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They say the higher you rise, the harder you fall.
I was already in the clouds. And tonight, I was ready to piss on everyone beneath me.
The rooftop shimmered with candlelight, violins, and fake smiles. My engagement party—our engagement party—was the most exclusive event of the season. The view overlooked the city skyline, drowning in golden hour glow. The press was stationed at the gated entrance. Paparazzi drones hovered, clicking shots of designer gowns, million-dollar watches, and political handshakes.
And I walked in thirty minutes late.
Because I could.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the event planner's voice cracked over the mic. "Our gracious host has arrived."
I adjusted the cuff of my black tux as every head turned. Sunglasses still on, jaw set in that I-own-this expression I'd perfected since prep school. Victoria's hand slid into mine. My fiancée. My half-sister. The ice queen of high society herself.
"Fashionably late," she murmured through her teeth, smiling for the cameras. "They already hate you."
I smirked. "They always have."
We walked the glass walkway to the main platform, where chandeliers hung from polished steel arches. Waiters swept by with champagne. The board members of WestCorp lined one side, looking like they were trying not to choke on their money. Family friends stood near the open bar. Everyone else hovered in polite suspicion.
And I loved every second of it.
Ashley Morgan was the first to pounce. Fiery red dress, blood-red lips, and those manic eyes that once made her unforgettable. My ex.
"Daring tux," she purred. "Did you forget this was an engagement party and not a funeral?"
I leaned in close, letting my breath tickle her ear. "Darling, same thing, isn't it?"
Her smile twitched. I moved on.
Ethan Cole stood in the shadows near the fire pit, nursing a drink. Old friend. Vanished after college. Returned tonight like a ghost.
"You came back," I said, staring at him through my tinted glasses.
He nodded once. "Someone had to witness the downfall."
"Still dramatic," I said, sipping his whiskey before he could protest. "Still poor, too?"
He didn't respond. Just looked at me like I was already dead.
Next was Mia Reynolds. She practically teleported to my side the moment Victoria turned her head.
"Why didn't you answer my calls?" she hissed.
I looked her up and down—lace, desperation, and perfume so strong it made my eyes sting. "Because I enjoy breathing. You looked like you'd stab me with your mascara wand."
She blinked. Her hands trembled.
"Go smile for the cameras," I added. "You wear rejection better when there's lighting."
I left her shaking.
Sophia Clarke caught me near the champagne fountain. My current girlfriend. Still under the illusion that love mattered in our world.
"You've been cold," she said. "Different."
I kissed her forehead. "Different? I've always been cold. You just stopped pretending I was warm."
She pulled back, eyes wet. I walked away before the mascara could run.
Victoria was giving an interview to some Vogue affiliate. Her answers were precise, robotic, elegant. She looked through me when I passed her. We were a beautiful lie. The headline couple. The ultimate merger of money, blood, and ambition.
She didn't need to love me. She needed to inherit with me.
James Porter found me by the bar. Business partner. Shark in a suit.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, offering a drink.
"Immensely," I replied. "The hate in this room is intoxicating."
He chuckled. "Watch your back. Someone might be sober enough to act on it."
"Good," I said, clinking glasses. "I've always wanted to die beautiful."
The driver, Marcus Lee, hovered by the side—pretending not to notice the glances, the sneers. I walked over and handed him a drink.
"You're not supposed to drink on duty," he said.
"Then let's call it a bribe."
"For what?"
I grinned. "Pretending you didn't see who killed me."
He didn't laugh.
Daniel West arrived last. My older brother. The failure. The disinherited. He came without a smile, without a gift, without a soul.
We locked eyes across the party.
I raised my glass. He didn't raise his back.
---
An hour passed. Maybe two. The sky went from blush pink to twilight blue. The music slowed. Guests settled into their masks. The laughter dulled.
I climbed onto the platform.
"To love," I said, raising my glass. "To loyalty. And to the secrets we think no one knows."
Silence followed.
Someone coughed. Someone else shifted uncomfortably.
I smiled.
Then I left.
---
The hallway to my suite was empty. Cool air swept through the marble corridor. My shoes echoed.
I felt it before I heard it.
The presence. The breath. The whisper.
"You think you're untouchable."
I turned. Nothing.
Pain exploded in my back.
I fell. Hands clawed the tiles. Warm blood pooled.
Footsteps. Laughter.
Darkness.
---
I woke up gasping.
Light filtered through silk curtains. My skin felt wrong. My chest—full. My legs—longer, thinner. Delicate.
I stumbled to the mirror.
Victoria's face stared back at me.
My mouth opened. Her lips moved.
I screamed.
---
Then I heard it.
A scream outside.
I ran to the balcony.
Down below, guests surrounded the pool.
And there I was.
Floating.
Face-down.
A knife in my back.
---
I died last night.
But I'm still here.
And someone in this house is going to confess.
Or bleed like I did.
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