Scarlet Lips.

Prologue

This is how it starts. With a seven letter word - no, it's not romance. It's a cold blooded feeling, a knot in her stomach, a certainty that not even once she has ever felt this way.

Revenge. It feels like revenge.

She's at the balcony, alone, dim lights playing with her shadows. Elena's sitting near her grandpa's old favorite spot, his wooden chair that swung lonely with the breeze. It's the summer breeze she's missed, back in Manhattan where all is old and new and fast, and nothing, absolutely nothing ever lasts. It's New York City. And she is just like the Big Apple - curvaceous, red, unforgiving. 

But she still reminisces the old times, back to ten or twelve years ago when it was easy, and all could be fixed with her grandmother's smile and fries. Her heart had room for all good and soft things, like kindness and warmth and love... And the scent of hope intoxicating Elena's mind. She was naive once - but hopefully, that's something she will never be again. 

Some stories were about love, about happiness, romance, forgiveness. They told of fairytales and happy endings, prince charmings in their almighty white horses saving princesses and their kingdoms. Fantasies, adventures, love.

Hers? It was about vengeance. Cold blooded vengeance. Elena Gibbins was about to take it all away from the person who had done it all. The only person she could have ever loved enough to wish to come back to - the same person she's come to despise, to loathe. To hate.

Alexander Hartway.

Part-time model. Heir to the Hartway fortune. Popular perfect jock. Womanizer. Flithy rich student. Lawyer wannabe. The guy you either want to be with or the guy you wish you were. There is no in between. You can either love or hate him.

And right now, she did both.