Was it not simply every young girl's wildest dream at some point in their lives?

Big, jewelled eyes glistening like cavernous gems at the wide city lights – dreaming of a life of fame, notoriety and glamour?

Ever since young Lana was forming sentences, she had wanted to sing. Everyone in her close proximity knew it, the young Lana Grant and her funny little ways – using any object she could find as a microphone and putting on her own small concerts in the drawing room after a small dinner party.

From a young age, she was always regarded by every grown soul she met as a real 'American sweetheart'. Her full, rosy cheeks, glistening brunette curls and emerald green eyes – they all gave off such an angelic glow that seemed as if it could never be tainted. Every person who had met the young girl, showered her doting mother and father with glorious praise about what a 'sweet young girl' they had.

Living in a modest town house in the outer skirts of Saint Denis, the Grant family were by no means filthy rich whilst Lana was growing up – but they certainly weren't working class. Her father was a notable and intelligent Physician, having his own practice in the centre of the city and writing a few books in his spare time. He was a rather reserved man, but none the less loving to his little family. He spent most of his time wearing his array of fitted suits that further made his already tall stature loom above all – with his small spectacles sitting on the end of his nose and a quiet smile playing on his lips.

Lana's mother was an average-height thin housewife with kind brown eyes and donning her apron like a ball gown – she was a patient, understanding and loving woman. Countless were the days young Lana spent at home with her; baking, reading, playing the piano – her mother was her best friend growing up, considering Lana was an only child.

Understandably, the Grant daughter knew nothing but goodness growing up. Living with a people orientated, happy family – a father who cared for the population and a mother who sat on almost every committee possible in town. Squeaky clean, porcelain and polished –her family were perfection in society. Smiles all round and in Church every Sunday. The very same Church which subsequently first introduced Lana to a rather hellish reality.

--

Front row on the choir of teenage girls like herself, Lana's angelic voice had filled the echoing structure on that fateful day her grassy-green eyes happened upon the man who would seemingly make all of her dreams a reality all whilst tipping her whole world so rapidly upside down.

A nearly bald man, with just a ring of hair around the sides and back of his hair. He had eyes like a mouse, small and beady and they seemed to flicker everywhere as he watched her sing that day. His long fingers looked like the artwork of some demented painter; long and bony, fiddling slowly as if the man in the crowd was thinking about the girl carefully...

After the rich chirps of the choir had long since filled the Church, Lana had been stopped on the way down the aisle by this strange man. She could clearly remember the moment his sharp fingertips seemed to knife into her shoulder as he caught her passing by, the whispering tone of promise in his voice and a face that, at the time seemed to be smiling with delight he had found her..

Looking back on it, Lana realised he was only smiling in such a way because he saw her as a wad of walking cash.

He had been snappy to switch on the charm with the Grant family, raining praise upon them like all the other people seemed to do about how talented she was. It was praise Lana had rather become numbed to whilst growing up, after having heard the coos and clucks from since she was barely four. At fifteen, the chimes had rather lost their original shine.

It was not long before the creature turned to business, and unsurprisingly, Lana was shunted aside whilst he cornered her wondered-eyed parents off. He might as well of been licking his lips and getting out his knife and fork judging by how hungry he appeared to have Lana signed to him. Staring on, a hopeful teenage girl with glassy eyes and her dreams just dizzying around her – this smartly dressed man appeared to of been the key to unlocking everything she had been chasing after for such a prolific amount of time.

Minutes later, the man had reproached the Grant daughter – and she very quickly clocked the slender arm extended out to her, his thin flat hand instigating a handshake.

"Well, Miss Grant," his southern tones sounded more than pleased, his smile began to spread into a grin like a wildfire "I am Mr Beckton – and I'm pleased to be your agent."

-

Seven years later ~

Grand symphonic halls, late nights, long dresses and cherry wine – Lana's life was quickly becoming a turbulent mess that was covered up by polite and inspiring talks to young women in bookstores in the daylight hours.

Everything was masqueraded to run with the upkeep of her widely adored glamour – not a single soul could come to learn the darkness that ran hot blooded and ever present beneath the apparently sparkling surface.

Lana's happiness for the past seven years had been puppeteered for her by Beckton's skeletal hands – stringing her to each little public event and meeting he could to try and tie some more business deals.

The spiral had quickly set in even in the first few weeks of Lana landing in her dream life. At 16, she had been told by Beckton that she had to stay away from her parents if she wished to lead the life she so wanted. A young girl, naïve and frightened – she meekly followed his orders simply because she was afraid of a violent nature that lingered like a wolf in the shadows behind his apparently conservative tones.

Not that fretting over past mistakes made any difference now – no matter how much she wished she had swam out of these waters before they had become too deep. It was safe to say Lana was in years' worth of crap now, and at this present time it felt as if she was just about treading water – bound to become swallowed up in the body of water that was this twisted reality.

