yet obviously expensive.

I never knew much about her background. Her parents stayed in Mayfair when they were in London, but she avoided them as much as possible. They would beg her to join them at various dinners with numerous wealthy families. Apparently, it was extremely important for Bethany to do, given that her sister Katherine had tainted the family with an apparent scandal years before, though Bethany refused to go into any further detail on the subject.

Bethany only ever joined her parents when they returned to their country home in Hampshire for the winter, when London was at its most dreary. Even then, she never engaged with anyone her parents wanted her to meet. Instead, if they had guests around, Bethany would stay somewhere else.

She always bragged about how genius she was at avoiding the English elite, steering clear and not letting anyone from her childhood find her.

I never quite knew why it was so important to her.

As far as I could tell, Bethany loved the money and the luxury, but spending time with anyone similar appalled her; she preferred to spend her time with people 'like me.' However, bizarrely, she never introduced me to anyone else – it was always just her and I. She made me feel like someone who mattered, like I wasn't just an idiot from the lower classes. She laughed at my jokes and encouraged me to give her more, begging me to tell her everything about my life.

I fell for every word – hook, line and sinker – happily divulging every secret and explaining my entire life in great detail. I bathed in the cocktails, soaked up the expensive creams she bought me for my twenty-fourth birthday, and enjoyed the company of the gorgeous, perfect brunette.

She was the first best friend I had ever had, one who literally made me feel like I was living out Gossip Girl in the flesh. Minus the drama of course.

I had no idea what was coming my way.

Bethany Dalton was an enigma. And I underestimated her, and her devious ways, more than Warner Huntington III did Elle Woods.