Chapter 1
It might sound cliché, but sometimes I wish I could escape reality. Escape from the familiar and unchangeable reality I find myself in. The more time I spend here, the more I want to disappear. I find myself dreaming and drifting away to another world, where only the imagination sets limits. A place where I can do whatever I want and be whoever I want. However, I have come to realize that this dream of mine is impossible. Instead, I must learn to shape the reality I belong to so that it bends to my will as much as possible. There is nothing else to do but act.
—
I am a chaotic individual - at least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself. A few hours ago, I stood in my spacious apartment, throwing punches, kicks, and blows at a punching bag. It was exhausting and demanding, and sweat dripped down my temple, but now, the reason for the bead of sweat forming on my forehead is entirely different. The music, which undeniably can be categorized as house music, blasts through the entire room, reaching every corner and crevice of the nightclub.
I reach for the silver-plated strainer, buried beneath the mess left by my colleagues. Typical. The red cranberry-colored liquid fills the martini glass. I slide the cocktail across the counter, not even bothering to offer a polite smile, I just confirm the drink, “one Cosmopolitan.” I don’t even register what the person says in response, as I’m already working on the next three cocktails.
A familiar deep voice suddenly sounds beside me.
“Damn, Sinclair. If it weren’t for your speed and efficiency, you’d definitely be fired by now withthatservice smile.”
I throw him a quick, cold glance.
My colleague.Louis Carter.
Annoying. Mocking. Bold.
He always has some rotten, condescending remark up his sleeve. What I find amusing, though, is that he always chooses to direct them at me. Me, of all people. The woman who carries the most indifferent attitude and doesn’t have a single ounce of sympathy left for anyone. Yes, that’s me. That’s probably the best way to describe me.
Zoe Sinclair. A cold-hearted bitch.
I slide the three cocktails across the bar counter. A Gin & Tonic, an Aperol Spritz, and a White Russian.
“You know, Carter-” I pause as a slightly intoxicated blonde approaches and asks for a glass of water. I quickly fill her a glass and wave her away. Thankfully, she understands - it’s free in her state.
I continue, “I’d be even faster if you stopped talking to me.” I fold my arms lightly and turn toward him. He’s busy polishing a wine glass.
Tonight has been one of the better nights - nights where I haven’t had to endure his pathetic and cringeworthy flirting with female guests. Although I hate to admit it, their actions aren’t entirely unjustified. Louis Carter is an attractive man. The white shirt beneath his black vest, unfortunately, doesn’t make him look bad - unlike me.
I don’t know if it’s his height they first notice or his dark hair with a faint reddish tint. In reality, it’s probably his chestnut-brown eyes that draw them in. Typical. If only they knew what a massive failure he actually is. A complete nuisance, a plague, the root of all my irritations.
Louis Carter, ladies and gentlemen. The worst colleague you could ever have if you ask me.
“Hey, you - gorgeous! What drink do you recommend?” a hideous voice suddenly calls out.
I shift my deadly glare away from Carter and glance at the man in front of me, who apparently has the audacity to shout at me like that.
“I don’t know. Look at the cocktail menu,” I reply coolly over the music, nodding toward the laminated menu.
“Are you on the menu?”
I feel my eye twitch in sheer irritation. Both because of his question and because of the barely suppressed chuckle coming from my side.
“How about this one? On the house,” Carter says, sliding a lowball glass filled with clear liquid across the counter.
That’s the one good thing about Carter. He can sense when people press the wrong buttons and therefore step in. I’d rather not knock anyone out. I have my warnings. I’ve had my incidents. They deserved it, what can I say?
“What did you give him?” I ask, not really caring.
“Water with citrus.”
“You’re the best bartender in the world!” the man shouts, pointing shakily at Carter before stumbling away.
“Did you hear that, Sinclair?”
I roll my eyes in response, quickly scanning the room for any rush of customers before saying, “I’m taking two minutes.”
He laughs. “Leaving me with Ms. Monet?” He whispers her last name like it’s a massive burden.
My eyes flick past him to where the slender, red-haired, chatty burden is busy shaking a cocktail.
“She even seems to be in a good mood,” I reply monotonously, rounding the corner to the backroom.
I don’t hear what he says - or rather, I simply don’t care.
—
Several hours have passed. It’s three in the middle of the night, and I got off work just a few minutes ago. Sitting out on my balcony with a view of the Eiffel Tower, I analyze the busy streets of Paris. There’s still life in the city at this hour. How pathetic. Are there really no better things to do? Better things than drinking yourself senseless and wandering around in search of some kind of amorous validation?
I don’t even realize I roll my eyes - it just happens automatically.
I take a drag from my cigarette, inhaling the gray-white smoke.
My gaze sweeps over the streets once more. A strange feeling washes over me.
I can’t help but feel that we are all ignorant of the reality we live in. Unaware that something bigger and far more dangerous lurks among us. Is reality really just as it appears?
That’s also why I trust no one. Why I don’t possess even a sliver of sympathy for anyone.
I don’t know who I can trust. And sometimes, I’m not even sure I can trust myself.
My thoughts are dark. That’s no secret. I know it. Everyone knows it.
Zoe Sinclair is a dark mystery.
I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray, likewise extinguishing my brooding and distrustful thoughts.
I step inside through the balcony doors and lock them.
I should go to bed now.
The darkness embraces me, but that’s nothing new.
