Web of Lies

by Elizabeth Knox

  “Nick, oh, Nick,” the woman riding my dick groans. I think her name is Karina. I don’t really remember. But I do remember her husband— Ivan.

  He hadn’t wanted to invest in my new start-up, a company that manages business travel and expenses. He’d watched me carefully, beady eyes never leaving mine as I gave my presentation and shook hands with the CEO, Mikhail Chernov. I know he voted against me at the Board meeting. I know he spoke out against my business— the walls have ears. But revenge was sweet, and now I was inside his wife as she moaned my name. Well, my fake name. It wasn’t my fault he preferred the company of prostitutes while his pretty little trophy wife sat home with her furs and jewels.

  Her tits bounce in my face as her orgasm builds and I dig my fingers into her hips, encouraging her. After all, this is about her, not me. I’ll get mine when I raid her dressing table before I slip out shortly after dawn. She can’t exactly explain to her husband that the businessman she was fucking has robbed her. Besides, I won’t take everything. Just a few choice pieces. Enough to make her unsure about whether she was really robbed. Did she mislay them? Did one of the maids take them? Who the fuck knows . . . but Nickolas Shutter will be nothing but a distant memory of a raunchy night spent getting hot and heavy by candlelight.

  Her body trembles around mine and she rests a sweaty head on my shoulder. Her dress is still bunched up around her waist and I’m still dressed with my dick out, still hard since I haven’t come. Not that I plan to. I can’t lose control like that tonight, not over a petty revenge fuck. I kiss the top of her head tenderly, giving her the affection she’s so clearly starved of. She buries her face into the crook of my neck.

  Her hand gently wraps around my dick and she begins pumping before I lay a hand over hers to stop her. Karina looks at me with a confused expression. She’s so eager to please, it’s almost sad. Ivan is an idiot.

  “We haven’t finished with you, krasotka,” I murmur against her lips. I should feel like a cunt for manipulating her, but the way she kisses me tells me that ignorance truly is bliss.

  She unbuttons my shirt, hands exploring every inch of my chest before I stand, lifting her with me and carrying her over to the bed. I pull her dress down over her long, toned legs before stripping off my own clothes, carefully placing my trousers down so that the earrings don’t fall out of the pocket. I’m going to give her a night she’ll never forget, in more ways than one.

  Chapter Two

  Vivian

  I lay back on my lounger on Roman’s yacht after rubbing tanning oil all over my body and sipping my mimosa. Gabriella Astor, also known as Brie, the daughter of an oil billionaire, and Amelia Rothschild, a low ranking British aristocrat, are on either side of me in teeny white bikinis while Henry Chadwick, the son of a media tycoon, and Spencer Radcliffe, a trust fund frat boy, do shots, shirtless, blasting out some crappy rap music. I roll my eyes and let out a soft sigh as I try to get comfortable again. My yellow one-piece with cut out sides is creeping further and further up my arse every time I so much as breathe. Roman Huntington, the owner of the yacht and the son of a Lord, is the odd one out, reading a book while he sits in the shade, still managing to look like an Instagram model. This should be the life, this should be perfection, but it’s not. It’s all hollow. Nothing is real. Not Gabriella’s tits. Not Henry’s smile. Not me.

  We’re heading to a small island off the coast of Greece where the young and rich go every summer to stay. The Cipriani is an exclusive hotel that owns the entire private island. Membership is required and you’re more than welcome to dock your yacht. Don’t even ask about the price tag because money means nothing here. Spending the next six weeks with this lot was going to be hard, but the pay-off will be worth it. They have something I want and I’m known to be very determined.

  “Vivian, is your father back from Japan yet?” Gabriella asks casually as she turns over on her lounger. Her long blonde hair is perfectly bleached and cut. She doesn’t have a strand out of place even though she’s been laying on her back for the last thirty minutes. I hate her. She’s the stereotypical spoiled rich brat, always wanting more, always demanding everything with the stomp of a foot and a snap of her fingers. She glances at me from under the rim of her sunhat, icy blue eyes roaming over every inch of me, cataloguing all my faults and flaws.

