Gideon

It’s not easy to get access to Los Angeles’s rich and famous, but tonight I will get a glimpse of their world. Rumor has it the gala will be attended by a few British lords.

Dressed in our usual maids’ uniforms, Sarah and I wait by the service entrance at the back of a Hollywood Hills mansion.

“Names,” the bouncer says. He barely looks up from his list; they don’t tend to as soon as they clock the uniform. That’s the life of a cleaner.

“Sarah Stone and Layla Emanuel.” Sarah speaks for both of us, because she knows I’m a terrible liar and would blow our cover.

I mean, we aren’t even lying, and my heart is racing. We’re here legitimately, but the backpack slung over my shoulder might as well have a neon sign saying, “Guess who’s up to no good!”

The bag actually contains a change of clothes for the gala so that we can blend right in.

This is not the sort of thing I usually do, but Sarah has roped me into her plans. Sick of being a cleaner, Sarah wants to marry rich. She thinks tonight’s gala is the perfect opportunity to meet her match.

To be honest, I’m relieved by the distraction. I need a break from the werewolf world, where I’m constantly pestered about finding a mate.

Tonight will be just about fun—and enough work to not get us fired, of course. I can forget about my world and pretend like I belong in this one.

Without a hitch, the bouncer ushers us through the doors and directs us toward the staff changing rooms.

I can’t help but glance back at him as we turn the corner. “Do you think he suspects anything?” I whisper.

“Who cares.” Sarah waves me off. “We’re in now, and that’s all that matters.”

“Should we get changed here?”

Sarah scans the room. It’s strewn with other people’s things—staff members already working the party.

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me down the hall. I follow her till we reach a staircase.

“What are you two doing?” a stern voice asks from behind us.

When we turn around, there’s a tall woman dressed in all black, with dark hair slicked back into a tight bun. Her long limbs make her look like a praying mantis.

“Going upstairs,” Sarah answers without missing a beat. Her confidence is unwavering. “We were told the bathrooms need some attention.”

The woman nods, satisfied by that response. “Off you go, then.”

Before the woman can change her mind, Sarah and I rush upstairs.

The house is magnificent. The upstairs is silent, void of life. Our footsteps echo off the marble floor.

“Woah.” Sarah gazes out the window overlooking the back of the house. Below, the party is in full swing. Immaculately dressed people mingle against the backdrop of the Los Angeles skyline. The city twinkles in the distance like a cluster of stars.

He’s tall, at least six-five, with a powerful, rock-hard build that’s evident even beneath his tailored suit.

His dark-bronze hair, streaked with sun-kissed highlights, frames a face of sharp angles and planes. High cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, a straight nose, and strong, thick eyebrows give him an almost unreal handsomeness.

He stands out in a black suit with an open midnight-blue shirt, looking utterly captivating even from this distance.

He’s talking to a shorter man who, from his slurred movements and exaggerated back-patting, is clearly very drunk. The tall man’s expression is one of concealed annoyance.

Standing beside him is a beautiful, curvy brunette in a midnight-blue gown that perfectly matches his shirt.

The way he keeps subtly shifting away from her, a slight frown marring his perfect features, makes me think he’s just as annoyed by her presence as he is by the drunk man.

“Our husbands are down there somewhere,” Sarah announces, winking at me.

I have to tear my eyes away to follow her again.

We keep walking to the far end of the floor. We need to find a room no one will go into.

Finally, we settle on a large door at the end of the hall. On the other side of it is an enormous bedroom. The bed is perfectly made, with crisp white sheets. I almost want to crawl into it and fall asleep.

I shut the curtains before unpacking my bag. I’ve not yet looked at tonight’s dress. I entrusted Sarah to choose one for me. We borrowed them from her cousin, who works at a fashion magazine. We have to return them first thing tomorrow morning, intact.

I pull out the garment bag and unzip it, the bright-red material falling out. It’s a delicate and silky floor-length gown.

