I will possess your heart - Rhys Montrose X Reader

───Part 5.

Fashion had never been of much interest to you.

Well, sort of.

You admired those that had the time and money to weave together simple items into outfits that resembled their personality, standing out in the swarm of plain fits. Loved the way they paired and matched them, each with unique quirks that they kept in every single one they wore - no matter the style.

You, on the other hand, only owned run-of-the-mill pieces, combined to blend in perfectly, from second hand stores that had seen their fair share of years; clothes with patched up squares and stitches mending smaller holes.

The only ones that were remotely fashionable and in a pristine state were the three dresses you had on rotation when heading to the club. All too much to be worn to a simple date, Lucille and you agreed.

Was that what it was, you wondered, a simple date?

No doubt Rhys had a long line of suitors waiting to be whisked into the night by him; had you just unknowingly pushed yourself to the front, and after he'd fulfilled his duty he'd disregard you as any of the other people begging for his attention? Were you just a toy he's using to pass his free time for now?

It was no secret that the rich liked to pick up one or two people from the lower class for their own amusement, whether it was under the guise of romance or friendship. Is that what you were a part of now?

It certainly would make sense, you thought, after all, he had no trouble surrounding himself with those highfalutin parasites. It was probably why he adapted to that environment so easily, getting along just fine with the worst of the worst, because underneath that charming exterior, he was the same as them. A rich asshole toying with the lives of others for his own amusement.

"Oi, stop that." Lucille's voice swiped away the adamantine cloud consuming you, readjusting its path as you were unable to do so yourself.

"Stop what?"

"That." She circled her index in front of your face. "Brooding."
"I do not brood." You squint your eyes at her, whacking away her hand and occupying yourself with folding the clothes she had tossed onto your bed, Amanda sitting in the corner of it with headphones on and homework in her hands.

"Yes you do. You just did." She clicked her tongue, picking up a few of the items, examining them again.

"What makes you so sure that I was?"

"Please," To your annoyance, she unfurled a sweater you'd just finished folding, holding it up in the air against your upper torso. "I've known you long enough to know when you are."

You didn't believe her, ripping the fabric from her possession and crossing your arms.

"Fine, Fine. You've got a tell, but I'm not tell-ing." You rolled your eyes at her little joke - was that even considered a joke? - and went back to folding.