Cupid's Guide to Murder

Chapter 6: Cupid's A Suspect

What's the hotter topic? Natasha Ryan's disappearance or West Blakeyard's Valentine's Day party? Vote for a chance at winning some exclusive news and possible merchandise.

I rolled my eyes, scrolling past Jeremy's latest post as I entered West's house. Jeremy was the source of all things Fairwood High, and his gossip blog was his villain origin story. As the result of his nosiness, disregard for discomfort, and attention to detail, it was as scandalous as he could make it while still keeping his credentials.

I knew Jeremy sometimes lacked basic human emotions, but using Natasha's disappearance for clickbait and views showed I had underestimated him. He was bloodthirsty for any topic that would make his blog popular, even if it meant a person's life on the line.

I placed my phone away and looked at the decorations for the party, pushing Jeremy out of my mind. Red and white balloons surrounded the high ceilings, string lights lined the walls, and a decorative cupid ice sculpture was in the front hallway. I smiled, looking at the detail on the statue: it even had a sharp golden arrow with a red heart attached, the lips of the Cupid folded into a smile.

I made my way through the crowd of people that had already assembled, saying hello to the familiar faces and heading towards the kitchen. A giant crystal chandelier hung over the entrance, its glittery branches shining like expensive diamonds. Our group was well-off, but West's parents were incredibly wealthy. They were hot-shot lawyers that moved here from the Upper East Side, which meant a lot of their earnings went towards West's trust fund. To West, the trust fund was a fancy word for party fund. He had posted about this Valentine's Day party for weeks, claiming it would go down in history.

I had almost decided against coming tonight, but Luce and Taylor would've killed me if I didn't show up. Besides, I needed a break from the cryptic notes.

I hesitated, remembering last night: lying in my bed, in red cotton shorts and a black tank top, staring at the twisted Cupid's Guide to Murder notes. My curls spilled over my satin pillow, and I kept re-reading the words, trying to decipher if there was any meaning behind them. The illicit photo of myself haunted me, too — it was an invasion of privacy and left me with the sickening feeling in my gut that somebody was watching me.

I couldn't imagine turning these notes to the police. With Natasha's disappearance being a Missing Persons case, I knew I shouldn't withhold evidence; but what if the evidence only made me appear guilty? I couldn't even turn to my friends, knowing how they felt about Natasha. They didn't want to be entwined in her drama, or maybe they wouldn't care enough. Justin could be right — I was an over-thinker, making a big deal out of everything that haunted me.

But what if this time I wasn't wrong?

There was only one person I wanted to talk to, the person who would understand the skin-crawling anxiety seeping through my veins. He was the only person who wouldn't make me feel like a freak for how I was feeling.

Griffin.

The only problem was I couldn't. It would only create a further wedge in my relationship with Justin, although that wasn't the part I was truly afraid of.

Confronting Griffin meant making everything real.

The lies, the secrets, the suppressed feelings — a past I had worked so hard to leave behind, replacing it with this new life I had.

"Haven! You look so hot," a voice squealed. Luce wove through the sweaty crowd and threw her slim arms around me. She had on a red floral print dress and tied her hair into a bun with two tendrils spilling out, framing her pixie-like face. Her rose perfume mingled with the scent of wine, and she kissed my cheek. "Red is your color."