Chapter One

‘Stupid elitist system,’ is what any other scholarship student at Seaton Arms Preparatory School for Girls would have said. But not Melissa Fields. No, Melissa - or Lissa to her clique - loved the system. There was an unspoken rule that if you could fake being rich by having the right possessions and acting the right way, you could be the most popular girl in Manhattan - and Lissa was working towards just that. The brunette junior wanted that coveted title of ‘Queen Bee’, and she would stop at nothing to get there.

 

Lissa unlocked the door of the tiny building in the backstreets of Brooklyn which she lived in, a triumphant smirk adorning her cherry-red, bee-stung lips. Soon, she would take that title from Isabelle Hastings. All it took was word to get out, of for just one photo to be published on page six, and the crown would be hers - figuratively speaking. Padding up the stairs to her poky one bedroom flat -registered in her absent mother’s name - Lissa let the carefully constructed mask drop for the first time in weeks. The tanned teenager flopped onto the couch and flicked on the battered, outdated TV set, not really paying attention. Sweet Alexander McQueen, sabotage was draining!

Stretching out on the worn leather couch, Lissa yawned again letting her lichen-coloured eyes flutter closed. Her mind drifted, dozing in and out of sleep.

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On the other side of the bridge in Manhattan, on the Upper East Side, the deluxe penthouse suite occupied by the Hastings family at the Empire Hotel was being stormed by the Manhattan police. The whole suite was in disarray. Furniture overturned, closets emptied, mattresses ripped open. Not a single thing had been missed.  

“I’m sorry ma’am, but this is police protocol when it comes to drugs searches,” Officer Rufus Woodsen explained calmly in a soft Irish accent to Isabelle’s mother, Mrs Lilian Hastings. They had been having a late breakfast when the police arrived, and the cups of tea and plates of croissants still sat on the side, untouched. Isabelle sat on a stool at the breakfast bar beside them, shooting white hot daggers at her elder brother, Alexander.

“But I’ve told you, darling Izzy doesn’t do that kind of thing!” Lilian shrieked. She was near hysterical.

‘No, I don’t,’ Isabelle thought to herself angrily. ‘Alex does.’

“Dear, please do calm down,” Isabelle’s father, Charles, murmured, resting a hand on his wife’s arm ineffectually. Lilian ignored him, while their two children looked on with disdain. Charles had always been a waste of space to them, only good for paying their tuition fees and monthly allowance. He was pathetic and useless, in their opinion. Lilian wasn’t much better, turning into a harpy or a banshee every time something disrupted her perfect life.

“We have undeniable evidence that your daughter has been taking drugs for at least the past six weeks, including photographs and an eyewitness account which also alludes to dealing various different drugs.” Officer Humphrey continued, in that same even tone. Isabelle’s jaw dropped open, clear grey eyes widening in shock. She hadn’t done anything of the sort! Alex was the one who snorted and shot up Manolo knows what; he was the one she had originally thought the police were there for! She was not that kind of girl! ….or was she? There had been gaping holes in her memory for two months at least, where she couldn’t remember what she had done or how she had gotten home after partying late with the other girls in her clique - her minions, as some called them. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but the frequency with which it happened was - at least twice or three times a week.

Isabelle gulped. Oh Dior. If they had evidence, and she couldn’t remember a thing, she was completely and utterly screwed. Her pale skin whitened even further, her pulse quickening and her heart racing. Her palms were clammy with sweat. Quickly, jerkily, she looked around the room, russet-coloured curls falling limply into her face. Isabelle was waiting for one of the officers to re-emerge from one of the many rooms her family occupied, clutching a dime bag, or pills, or some of that other damnating evidence. Isabelle knew with a certainty that the drugs weren’t hers - they were Alex’s, after all - but they would almost definitely be linked to her.

Isabelle inhaled deeply and forced herself not to look so frantic, or tense for that matter. She knew then what had truly happened - someone had attempted to sabotage her. Well, she was going to show the conniving little b***h that you did not mess with Isabelle Serena Hasting, Queen Bee of Seaton Arms, daughter of socialite Lilian Holland and shipping company mogul Charles Hastings, sister of Harvard Law student Alexander Hastings, a proud member of Manhattan’s elite and one of the most beautiful girls in the whole of New York City, and get away with it.

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Melissa awoke with a start, green eyes flying open. Plain brown curls bounced wildly around her face. Her heart was racing, thumping against her chest the way a horse’s hooves would against the racetrack. Her dreams of being faced in court by the Hastings family, being sued for millions because of what she had done to their sweet, darling Isabelle, had made her realise what a mistake she had made.

Her plot to make it seem as though Isabelle was involved in some horrendous scandal had gone to extremes no one else would have dreamed of. Melissa’s scheme meant that Isabelle would first face rehab, then juvy, at the very least. And if it went wrong, and Lissa was found out…She shuddered at the thought. But it was too late to back out now; far too late.

‘No,’ Melissa thought to herself, with steely determination. ‘I will not be found out, just like no one will ever, or has ever, found out I am not the girl I claim to be.’ Nodding to herself satisfactorily, the broad-shouldered girl slowly eased herself off the old couch, her back crying out in protest, and padded towards the closet beside the kitchen where she had stored everything for her machinations.

Opening the door, Lissa stared at the pile of drugs, alcohol, dresses and empty hair dye bottles she had been using in her connivances to bring down prissy little Isabelle. Lissa bit her bottom lip, worrying the soft flesh between pearly white teeth.

“Oh God, what am I going to do…” Lissa whispered; the words a husky murmur. Moss coloured eyes blinked slowly as the magnitude of her actions truly hit the junior. Slamming the door shut, Lissa turned around, he back against the hard wood as she sank down to the floor, gasping for breath. Panic overwhelmed her, blurring her vision and forcing air out of her lungs. She shook, freckled shoulders heaving with the desperation to breathe properly. The evidence behind her, pressing against the door behind her back through the wooden door, threatening to overwhelm her, was undeniable.

Fisting her hands in her chocolate curls, Lissa cried; hot, angry tears splashing over the smooth planes of her face. Why had she been so stupid?! Thinking she could do all this and get away with it. God, she was a fool. A stupid, idiotic fool that her mother would be ashamed of - oh crap. Her mother. She was going to skin her alive if she ever found out what Lissa had done. And then she would have to come back from Chicago, and probably quit her job out there, and then she would lecture Lissa, and make her feel even guiltier, and Lissa would never be able to look her mother in the eye again because she would be so ashamed.

Sobbing now, Lissa’s hands pulled at her hair, some of the curls tangled around her slender, manicured fingers coming loose. She screamed in frustration, anger and self-hatred, the sound raw and animalistic. It was over, all because of her stupid greed and jealousy. All over.

***********************************************

Isabelle was still sat quietly in the midst of the carnage of the penthouse. She mulled over the events that had occurred, wondering who had caused them. Mentally, the pretty senior ran through a list of girls at Seaton Arms, crossing each one off her list. Spencer, Blair, Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, Diana…It was none of them; she was sure of that. They were all content enough with just being in the popular crowd.

A slight frown graced Isabelle’s delicate features, a slight crease forming between her brows, as she thought of one particular girl in the year below her. Melissa Fields. The girl who tried so hard the beat Isabelle in anything and everything, but was only ever second best.

It had to be her.