by V. F. Mason
Two perfect daddy’s girls… saying all this?
Why?
And since when did their favorite grandma who doted on them their entire childhood become an old bitch?
They have zero reasons to have any resentments compared to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, dropping all pretense of small talk, and Ava rolls her eyes. “Come on, Briseis, it’s been ten years. Did you really think we’d be the same spoiled brats?” She elbows me a little, her bony arm digging painfully into my ribs. “We can actually form an alliance.”
I stay silent, and Addison huffs in exasperation. “We were awful in the past. All this”—her voice drops while she motions with her hand toward everyone—“is as much a hardship for us as it is for you.”
My hands tighten on the glass so hard I’m afraid it might crack, and I bite my lower lip, stopping myself from spilling my drink on them both.
Did they really think I’d fall for this shit after all this time?
My eyes snap open when someone touches me on the arm, shaking it so hard I turn on my back to see Ava looming above me, putting her finger to her lips when she sees I want to say something.
She leans closer, whispering, “Addison and I are going to the kitchen to grab some milk and read in the library. Do you want to go with us?”
I blink in confusion before my chest warms while excitement builds inside me from this proposition.
I’ve tried so hard to play with them or initiate any kind of contact with them, only for them to scream whenever I came close; this is like the best gift ever.
Nodding, I sit up, wiping my eyes sleepily, and glance at the bedside clock, gasping when I see it’s midnight.
Worriedly, I glance at Ava, who is already by the door, waving me toward her, and I ask tentatively, hugging my teddy bear to my chest. “Are you sure? Grandma doesn’t allow walking around at night.” It’s one of the rules in her book, and she promised to punish me if I don’t listen to her.
Ava shakes her head. “She won’t know. Grandma is a meanie, and we shouldn’t listen to her. Come on, Briseis.” She cocks her head to the side, and something crosses her face, but she replaces it with a smile. “Unless you don’t want to.”
Even though my heart beats rapidly in my chest with fear at the prospect of running into my grandmother, I don’t want to refuse this offer. Maybe we’ll become friends, and I won’t be so alone in this mansion.
In all the books I’ve read, the friends always come to the rescue, helping out in the most horrible situations, siblings too.
Giving my teddy bear a kiss, I put him to bed and throw a blanket over him before jumping to the floor and following Ava.
She tells me, “Go downstairs now. Addison is there already. I’ll grab a book from my room, and we can read stories.”
I do as she says with a wide smile on my face, my bare feet almost soundless on the marble, and end up in the kitchen where there is no one in sight.
I turn on the light, shivering in the darkness, and sit on a chair, waiting for the girls, wondering where they are.
Only for the staff to find me, because the two girls ran to my grandmother and told her they heard me sneak out of the room.
I got punished with the cane, was not allowed to eat anything besides soup for a week, and had to sleep on the kitchen floor three nights straight without a blanket. I got pneumonia shortly after.
I learned a lot of lessons back then.
One of them being to never, ever trust my half-sisters.
“It’s hilarious,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat from the memories with champagne.
Addison snatches a strawberry from the passing server, absently asking, “What’s hilarious?”
“Your bullshit.”
She jerks her head to me while Ava narrows her eyes, anger marring her features. “You little bitch,” Ava seethes, stepping toward me, and Addison grabs her elbow, stilling her movements.
“Don’t, Ava, Grandma will be pissed.” Addison sends a warning my way, shifting uncomfortably with fear coating her tone.
Ah, not so brave now, is she?
“I thought she was an old bitch?”
“You—” Whatever she wants to say dies on her lips though when the double doors burst open loudly, the heavy thumping of shoes ricocheting off the walls, while the energy around us changes so rapidly it’s like the air has become supercharged.
A shiver runs down my spine, and something invisible glides down my skin, leaving burning imprints all over it, awakening every hair on my body. With confusion traveling through me, I spin around to face the unexpected guests for whom even the music changed to a different tune, as if greeting them.
The four men march inside, in perfect sync with one another, wearing black suits along with an aura of dominance and complete power, and the word chaos comes to mind as if they destroy everything they touch. They are all tall, probably each one of them six foot three, which only adds to their almost unbearable presence.
Though that’s where their similarities end and differences begin.
I study them from left to right, starting with the last man.
His brown hair falls below his ears, his dark eyes subtly studying everything around him, yet you wouldn’t guess it if you didn’t pay enough attention to him. His muscled body looks almost out of place in a suit, reminding everyone he came from rags, and whatever he has, he got it with blood and sweat.
And the help of his friends, of course.
Remi Reyes.
Shifting my attention to the next one, I blink at how half his head is shaved with the rest falling over the side of his face, covering an angry long scar on his cheek. His cold stare has the power to awaken the dead to do as he says. A barbarian trapped in a suit whose ripped body is ready to erupt from it at any moment.
