PROLOGUE

Chloe Baptiste was exhausted and annoyed.

As she walked out of the back of the Hancock Park art gallery and headed toward her car, she shook her head in agitation, making her razor-sharp brown-haired bob bounce.

Ordinary, everyday people assumed that her life was a dream, free from the concerns that regular folks faced. But that just wasn't true.

Just because her husband ran a media conglomerate and their personal wealth last year was estimated by Forbes magazine to be around $110 million (which was low, to be honest), that didn't mean everything was ice cream and gumdrops for her.

For example, tonight she ended up spending over $1.2 million on the two paintings she'd wanted, when she had come into the evening not planning to go over one million total. But when that arrogant plastic surgeon tried to outbid her on the second piece, she had no choice but to up her offer.

Now she'd have to explain to her husband, Laurent, why she'd let some self-satisfied boob-stuffer get the better of her. It wasn't a conversation that she was looking forward to. Laurent might have two private jets and five homes, including a castle in the French countryside, but he still appreciated a good deal. And Chloe hadn't gotten any tonight.

The only thing that mitigated her guilt as she made her way through the near empty lot to her Tesla Model X Plaid was the knowledge that she could make up the extra $200,000 she'd spent tonight by the end of this week. Of course, that money would come via her side business, the one that Laurent didn't know about and definitely wouldn't approve of.

Chloe was careful to keep her little side gig on the down low, partly because she didn't want to deal with Laurent's disapproval, but also because, strictly speaking, it wasn't legal. Despite the risk to the Baptiste name if her additional work ever came out, she had no intention of quitting.

That was because her life, despite the jet-setting, the gala receptions, and the stable of servants, was sometimes lacking in excitement. So, if she had to skirt the law a little to get a jolt of energy every now and then, it was worth the risk. Plus, when it came to this job, she was the boss.

Chloe approached the car and pulled the key fob out of her bag. She'd considered letting their driver, Mario, take her here tonight, but worried that if other bidders saw her pull up in front of the gallery in a limo, she'd look like a whale who was ripe to be fleeced. Of course, arriving in a $90,000 vehicle wasn't exactly subtle. But at least she'd parked in the back.

Chloe pushed the remote and heard the familiar click of the doors unlocking. She was just reaching for the driver's door handle when she felt an odd sensation, one she wasn't very familiar with anymore: apprehension.

Though she couldn't place why, she suddenly felt as if she might not be alone in this parking lot. She quickly opened the door and was about to get in when she saw a shadow pass in front of her. It took her a second to process that it was actually a silhouette of someone behind her, illuminated in the parking lot lights.

She didn't even try to look back, instead hurrying to get into the driver's seat so she could shut the door. But as she slid into the seat, she felt a searing pain on the left side of her back, between the shoulder blade and the base of her neck. She gasped in agony and looked down to see blood spreading across her cream blouse.

A surge of adrenaline shot through her body as she realized that she'd been stabbed. A moment later, the knife was ripped out violently. That was even more painful than when it had gone in. She felt a hand grip her arm and pull her halfway out of the car as she opened her mouth to scream.

Her shriek was cut short as she felt the knife punch through the back of her neck. She was too panicked and horror-stricken to realize that the blade had sliced through her vocal cords, along with part of her spinal cord.

The blood was spewing so wildly and quickly onto the dashboard and steering wheel that Chloe, who was quickly losing consciousness, didn't even register that she couldn't move any part of her body below the neck.

She didn't feel the knife as it was yanked out of her a second time. By the time it was brought down again, she'd already slipped into the blackness, a small kindness amid the carnage.