That evening, I had gotten on the yacht with nothing short of rage. Diane had been flamboyant, as always, and her husband had been a pillar of stone with a cigarette lodged firmly between his lips.

Diane had been a high school friend – that’s the only reason I actually went along with her proposition.

Damn Diane and her personality…and that yacht.

Blaire stepped into the luxurious yacht, clad in a red dress that swept down to the floor and had a neckline that wasn’t too revealing.

A shawl sparkling with carmine rhinestones swathed her arms and waist.

Blaire’s dark chestnut hair was tied up in a chignon, with little whorls of natural curls framing her face.

She hated dressing up like this, but Diane had insisted.

What she would give to be home instead of this place. She knew close to no one at this party, save for Diane – and the socialite didn’t even count as a friend any longer.

“How the hell did I get myself into this?”