Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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There it is, that soft murmur of Orson's.
"I love you." The whisper finds me in the dark, his grasp never leaving me as I'm cocooned in between his limbs. He's stroking my pretty little head, fingers combing through golden strands. He looks at me with such sweetness- that dreamy look, his pinkening cheeks, all elation and mischief and wonders like I never saw in him. He has never been like this with other girls; he's often so cold and exacting and distant, like a cool machine. The smooth-talker, the one with all the right lines and the right words, and now I see him like this, vulnerable and mine for the taking.
I know that in whatever game I've been playing I've won. I've been winning, leaving everyone in the dust. I've met the most insufferable people here in this world. But they also met me.
I snuggle under his cashmere blankets and close my eyes for a second. I imagine what it would be like to have all this ripped away from me, falling under me, sand in an hourglass. The smell of Orson's Chanel Bleu wafting away from me, the warmth of his body next to me becoming stale and empty. My golden hair transforming back to its original dark brown colour and my lithe and toned physique becoming average and doughy.
I don't want to even think about it.
A knock at Orson's door. It's way too abrupt and urgent to be a maid politely asking if she could clear the laundry basket. Even without the door opening, I automatically know who it is.
"Come in," murmurs Orson, rising lazily from his mountain of cashmere pillows. The door swings open with force, revealing Carmen in the doorway.
Her eyes narrow when she spots me enveloped in his arms and her lips are pursed with disapproval. Ever the protective sister, Carmen's devotion to Orson is, in many ways, her undoing. I've always thought their relationship was closer than step-siblings. Now knowing that they are technically half, their closeness makes sense. But from Carmen's side, her unflinching blinding love for Orson seems to go a little further than familial piety.
For a sickening moment, I have an inkling she might be in love with him. It explains her jealousy and anger over Carlotta, a girl who had purposely gotten herself pregnant. It also explains her relationship with Aidan, Orson's right-hand man. Aidan is Orson adjacent.
"I need to talk to you," Carmen folds her arms across her silk camisole. "Privately."
Orson sighs and runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Whatever you want to say to me you can say it in front of Amory, Carmen."
I keep my silence and stare steadily at Carmen, watching as distaste makes a mark on her regal face. Her gaze darkens, eyes growing cold and hard. Urgency rings out of every syllable. "Orson, I need to talk to you. Now."
"Fine," Orson grumbles and runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Can I go take a shower first though?"
"Sure, I'll wait for you in my room," Carmen says, pleasant smugness seeping into her tone. She gives me one final look and it's a smile. It's a smile I know only too well, one that tells me of complacent victory, and at that moment I realise Carmen might've gotten fat in rehab for the last few months but she still hasn't changed one fucking bit.
