Ruthless Empire (Royal Elite #6)(27)

It should be red.

“Cole?” A soft voice calls from behind me. “What are you doing?”

I turn around and face her, but I don’t move from the edge. Under the moon’s light, she appears like a blue shadow. Her hair falls to her back and the butterfly necklace glints. She’s never removed it in public. Not even once.

But it’s not because she cares, no. It’s because it means she admits defeat if she doesn’t wear it.

And that’s exactly why I said those words — so she’d keep me with her at all times.

“Are you stalking me?” I ask.

“You wish.”

“Then why did you follow me all the way over here?”

“Papa called and said he made reservations for dinner. Derek will pick us up.”

“Message received. Go back to Aiden.”

She scowls, but she doesn’t make a move to leave. “Are you still smoking that death stick?”

I blow the smoke in her face, making it scrunch. “Obviously.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“If you keep complimenting me this often, I’ll think you have a fixation on me.”

“In your dreams.”

“You don’t want to know what’s in my dreams.”

“We agree on that.” She stretches her hand. “Give me your phone, I need to make a call to Derek. My battery died.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My begrudged thank you.”

I smirk as I retrieve my phone and unlock it. Silver makes her call, glaring at me the entire time. Once she finishes, she’s about to return it, but then she focuses back on the screen.

She must’ve touched a button. Her cheeks heat as her eyes widen and that look returns. The look from eight years ago.

It’s the fucking same.

I’ve seen hints of it, but never this identical awe.

“W-what the hell is this?” She thrusts the phone into my face.

It’s an image of Hope bound to a chair, half-naked, and giving me a seductive look. “Hope. She’s a senior.”

“I know it’s Hope, b-but w-why is she tied like that?”

“Because she likes it.” My voice lowers as I blow another cloud of smoke in her direction. “And I like it too.”

Silver’s face doesn’t even scrunch at the smoke. It’s caught in that eternal awe-filled look. Or maybe it’s fear?

Her blue eyes darken and her throat works up and down with a gulp.

“You’re…sick,” she breathes out, even as her cheeks redden under the moon.

Silver throws the phone in my hand, turns around, and marches out as if her heels are on fire.

Sick.

Maybe. Probably.

And part of my sickness is her. My Butterfly.

My chaos.





11





Silver





Age Seventeen





Timing is important.

Papa says that timing is the most important thing in the world.

You can’t start something a little too early or a little too late. A fraction of a second can make a difference not only in deciding crucial events but also in defining a person’s life.

I learnt the importance of timing from both Papa and Mum. Considering their political careers, time plays a huge tribute in their lives. They never go over the time given to them to speak in parliament. They just say precise information that doesn’t only relay their point, but also makes their opponents pause and think about a possible retort.

And yet, lately, I’ve been having this nagging feeling that I missed the timing for something.

What, I don’t know.

It couldn’t be piano practice or my weekends with Mum or even Papa’s house briefings.

Lately, it’s like we have the parliament at home. Everyone is there, led by Frederic, and it’s almost like early elections. While I love talking to Papa’s friends and getting caught in debates, I don’t like the feeling of emptiness the further he gets away from me.

Mum has been doing well, even after Papa started dating Helen. Actually, it’s too well that it’s beginning to raise red flags. She now goes out on dates to seek out a potential man to step on — her words, not mine.

Is it Mum? Is that why I feel the timing is wrong?

I send her a text to tell her I love her and miss her.

If we weren’t in the middle of dinner, I would’ve called, but Papa doesn’t like it when I talk to or about Mum in front of Helen. Not that she minds, she told me so herself. She said Mum is a part of who I am and no one can take her away from me.

I hugged Helen to death for saying those words.

Papa is wonderful, but he doesn’t understand my constant concern about Mum. He says she’s the adult and should worry about me, not the other way around.

But Papa doesn’t know about Mum’s mental state. All they do is fight. Even after nine years of divorce.

The four of us sit around the smaller table in the kitchen. Helen doesn’t like the bigger dining room when it’s only us. She said it feels impersonal and lonely while this one is cosier and gives a familial vibe.

I consider everyone here family — except for the one sitting opposite me.