A stepson to an oil magnate who, according to rumors, hated him with a passion and gave him the scar everyone shies away from looking at.
Octavius Reed.
I slide my gaze to the next one, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, his blond hair glistening under the light, and his bright green eyes make me think of the clearest of emeralds. Compared to most of them, he’s on the leaner side, the clothes and the atmosphere fitting him like a glove, while the wicked smile on his mouth could charm any willing woman out of her panties in record time.
After all, his manwhore ways are legendary.
Belonging to the exclusive jewelry makers dynasty whose pieces are displayed all over the world and cost a fortune, he is considered one of the rare ones who got his great-grandfather’s talents.
Florian Price.
Finally, inwardly gasping for breath, I move my eyes to the last man, already knowing how my heart will speed its beating the minute his full male beauty comes into view.
After all, I always have this reaction from the various pictures in the magazines I’ve seen of him, so real life shouldn’t be any different.
Except it’s nothing I could have prepared for.
The air hitches in my throat when I get hit so hard with the impact of his presence I can barely stand straight, but still I glue my gaze to him, not missing any small detail about him.
His dark hair accentuates his tan skin and emphasizes the high cheekbones that only bring attention to the perfect symmetry that is his face.
His mouth with full lips curves into a smile, yet compared to Florian’s, it almost serves as a warning to whoever wants to come close to be ready to face the outcome of their decision.
The white shirt under his black suit has several top buttons open, showcasing the tattoos on his neck and chest, while his muscled yet lean body almost tempts any female in close proximity to discover what hides behind the V of his neckline.
Everything about him is stunning from his darkish, gorgeous charisma to the dangerous energy surrounding him wherever he goes, promising a life full of secrets he’ll never share with anyone.
However, the most piercing part
of his looks is his blue-as-the-ocean eyes that are so beautiful I wonder if he’s wearing contact lenses, because I’ve never seen such a pure color on anyone.
His eyes scan the space for a glimpse of something, and part of me almost wishes to be on the receiving end of their gaze, imagining what it feels like when you’re the center of their attention.
Do they hold wicked promises as all his photos do?
Or do they have fury in them, blazing so hard one should step back and not get burned?
I’ve collected so many pictures of him, wanting to recreate his beauty in my statues but always failing, because only God himself could have made him.
Santiago Cortez.
The man of my dreams, if only I dared to dream about him.
Three heirs to different thrones and one self-made king.
Each powerful on their own, however their true strength lies in their unity, as their combined worth allows them to be invincible to anyone and anything.
Men for whom rules and order don’t exist, because they crush them under their thumbs.
Life is endless play while women are nothing but interchangeable bodies.
They say there is no woman alive who can resist them or a man who doesn’t bow to them.
Each one of them has a tattoo on their collarbone too that members of the press have seen, writing entire articles about it, speculating what it might mean but never finding an answer.
In chaos do we thrive.
The Four Dark Horsemen.
Santiago
I find the object of my search standing out from the other two sisters like a not-yet-carved expensive gemstone among the rocks.
Look at me getting all fucking poetic.
Her heavy brown locks cascading down to her lower back are held in place by a tight clip on the side of her head, although it does little to contain the wildness contrasting with her pale skin through which every vein in her body is visible.
Especially her wildly beating pulse.
My first instinct should be imagining blood slowly dripping from it, leaving bruises on the pale perfection, showcasing my work in its full glory.
Instead, I want to skim my knife along it and watch goose bumps of fear break across her skin. Erotic images flash and fill my mind with two of the things in this world that give me pleasure.
The silver dress hugs her tight, emphasizing to the world every curve and dip of her body from her full breasts to narrow waist and wide hips that can cradle a man between them as he gets lost in her body.
Cradle me.
Unfamiliar rage and possessiveness boil my blood when I think of anyone else touching this beautiful creature who should have never been dumped into hell. These reactions demand I mark her in a way that leaves no doubt she belongs to me. The emotions are so foreign to me I almost fail to recognize them and chuckle under my breath, finding the reaction amusing.
I should have expected that. Even as a child, I never shared, so why would she be any different?
After all, she’s my most beloved toy for the time being, or should I say temporarily filling the place until I get what I really want.
Her mysterious eyes gaze at me with curiosity, bringing attention to their beauty, their different colors of green and gray so vivid in her face that one doesn’t know on which one he should focus more.
For some, they’re creepy, but for me though?
I’ve never seen anything more stunning, and I wonder how they will look when I trail my tongue all over her, teaching her all the ways a human body can experience pleasure and still crave more. Will they light up with fire and desire or become the colors of melted stones?
Mujer hermosa.
None of these thoughts had even crossed my mind until my gaze landed on her.
What the fuck happens when the hunter starts to want the bait as much as he does the prey?
Chapter Six
“People say to be careful what you wish for because it might come true.
They are right.”
Briseis
From Flora’s diaries
10 December
Can a person die from happiness filling their heart to the brink? Might they be afraid it will crack?