  I resist the urge to snort at her question as I adjust my designer sunglasses. “No, his business trip has been delayed. Apparently, the Tokyo branch is an utter mess. He thinks he may be there for another six months at least.”

  I pretend to be exasperated, exaggerating my annoyance. It’s lies. All lies. Fuck knows where my father has run off to.

  “Shame,” she titters as she sips champagne, her long pink nails clinking against the glass.

  I know she has a crush on my father. She has this sick fantasy where she imagines herself married to David St. Clare, a billionaire CEO with ties to the royal family. If only she knew the truth. Besides, my dad isn’t the type to like them young and spoilt. He wants them older and desperate, begging to keep him as they bend over backwards for him. He has more issues than Vogue.

  “Will you miss him?” Amelia asks softly from my other side. She’s one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met. I have this urge to protect her every time Gabriella makes one of her poisonous barbs, but Amelia needs to learn to defend herself. I won’t always be there to protect her. Her big brown eyes watch me carefully and she reminds me of a puppy, her dark curls almost like spaniel ears, and I want to scoop her up and tell her it’ll all be okay. But it won’t. Revenge isn’t kind to anyone.

  I shrug in reply. How can you miss someone who is never there? Feeling eyes on me, I turn to see Roman watching me carefully. His black shaggy hair curls slightly, and his striking blue eyes and athletic body make him look like every teenager’s wet dream.

  “Enjoying the show?” I wink at him, shimmying my boobs, and he flashes one of his cheeky grins in my direction. Why haven’t we ever hooked up? He’s gorgeous. And smart. But none of that really matters now. It would never work.

  “Meh, you’re not my type. Now Henry, on the other hand . . .” he says, licking his lips and making goo-goo eyes. Roman isn’t gay, but I had heard a rumour he was bisexual, not that any of that matters. Why does it affect me who he shares his bed with? However, Henry is a horrible homophobe and Roman delights in tormenting him. How can he still be so narrow minded in 2019?

  “Mate, fuck off!” Henry shouts from where he’s playing Beer Pong with Spencer. “I told you, I don’t do bum stuff!”

  He’s another entitled rich kid who needs a good lesson in humility. But he’ll get what he deserves. His white blonde hair, good looks, and flashy car won’t save him. Neither will daddy’s lawyers.

  “Don’t be so uptight,” Spencer grumbles as he takes aim and the Ping-Pong ball misses. He’s another model in the making with gentle green eyes and a dimple when he smiles.

  “Land ahoy!” Roman’s Captain calls through the speaker system and I get up, stretching.

  I walk across the deck and hold on to the rail, watching as the green speck on the horizon grows. The island is gorgeous, all golden sand beaches, rocky coves, and luscious emerald and jade greenery. The hotel is tucked away on one end, with a main building, several pools, and then cabins for privacy. I always request the Luna Cabin. It’s a beautiful little hut in the ocean on stilts, where I can sit and dip my toes in the sea as I watch the stars. It’s not that I have anything against staying in the main hotel building, but there’s something soothing about being alone. It reminds me that I am not the same as the others. I’m not who they think I am.

  Roman stands behind me, dwarfing my tiny frame with his six-foot three height. He smells like coconut tanning oil and lime as I lean back into him. He wraps some of my golden hair around his fingers before letting it drop, resting his hand comfortably on my waist as he leans down and whispers, “Showtime.”

  Chapter Three

  Lucas

  It’s be
en a month since my Russian adventure and all I’ve had from Hawkeye90 is one short email that read:

  The Cipriani, Greece

  Six Weeks

  Gabriella Astor

  He must have pulled some serious strings to get me into The Cipriani. It’s an exclusive hotel that’s virtually impossible to book into if you have less than two million in your bank account. Of course, I recognize the name Astor. Ruben Astor is one of the biggest oil and gas barons in the world. A quick search on Instagram and Facebook shows me that Gabriella is the only daughter of Ruben and Quinn, his swimsuit model wife twenty years his junior. Six weeks holidaying on a private island with the richest people on the planet? Count me in.

