Devil's Playground
By La Fata Aurora
Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.
Prologue
This world is different. In this world, Serena van der Woodsen's hair, although still resembling spun gold, wasn't the envy of every Manhattan socialite. Her eyes, although as clear as the ethereal skies, didn't catch every man's eye. Think that this is too much of an idealistic world? Cease, for it is not. You are still in the Big Apple—the same fledging streets, the hordes of suits, stilettos and Starbucks, the golden way that is 5th Avenue—however, there is one simple variation: twenty-four years ago, Aphrodite decided to smile at Eleanor Waldorf, instead of, then Society's Darling, Lily van der Woodsen.
And what a difference that made.
Many say that it was her lips. They were perfect, ruby-red, a provocative bow shape that drove members of the opposite sex wild. She was ten when she was first made aware of this fact, all the while innocently walking to her limo from a shortened flight from Paris. She didn't understand it back then, this fascination of the common masses towards her lips. To her, they were just lips. She saw them everyday in the mirror. Ate with them. Nothing special.
"B."
Apparently, she was the only one who thought that way.
"B!" Serena tried again, now with a hushed whisper. 'B' gave her a distracted look, and as if waking from her reverie, was assaulted by an explosion of Vivaldi.
She grimaced prettily in effect.
"What?"
Serena was now giving her an odd look. 'B' responded by glaring back.
"B, are you okay?" the blonde's frown cast a dark contrast over her golden de la Renta. She lowered her voice, watchful of other eyes, "You've been out of it these days."
"Huh, yeah." The brunette murmured, rising up from the Victorian settee in the middle of the buzzing room. She looked ahead, her mouth suddenly craving for a glass of champagne. "S, I'll be right back."
Even Serena's disapproving sigh didn't hold her back. Like a floating vision in her red Valentino, 'B' trudged forward, calmly ignoring the usual attention and the adoring glances that this living, breathing vignette elicited. Passing underneath the arch that divided the living room and the foyer, she zigzagged her way across a few flowery phrases, strategically grabbing the first champagne glass and shoving it to her lips to avoid conversation. She was exhausted, she realized. Raw. Totally uncharacteristic of Manhattan's famed 'Princess' if one has to say.
That was when it happened.
My, my, what a fucking surprise.
The voice. His voice, finding its way in her head…again.
No. 'B' bit her teeth together, her Viviers thudding with an intensity that matched her determination to blur him out. 'I'm just imagining things', she told herself, like a chant that could exorcise. There was no way he could have—
The French doors that lead to the porch burst open. 'B' stepped out, and knowing that she was now protected by a secure cocoon of privacy, expelled an acid cloud of breath that she didn't now she was holding. Her hands felt clammy, that when an icy draft blew it rippled violently into her core, shocking her to agitation. No please. She begged mentally as she squeezed her eyes close. Clenching her fists (as begging was something she detested with a passion), she willed fervently to be scoured off of him.
Please. Again, for good measure. One last time, before she opens her eyes to the fruits of her pleas.
She heard Edith Piaf moaning 'La Vie en Rose' from the party inside.
Warm. She suddenly felt warm and it made her smile. Opening her eyes, 'B' found herself calming down, this newfound warmth enveloping her ever so sweetly. She saw New York City in front of her—her bright lights in the velvet night—and she never felt so free, so serene, like she was soaring up into the skies.
"I finally found you."
But every dream must end.
The warmth morphed into a pair of strong arms, muscled and possessive, tightening around her from the back as if branding her. 'B' knew she must resist, her mind screamed to be released, but it was deliciously warm, so hot, like sin becoming flesh.
She sighed. A ragged, difficult sigh.
He chuckled, his breath licking her ear, "I see you remember me."
"You monster."
"Highest of compliments."
"I hate you."
Edith was singing her life with just too much bravado.
"Awwwww, Waldorf."
Believe it or not, she came with the mention of her name.