That’s the question I’ve been asking myself every single day since that fateful night in the garden with Howard.
On the day after our first kiss, I found my father striking a deal with him, which meant Howard would be a guest in our house often.
Needless to say, we’ve sneaked secret kisses ever since; whenever he stops by, we find time for each other, and he even paid off one of the maids to keep our secret when we got busted by her.
He promises me that one day we’ll be together, because, for him, it was love at first sight too.
Even Dad is in a good mood; he likes his company too.
There is one thing I’m nervous about though.
Dad plans to leave for his business trip in a few weeks, and this time around, I will stay with only the maids in the house. Usually, he drags me along with him, claiming I’m protected in his company.
Howard convinced him, though, that he can keep an eye on me, and I’ve blushed ever since.
I know what he wants; his hands become more daring with each encounter as he teaches me new stuff and whispers very blush-worthy things.
I don’t know if I’m ready for more, but I love him so much.
However, I hate all the sneaking around; my dad might not be perfect, but he’s a good man. Lying to him feels wrong. Howard promised to work up the courage to speak to him about our relationship.
All he has to do is ask me to marry him, and I’ll follow him everywhere. Dad will accept the marriage in time. The only reason he objected to Matilda’s union was because the musician refused to put a ring on her finger at the time.
Howard is different.
He’ll find a way for us to be together. I trust him this much.
Briseis
Forcefully pulling my gaze from Santiago, not wanting my heart to crush when his blue orbs land on some beauty I could never measure up to, I put my empty glass on the nearby table, gulping for breath, and plaster a smile back on my face.
“The dark four have arrived. Can you believe this?” Excitement laces Addison’s voice, and from the corner of my eye, I see how she adjusts her dress and hair. “They rarely grace such parties with their presence unless one of their families is hosting it.”
Ava snorts. “Unless they have a good reason to.” Despite her harsh words, her tone implies she’s as enamored with them as the rest of the female population.
“Do you think they came because of us?”
“Grandmother did say she has a surprise. Plus, she has been picking perfect candidates for us for a while now.”
Candidates?
For marriage?
In our society, marriages of convenience are standard practice, where money marries for money in order to ensure alliances between families. In most cases though, the parties involved get to know each other without the pressure of their families breathing down their necks, urging them to pick someone.
No one cares who you marry as long they have the fortune to expand the family name, instead of dirtying it up. Yet it sounds like Grandmother has already spoken with the dark four, and one of them has agreed to marry into the family.
Can it be true?
Oblivious to my shock, they continue to talk. “I can’t believe Grandmother managed to get us one of them!” Ava claps her hands. “Addison, I think she heard us when we gushed about them.” Her brows furrow. “Which ones are here for our hands?”
“As long as it’s one of them, I don’t care.” Addison pauses for a second and then adds, “I take it back. I hope neither of us is stuck with Octavius. He’ll not look good in wedding pictures.”
Resisting the urge to hit her with something for such a comment, I snatch a bottle of water and open the lid, needing to have something cold in my mouth so it can ground me in the present and pull me ou
t of my idiotic thoughts.
Why do I care about this anyway?
Santiago has always been out of my reach, and so what if I’ve dreamed about him a bit too much recently?
He isn’t responsible for the crush I’ve harbored for him over the last few years, waiting for rare news about him as if I were an addict searching for her next fix.
All the rational thinking doesn’t stop the irrational anger boiling my blood and disappointment sliding through me at the thought of Santiago wanting one of my half-siblings.
Somehow in my dreams, he has never been this vain and… well, hurtful to me. Which just proves I had no business crushing on him in the first place, as he is the same kind of asshole as everyone else.
Not to mention ten years older than me.
Congratulations! You’ve officially lost your mind, Briseis.
“Oh my God. Santiago is coming toward us.” Addison shakes Ava’s arm.
“Thank God,” my other sibling replies, and I roll my eyes, chuckling under my breath for this “amazing” surprise fate has decided to grant me. I put the bottle back on the table and pick one of the strawberries from the bowl, biting into it and not caring if it drips all over my dress.
That’s what I’m here for, right? Act polite, keep my mouth shut, and give the grandmother what she so wants. A picture of the perfect family, even though it’s rotten and disgusting from the inside out.
The band chooses this time to resume their music, the soft melody ideal if one wants to engage in a slow dance. I pick another strawberry, ignoring the rapid beating of my heart when footsteps echo from behind me and heat surrounds me all at once.
Such madness, a person shouldn’t react this much to someone without even knowing them. Maybe I’m a bit vain too, since I have such strong emotions for him based on his handsomeness alone.
“Would you like to dance?” His deep and husky voice touches me like the finest of silks, and my betraying pulse speeds up.
How could a freaking voice be so tempting that images of me lying beneath him in bed come to mind, filling it with my dark, seductive desires and things that have no place in my life?