  My research shows that little Gabriella darling likes to travel with lots of sparkly things, diamonds, pearls, and rubies galore. Including a recent purchase made at a New York jewelry auction, an impressive blue diamond ring set in a platinum band, estimated worth of around two hundred thousand pounds. That must be what caught Hawkeye’s attention because it certainly has mine. That is a collector’s item and she’s been spotted wearing it out and about like it’s costume jewelry. Now, if Hawkeye90 only takes his usual twenty percent cut, then that leaves me with a hundred and sixty thousand to play with. Not to mention whatever else I can get my hands on. These people are worth billions. A couple of hundred thousand isn’t even going to make a dent in their lives.

  With Hawkeye’s help, I carefully construct a new identity. James Wickham, a newly rich tech genius who wants to unwind after making millions on his new dating app that specializes in catering to businessmen, the wealthy, and the unique. We always stick as close to my actual knowledge base as possible. It avoids slip-ups and stupid mistakes that way. I’ll be ‘New Money’ which will repulse some and intrigue others, but I’ll work it either way. I scroll through Gabriella’s social media feeds and see that she’ll be arriving at The Cipriani today with Vivian St. Clare and Amelia Rothschild, more rich socialite heiresses without a braincell between them. A photo of the three of them by the pool with drinks in hand, sunshine and big smiles, makes me smirk. It’s going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

  I scroll to the next image and pause. It’s a selfie. There’s something about the way the woman in the yellow swimsuit smiles. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Vivian St. Clare has secrets. I’d know that look anywhere. She’s hiding something. And now I’m intrigued.

  I pack my bags, carefully selecting the pieces that suit my character for this job. White cotton linen, crisp Armani shirts, Louis Vuitton t-shirts, Prada swimming trunks, and anything else I can think of that screams money while also keeping me from sweating my balls off. These people can sniff out a knock-off like bloodhounds, but that’s why I always make sure to stay up to date with the latest trends. It’s boring but necessary to stay on top of my scams.

  Bag packed, sunglasses on, CV successfully faked, and social media screaming my praises, I head out, ready to climb into the helicopter. It’s not mine, it’s a rental, but there are no commercial flights or boats to the island. Even your entrance is a statement.

  Everything I’ve read about Gabriella Astor tells me she’s a spoilt princess, which means she may not be as easy as my typical lonely housewives. I guess that’s why Hawkeye is recommending six weeks to woo her, seduce her, make her bare her very soul to me before I take everything she has, including her dignity. That ought to knock her down a peg or two.

  The helicopter takes off smoothly and I lean back into the plush leather seats, planning out my strategy. First I’ll ignore her, then I’ll be everywhere she is. She won’t be able to get me out of her mind. I’ll be genuine and honest. Rich girls like that after all the fuckboys are done playing with them. It makes them confused. Then when she’s ready to be seduced, I’ll take it slowly. A stolen kiss, a lingering look, a cheeky grope. She will beg me for more. She’ll offer up everything she has and I’ll hesitate, making her all the more desperate. Rich girls are always the same, just like rich wives and rich spinsters. There’s always a strategy that works. There isn’t anything I haven’t seen or been able to handle, I’ve been around this block more than once.

  The flight takes barely any time at all and before I know it, we’re landing on the helipad near the main hotel building. It was a job digging up information on the hotel itself. They highly value privacy and they didn’t want to attract the wrong sort of clientele. From what I understand, there is the main building, which is where I am and then several private cabins around the island. Gabriella Astor seems like the type who wants to be near the bar, the pool, and all the action, so my money is on the fact she stays in the main part of the hotel.

  I quickly check in and wait in the hotel lobby with a book and a drink. It’s some cheesy romance, but it’s always a conversation starter if I need it.

  I hear Gabriella before I see her. She’s exactly as her pictures promised, dyed blonde hair, a figure that’s all fake breasts and ass implants, and a glare that could melt the ice in my whiskey.

