Welcome to the city of Shanghai. A world of designer clothes, chauffeurs, lavish parties, and juicy scandals. Ever since the Chinese economic boom, rich foreigners have inhabited Shanghai and ruled every inch of the electric city, from the sparkling...
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THE EMERALD VILLA WAS SILENT and still, its lush greenery basking in the moonlight. The wealthy neighbourhood was tucked away from the city lights, surrounded by aspen trees and ponds with floating water-lilies. It was ten o'clock at night and Natasha Kauffman was tossing and turning in her queen-sized bed, all antsy and ready to make her escape.
Natasha blew air out of her cheeks as she scrolled through her Instagram. Her follower count was growing by the minute and even fan accounts were starting to pop up. Why did these people even care about her? She was a German girl from the countryside, no match for Shanghai's glitz and glamour.
"Finally!" She exclaimed when she heard her mother's footsteps, and switched her iPhone for a reading book. Natasha just needed her parents to go to bed, and then the Winslow's Lincoln could roar them through Shanghai's streets and to the mega hotels.
The door cracked open and Mrs. Kauffman, who was wearing matching pyjamas and fuzzy slippers, roamed in. "You're still awake, honey? Would you like a hot drink?"
"No thanks, Mom. I'm good." Natasha's heart began to race and she reminded herself of what Dakota said. You're not ten. She faked a yawn, "Just tired, I'm ready to crash."
"Me too, the jet lag is finally sinking in." Mrs. Kauffman planted a kiss on her daughter's head and turned off her white and silver bedside lamp, "Gute Nacht, Natasha. Sleep well."
"Goodnight." She echoed softly, the guilt burdening her. She waited nervously until her parent's bedroom door shut and released a long breath. It was time. Was she really about to do this?
"Game time." Natasha texted to the group chat and ripped off her powder-blue duvet covers, revealing the elaborate Balmain mini-dress Dakota had gifted her. She jumped out of bed, adjusted her pillows under the blanket so that it looked like she was there, and began to search the dark bedroom for her Prada peep-toes.
"Okay, okay. Breathe, Natasha." She murmured as she scrambled through her stuff and found her shoes, "Got it." After dusting a M.A.C highlighter on her cheeks and sliding on a shimmery gloss, Natasha grabbed her YSL clutch and opened the window.
You're not ten. You're not ten. You're not ten.
Natasha tossed her black heels out the window and then climbed onto the roof. She walked on the asphalt shingles and then stretched for the white pergola, which had vines wrapped around each wooden leg. Finally, she jumped from the structure and made it safely to the ground.
Behind the gleaming water fountain was the Winslow's town car, parked on the corner of the street. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Natasha sprinted across the wet grass, a few chunks of ice stinging the soles of her feet. Breathless, she opened the car door to find Dakota and Lennox dressed to the nines, shiny legs crossed, with a mildly bored look in their eyes.
