Page 1 of The Devil's Deceit

Chapter One

GRACE

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

That’s the saying, isn’t it? Although, in my case, I disagree. My need for revenge burns through me hotter than a wildfire, leaving a trail of charred remains, ash, and soot in its wake.

Anger and grief push me forward, even when my courage wavers. Well, that and Arron, my brother, and Dad’s brother, my Uncle Daniel. Their unwavering crusade for the truth of what happened to our parents pulls me along in its wake. Alone, I’m rudderless. But with my uncle and my brother by my side giving me the strength to do what needs to be done, I’m brimming with power.

My thumb swipes across my phone screen, navigating to a hidden album. Inside is a single photograph downloaded from the internet. Christian De Vil’s too-handsome face stares back at me, his smirk one that’s prevalent among the rich and powerful. Those that have, can, and do possess this kind of superiority complex and intrinsic belief that they arebetter than everyone else. That the rules don’t apply to them. That they can get away with anything—including murder.

I’m here to ensure that, even if he’s untouchable by law, he’s not untouchable by me.

Tossing my phone on the bed, I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The changes to my face are still taking some getting used to, even though I had surgery six months ago. It’s me… but not me. Incredible really what a different nose and reshaped chin can do to a person’s appearance. The nose still has a few months of healing yet, but no one would know to look at me from the outside.

Four weeks have passed since I tested my theory that Christian wouldn’t recognize me, especially as I wore a thick veil at my parents’ funeral. Once I overcame that hurdle, I deleted the few images of me on social media (never have been a heavy user) and moved onto the next phase of the plan.

The invitation to tonight’s masked ball at Oakleigh, the colossal manor house owned by the De Vils for centuries, calls to me from my bedside table. I pick it up, running my thumb over the embossed lettering.

Lady Grace Ambrose.

The pseudonym created for me by my brother Arron, an IT genius who fabricated an entire history for a person who doesn’t exist.

Juliet, my best friend and the only person outside my immediate family privy to the details of the plan, bursts into my bedroom.

“Okay, babes, quiz time. What’s your name?”

Her exuberant entrance pulls a smile from me. “Lady Grace Ambrose.” I do a little curtsey.

“And where are you from?”

“Originally from here, but I’ve lived in Cumbria for many years.”

“Oh, really?” She tilts her head. “What brought you back to Surrey?”

“My mother recently died. I wanted to rediscover my roots.” A sharp stabbing pain cuts through my chest. At least grief is one thing I won’t have to fake.

Juliet flashes a beaming grin. “Perfect. Remember, let him lead. You just answer the questions he poses and don’t offer up any unnecessary details. Stick as close to the truth wherever possible. If you can answer honestly without blowing your cover, do.”

“Got it.”

“Ready to get this show on the road?”

I bite my lip and grimace at her. “What choice do I have?”

A frown puckers the skin between her eyebrows. “There’s always a choice, Gracie.”

“Not if I want the truth.”

She takes my hand and tugs me to sit beside her on the bed. “It’s natural you’re nervous. You’ve been through so much to get here. Once you’re in the swing of things, it’ll get better. But promise me something.”

“What?”

“However deep you find yourself, if you want out, you call me. We’ll find a way to make it happen. It’s one thing to be driven by a need for the truth, but quite another to put yourself in mortal danger. Don’t let your loyalty to your parents, or to Daniel and Arron, put your own life at risk.”

I press my forehead to hers. “You’re the bestest friend a girl could ever want.”

“Oh, I know. I’m a fucking treat.”