  She’s loud, shouting at some concierge for dropping her case. “You useless oaf! That’s Gucci. GUCCI!”

  The boys in the group with her laugh and head to the check-in desk, ignoring her little tantrum. A pretty girl with dark hair who I recognize as Amelia Rothschild stands awkwardly with her handbag, looking behind them at someone with pleading eyes.

  “Brie, it’s last season. And don’t shout, you’re making a scene,” a calm voice chides. I feel the corners of my mouth lift when Vivian St. Clare steps forward, rolling her eyes when the bottle blonde can’t see her.

  She smiles sweetly at Amelia and ushers her forward to the desk. Gabriella huffs and also storms up to check-in. The second all eyes are off her, Vivian’s smile slips. Her eyes are calculating. I don’t know what game she’s playing, but when I figure it out, I’ll own her. Favors are always a useful currency.

  Chapter Four

  Vivian

  Checking in is always stressful with Gabriella. She never, and I mean never, likes the first room they give her. After three room changes and a complimentary bottle of Dom Perignon, she’s finally satisfied. Which means Amelia and I can leave and get settled into our rooms. Amelia is next door to Gabriella, so I give her a quick hug and make my way down to the beach, where my cabin is waiting. The same guy is still sitting in the hotel reception, just watching. I don’t know why but there’s something off about him. He’s attractive with dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and broad shoulders. But he knows it. Every move he makes seems calculated, pre-planned. Even down to the book he’s holding, a current romance bestseller. It all feels staged. Anyone who is stupid enough to fall into this playboy’s trap is a fool and deserves everything they get. He’s nothing but trouble. His gaze meets mine and we hold it, openly examining each other before he sits back, breaking the eye contact with a smirk, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lip. Am I supposed to tremble? Feel butterflies? Because I don’t. Instead, I feel curiosity. What is he up to? I brush it off and carry on. The Luna Cabin is waiting for me. I don’t need any distractions. I’m here for information and once I get that, I’ll be gone.

  Luna Cabin is exactly how I remember it from last year, soft white bed sheets, navy and gold furnishings, and a sky light that shows off the beautiful sky right above the bed. It’s the perfect lover’s hideaway, except it’s just me. I unpack my bags and kick off my sandals before heading out of the back doors. There’s a balcony area, except it’s over the water. I sit and dip my toes in the warm sea, tilting my face up towards the sun. I wish life was this simple. This easy. But it’s not.

  My father has run away to god knows where, leaving me alone. My mother died during childbirth and there are no other St. Clares left. I am the last. He’s always been like this, for as long as I can remember. It’s all about David. Fuck poor little Vivian, she’s a fighter, she can take care of herself. The only thing he’s ever given me is money, and even then, it was tightly controlled. I may be from a rich family, but I
don’t have thousands at my fingertips. Instead I have a credit card that I pay off with my modelling work. I don’t want to keep selling my face and my body just to cover my expenses. I need to protect myself, and to do that, I need leverage. I need information. Money isn’t everything, but it helps. The people at this resort are a goldmine of information. All it takes is a little bit of gentle digging.

  My phone beeps. It’s Roman with the plans for dinner. We’re going to eat out on the veranda at the hotel restaurant. The menu is all fresh and to order, meaning you can ask for virtually anything and it will be exquisite. I smile at the winking emojis he’s sent along with the message, Dress to impress, can’t have your ugly arse embarrassing us. He likes to wind me up because of the modelling, calling me the ugly duckling of the group and joking that if I can model, anyone can. The difference between him and Gabriella is that I know he’s kidding, and if I told him he’d upset me, he’d apologize in a heartbeat and never do it again. Roman is different like that. Our friendship group seems to toe a very thin line between friends and enemies, but it’s the way we were raised by our cutthroat families. The friends you have today can be your competitors in business, romance, or any other achievement in the blink of an eye, and we’re all so afraid of losing. The banter and jokes always have an edge to them, and it’s learning how to read them that keeps your head above water or cuts your throat. I never forget that lesson. It’s a shame my father didn’t keep that in mind.