Sliding into the dress carefully, I’m thankful it fits me just right. When I turn around to inspect my reflection in the mirror, I notice the dress is backless, revealing my Superman bralette.

Sarah snorts when she spots it.

“What?” I say. “It’s a set.” I flash her the matching underwear.

“You better take that bralette off right now.”

“Fine.” I do so and toss it onto my bag. “What do we do with our stuff?”

“Let’s leave them. Doubt anyone will be coming all the way up here.”

Sarah fluffs my hair and adds some red lipstick to match my gown. Her gown is duck-egg blue, which matches the shade of her eyes. For herself, she dabs on a nude lip gloss.

“So, shall we?” Sarah asks once she’s satisfied with the way she looks.

Smoothing my hands over my waist, I take one last breath in before we make our way downstairs.

Stepping into the party is like entering another dimension. The mansion, perched high in the Hollywood Hills, practically shimmers with excess.

Its sprawling pool garden, overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline, is packed with a dizzying array of characters.

There are tech moguls with their perfectly coiffed wives, movie stars with their entourages, and old-money types sipping champagne with an air of inherited superiority.

Sarah and I blend right in, two pretend socialites in a sea of them.

We grab flutes of champagne, clinking them together as we giggle and play the part, feigning interest in conversations about stock portfolios and upcoming film premieres.

All the while, my eyes scan the crowd, searching for the tall, bronze-haired man I saw from the window. But he’s nowhere to be found. How disappointing.

As the night wears on, a prickle of unease starts to crawl up my spine. I can’t tell what’s bothering me at first, but then a scent wafts right under my nose as a man in a black suit walks by.

My gaze darts through the crowd until I spot him again. He’s standing with the praying mantis woman from earlier, and I realize she’s a lycan too.

Oh Goddess. How did I not notice before?!

Her dark eyes sweep over the crowd with an unnerving intensity. Meanwhile, my heart hammers against my ribs. What if she recognizes us? Lycans are dangerous! Even as a half-werewolf, I know that.

“Darling, you simply must invest in sustainable tech. It’s the future, I tell you!” Sarah is saying, her voice brimming with false enthusiasm as she charms an older man with a silver toupée.

She’s really embraced her persona, portraying herself as the CEO of a successful, albeit fictional, tech start-up.

I cut her off mid-sentence, grabbing her arm. “Sarah, we need to go,” I whisper, pulling her away from the bewildered man.

“What? Layla, I was just about to close a deal for my new eco-friendly cryptocurrency!”

“No, seriously. We need to go back upstairs and actually do what we’re being paid to do!” I tug harder, my voice low and urgent. “Now.”

Sarah finally relents, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips.

I make sure to stay as far as possible from the praying mantis woman as we weave through the throng of people until we finally reach the solace of the quiet upstairs hallway and then the sanctuary of the bedroom.

I’ve barely had a chance to bundle my maid’s uniform into my arms when I hear a noise behind the door.

“What was that?”

“Probably nothing,” Sarah dismisses.

Another step, only now it’s closer.

“No, seriously.” I push her hands away from her backpack. “Did you hear that?”

The footsteps get closer. There seems to be two sets of them now, right outside the door.

“Quick!” Sarah whispers. “In the walk-in closet.”

“What about our stuff?!”

“Forget the stuff!” she hisses.

We both tumble in, barely shutting the door behind us as two people storm in. I feel Sarah behind me, holding her breath.

Squinting through the crack, I try to make out what’s happening but can barely see anything. It’s two people, one man and a woman; the woman is going off on a tirade.

I try to focus on what they’re saying but find myself distracted by an intoxicating scent.

“What’s that smell?” I whisper to Sarah.

“What smell?” Sarah mutters back.

“Can’t you smell that?” I turn to look at her.

She shakes her head, confused by my crazed expression.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes. It’s in the pocket of my uniform still bundled in my arms.

Shit.

Before I can look at it, I sense a tall figure approaching the closet. The scent is so strong it makes me dizzy. I have to lean on Sarah for support.

We both hold our breath, bracing for the door to swing open.