𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓

Chapter 1: Stranger Danger

For All The Book Girlies Who Dream Of Falling For The Enemy And Tied Up By Their Psychopath Book Boyfriends, R.I.P. To Your Panties.

Celeste

Wearing my black dress and hair pinned straight, my dark red lipstick and black makeup glam that defined my resting face, I walk beside my father and mother, my masquerade mask hiding my green eyes and the upper part of my face, but everyone's attention, perverts to be specific were on me.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my eyes, scanning the room, noticing a specific man drooling over me while his wife laughed beside the other woman.

Pedazo de mierda.

"Fix that face of yours," Mother slaps me on the back, forcing my posture straight, putting a smile on my face, I 'fix' my resting 'bitch' face, "Good, now we're to look for your soon-to-be husband, be nice" Nice my ass, I've lived long enough to know a woman can rule a throne alone, without a man by my side I'll be just as powerful, what is this the 19 century?

My family has always stood by the rules, perfect attitude, posture, fame, money, and marriage.

Like that'll help their four brain cells so far.

My mother is as beautiful as a goddamn goddess, with green eyes, fair skin freckles darting her body, perfect heart-round lips, a...decent personality, and long brown curled hair. Meanwhile, my father was the opposite, at least thirty years older, with blonde ash-grey hair and tan skin.

Surprised he's still with us today.
Don't laugh. I'm joking, you psycho.

My mother is the face of Spain, known as the richest model. My father is the cruelest man I've ever met in my twenty-three years of life. He never cared about his family, only his money, fame, and gambling. I'm surprised he hasn't murdered me yet for speaking my mind.

I learned from the mafia that any man could disrespect a woman. I've watched and spied on every woman I've laid eyes on, how insecure and bruised they were, the hint of fear in their eyes from small little gestures from their husbands, how they followed men behind like lost little puppies.

I'm the complete opposite, if I'm going to get a husband, he will be the one worshiping me, not the other way around, I've faced death multiple times just by being confident and independent, held gun pointed just for speaking facts.

And where are those men and women now? Six feet underground.

"Remember the rules, Cely. You will dance with every man who asks for your hand, you will be polite, and we will find you a husband," my mother stated. I held onto my eye roll before she could turn her back to me.

"I'm polite," I shrug my head as she arches a brow at me. A smirk tugs my lips as she resits her eye roll. "I'm serious, Cely; your father and I have raised you to be the woman you are today, and it's time."

Correction: I raised the woman I am today.

Not holding my eyes, I glance around the ballroom at a black chandelier above us, fancy black walls molded with structure, black and white marble flooring, and a large bar where I'll spend my time. At the same time, the dance floor stands empty, and classical jazz music is played on the speakers.

Multiple rich celebrities, including dangerous men and women, wore fancy dresses and suits, matching the black theme ball. I glanced back at my mother, who was already hissing at my father for taking two glasses of champagne.

Before they could both turn their attention back to me, I made a run for it and headed toward the bar. Sighing, I rolled my shoulders back and took a seat on the stool.