Sinful Elysium

→ chapter 3

VIVIENNE

So this is what it meant to be speechless.

Her mouth had not stopped hanging open the entire way up from the fancy garage with its smooth, dark grey interior walls, and stone-tiled floor illuminated by bright white LED lights and further to the lift. Pristine marble underneath her shoes blinked back at her where they needed a personal code or keyfob to gain access.

Vivienne had mutely followed behind Finley and dragged her suitcase along as she looked around with a dumbfounded expression, for once not the slightest ashamed at her behaviour as he led the way. She admired everything, from the sparkling floors to the shiny buttons and doorknobs and even the crystal-clean windows of the communal lobby.

Everything around her was so bright, white, and clean - the typical in today's modern interior which she found a tad boring for her taste. But there was no denying the luxurious mindset that went into every single inch of it. Vivienne herself was attracted to more vintage and darker interiors, but she wasn't about to offend her new landlord or roommates for their taste.

She could still appreciate what clearly looked like millions of dollars worth. It was hard not to.

The lift opened with a smooth woosh which made no creaking or grating sound against the floors. She hobbled out after her brother who was pulling her heaviest and biggest suitcase along with a carry-on bag on his shoulder. The one in her hand was around the same size but held more clothes than shoes which took most of the weight, and it miraculously didn't get stuck on its way out which always happened to her at hotels and airports.

Never mind the apartment Finley lived in. It wasn't an apartment - it was a fucking penthouse at some upscale services residence, whose name she couldn't remember but was notoriously known for housing the filthy rich people of Chicago.

This was upper, upper class - a concept she was not familiar with.

The whole place was made up of white, hues of more grey and dark wooden cabinets in the kitchen. But everything was so piercingly bright. From the walls to the couches and everything in between, with the exception of the decor to make that small artistic contrast.

"Don't tell me you killed somebody to get this," Vivienne turned to Finley with a slack face.

"I didn't kill anyone." He rolled his eyes. "I told you, it's a friend of mine."

"He must be a bloody good friend to let you live in his two-story penthouse for free."

"I'm not complaining though." Finley shrugged easily. "It's a rough world, gotta take what you can have."

"Yeah, and when that something comes to claim a debt in ten years' time, don't go running for me to save your bum." Vivienne muttered, following him further inside as he snorted at her words.

"Your accent's gotten stronger." Her brother noted.

"I've lived in London since I was fifteen years old, habits change."

"It's just funny, 'cause last time any of our friends saw you, you still spoke like every other native-born Chicago kid."

"You don't." Vivienne pointed out. "And the last time anyone from our hometown saw me was eight years ago."

"I did go to UCLA for six years."

"Sure, half a decade ago." She snickered.

Finley gave her an obvious 'I'm tired of your shit' look. "You know it wouldn't hurt you to say five years instead of throwing a decade in there."

"You're miffed I'm calling you old?"

"No idea what that means, but whatever, quick tour."

He whirled around to grin, clapping his hands together like some sort of over-enthusiastic tour guide.