The Velvet Guest List (The Guest List Chronicles Book 1)

Secrets Wear Masks. So Do Monsters.

When Detective Lillian Mercier is called back to the hauntingly opulent Château de Lune, she finds more than blood on the ballroom floor. A masquerade gala turns deadly, and buried pasts unravel beneath velvet masks and whispered waltzes. At the heart of it all is Sienna Delacroix—the woman Lillian tried to forget—and a cursed ledger that could topple empires: The Velvet Guest List.

In a world of forbidden desires, secret societies, and sins written in ink and blood, Lillian must navigate a labyrinth of betrayal and seduction. As the Château burns and the past claws its way free, survival may come at the cost of truth—or love.

Lose the mask. Enter the gala. But remember:

Your name’s already on the list.

Read The Velvet Guest List now.

Excerpt from the book

The invitation was written in black ink on cream vellum, sealed with crimson wax, and slipped into a midnight-blue envelope that smelled faintly of rose and smoke. No return address. No phone number. Just a name elegantly embossed in gold: Lucien Vallée.

Elïse Moreau hadn’t seen Lucien in six years.

Not since she had left Paris with a bruised rib, a stained reputation, and a broken engagement.

Now, the envelope lay open on her kitchen counter, catching the dying sunlight through the window like a signal flare. The words on the card burned into her mind:

You are cordially invited to an exclusive masquerade at Château Vallée. Midnight dress. Masks required. Secrets are optional. March 3rd. One night only.

She had read it ten times already.

Eleven, if she counted the reread she did while sipping her fourth espresso.

In her small, book-crammed apartment in Lyon, the invitation felt like a ghost. Like something that shouldn’t have reached her. Like a test.

And Elïse had never been good at walking away from a dare.

The road to Château Vallée curled like a snake through the hills, lined with trees still bare from winter, their twisted branches clawing at the twilight sky. Her rented Jaguar purred as she drove, its polished black surface reflecting the oncoming dark.

It had been a long time since she’d worn heels this high or a dress this tight. Midnight blue silk clung to her like a whisper, and the matching mask sat on the passenger seat, its edges laced in black and lined with dark crystals. A mask for a woman who wasn’t sure who she was anymore.

The château appeared just after a bend in the road, rising like a memory from the mist.

Dozens of candles flickered along the stone steps leading up to the main entrance. Valets in raven-black uniforms waited at the roundabout. As Elïse stepped out of the car, the air smelled like lavender and firewood. Strings of soft music floated from within the grand hall, delicate and dangerous.

The moment she entered, she was swallowed by velvet and gold.

Crimson drapes hung from the ceiling. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a warm, seductive light. Everywhere she looked, there were masks: feathered, jeweled, horned, and haunting.

So then, like a shadow stitched into silk, Lucien appeared.

He hadn’t changed much.

Tall, with that perfectly unbothered posture of someone born into obscene wealth. His tuxedo was midnight black, his mask silver, simple, and cruelly elegant.

“Elïse,” he said, voice like warm cognac. “You came.”

She tilted her head, cool despite the fire blooming low in her stomach.

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t think you would accept.”

“Then you don’t know me very well anymore.”

Lucien smiled, slow and practiced. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

They stood in silence that said too much. Melodies rose around them, violins threading through tensions like a blade through lace.

“Enjoy yourself tonight,” he said at last. “The games begin at midnight.”

“Games. Of course.”

With Lucien, there were always games.

By ten o’clock, the ballroom was buzzing.