Being a singer, being famous and having a packed concert hall every night was very much just the top layer – it was like a door that not many got to creep behind, as it only led to further things that Mr Beckton found he could put a charge on her for. Marketing deals, press-conferences and advertisements – things she really had not wanted to do. He had stolen her very life from her, and no matter how much Lana wished she could run away – it was simply impossible. He was with her almost every moment of the day, manging her life like a diary.

In fact the only thing that kept Miss Grant from ending everything was the pure amazement and relief she felt when she hit the stage for a few hours and gave her heart and soul, transported to another world when her crooning angelic vocal chords reverberated around an elegant hall, voice backed beautifully by a fully fleshed orchestra.

Very quickly, many in Saint Denis flocked to hear the sensational songbird, having heard through awe-struck mouths that she was a perfect performer and a captivating singer. Any soul that could afford a ticket scrapped and struggle for one every Saturday night; it was rare that a seat was left unfilled.

But it seemed her presence attracted more than just the factory workers or the local richmen and their wives seeking a good night out; yes, Lana's classic elegant aura had hooked the attention of a mysterious dark stranger, who filled the VIP box almost every weekend – smoking long cigars and watching with an eye trained like an eagle.

This mysterious stranger was enrapt in her youthful beauty and grace, her voice reckoned with him like the force of the angels themselves – and from the moment he'd first heard her sing and seen that sweet figure sway along to the songs in that fine, silk white dress; he knew he had to make her his own.

See; this was a man who got what he wanted. A fierce dog, he had scrapped and snarled in the streets and dominated his way over others to reach the top of his game. Now not many dared to look him in his dark eyes; he really was like some kind of demon dog.

James Harper – notorious gang leader of Saint Denis' fearsome gang, the Cobalt Jackals. Even a mere mention of that name sent a shiver down most folks spines'. Many had tangled with the wrong side of Harper and his gang over the number of years they'd practically been running the city – and only a fair few lived to tell the tales of horror they experienced. Harper was a force to be reckoned with – an elusive yet highly assertive figure, he talked with fire and walked with it; and austere man with leadership in each step. He was wicked, bitter, tormented – vile in some respects, but he was incredibly handsome in a rugged kind of way.

And so a charming smirk reeled onto his lips as he and his allies stalked slowly down the hallways of the concert hall one night, adorned in dark leather and a fearsome aura – quickly locating Mr Beckton. Not many people greeted this terrifying dark eyed stranger with a smile; but Mr Beckton knew who he was – and what he wanted.

"Mr Harper!" he sounded delighted if anything to see this ruthless killer. "What can I do for you?"

It started with one simple question followed by a gesture:

"How much is she? The girl?"

His large hand snatched Beckton's, and slammed a fair wedge of crumpled green notes into the agent's greasy little palm.

There was a slight hungry urgency in Harper's gleaming dark eyes, dilated like a wolf that and caught the scent of blood. It was clear Lana was the embodiment of everything this outlaw needed in his girl, a face that would make other gang leader's jealous – the voice of an angel and the stature of a woman that really could make her his trophy. Miss Grant had her many successes beside his own.

"I will pay whatever you want, so I can have her." His tones were dark, and the rigid and challenging stance of his men warned Beckton not to charge too high – or risk having his legs broken.

The slimy little agent still happily settled on a 8,000$ sum to have his songbird handed over to Harper unbeknownst.

The first Lana knew of it, three burly and black adorned men had charged into her dressing room. To this day, it was still one of the most harrowing feelings she had ever felt.

Her first impressions of Harper?

Tall, wolfish – darkly charming, an undeniable air of danger about him that told from the very beginning he was not good news.

Clear as day, his footsteps rang with a dull thud as he crossed the plush carpeted floor of the dressing room, making his way towards his girl with an evilly chuffed smile. Stunned, Lana remained cemented to the ground beneath her feet, hand shakily resting on the dressing table top just behind herself.

As he closed in, she could smell the vague lingering scent of a smoky cigar, the cool leather of his jacket and the scent of honey whisky lingering from his hot breath.

"Miss Grant," that laughter started to rumble from him, eyes creasing a little with a grin on his expression. Lana's shaky breath hitched, as he stole her small hand in his own, the woman felt barely a child next to this slightly eccentric criminal before her eyes – he was easily twice her age.

Visibly shaking, her dense fear was not settled by the slowest and most lingering kiss pressed to the back of her dainty hand – the image of his dark eyes revealed as he peered up at her green ones with a sinister smile.

"It seems we find ourselves acquainted."

-

a/n: This heckin' sucks and I'm sorry, I am just trying to set up the story in this chapter – an introduction I guess? Stuff will start happening soon enough.

YEEHAW.