The House of Common Lies

Chapter 1: A to B

I hadn't realised how entitled I was until I'd left home. You see, nothing had ever come at a cost. Not really. I never had anything I genuinely cared about or wanted to protect. I had seemingly endless reserves of money, valuable information that allowed me to get away with murder - blackmail is a friend in the journalist game - and I was so disconnected from others that I never had to worry about emotional attachments getting in the way. He changed it all, somehow. He became the one who orchestrated the scheme which gave me protection. He became sole owner of all the blackmail material had. He was the one who made me consider others above myself. I fell in love with him, and I never saw it coming. Ultimately, the was the upside of losing control.

Of course, I'm stubborn. I hated him at first. The night we first met was the night I left home. I was uneasy, vulnerable, putting on a front. He saw right through it.

A faceless driver had sat in the car at the end of my drive. Light from a nearby streetlamp spilled over, the vehicle's black body orange as it basked in its glow. Well, I had thought to myself dryly, at least they have some taste. I had approached the car, adjusting my bag, taking a moment to study the model. If there was one truthful thing my father ever found it in himself to tell me, it was that a man's car tells you a lot about the man in question. Bentley Continental GT; a new make. Practical, professional, reliable, and coveted by corporate bigwigs across the globe. These were the people I was dealing with. Of course, it was impeccably well looked after. It appeared never to have seen a country road in all its time, never to have been privvy to even the smack of a fly against the windshield. For a vehicle being so very British, that should have been strange; but it wasn't. These people cared so very much for appearances. It was funny in an ironic sense - that they would be so against the gluttony and pretentiousness of British politicians (hence, the reason they were protecting me), yet they would drive around in sleek sports cars wearing pristine suits.

Clearly, the men in question were not so courteous as their methods of transportation would suggest. I had let myself into the backseat of the car, tossing the rucksack in first. I was surprised when it hit at the thigh of a (rather attractive) man around my age. He looked up, surprised, regarding me coolly through his sunglasses. Yes, sunglasses. These were the wee hours of the morning and this guy was wearing sunglasses. This infuriated me a little. He was hardly in the Russian Mafia, and I'll hope you'll pardon the pun, but it made the whole affair seem even more shady. To add to matters, I hated not to be able to see his eyes. Eyes are telling, and not seeing his made me feel...powerless. I glared, sidling into the car. I didn't like this one bit. To add to the strangeness of the entire situation, I could have sworn I knew his face.

The car started, and I crossed my arms, not breathing a word. I hoped he wouldn't attempt at conversation. No such luck. He smirked at me, his full lips curving round at one corners, offering me a small nod of acknowledgement.

"No apology?" his tone was amused, patronising. I couldn't help but feel a pang of recognition at the sound of his voice. I couldn't have forgotten a voice like that; a voice that resonated comfortably in my ears, deep, slightly accented. Were I any other woman - which I was not - I would have melted at the sound.

"What?" I replied, irritably. Who was he to patronise me? I'd accidentally hit him with my bag. It was hardly a crime. Besides, they were the ones dragging me from my home not even ten minutes off the stroke of midnight. Of course, I saw the necessity, but it was an inconvenience nonetheless.

"You hit me with your bag." his smirk widened. My eyes rolled at his expression.

"So?"

He laughed shortly, his smirk having become a wide grin. This stranger was striking me as arrogant. "Well, Miss Delores, I was told you were feisty, but that word doesn't quite do you justice. Considering we'll be roommates for the next couple of months, I'd change my tune if I were you." he removed his sunglasses and extended his hand to me, "Dean Caddaric."

My eyes widened in shock. Dean Caddaric. This was the son of my father's opponent, one of the most influential political moguls of this generation. That was how I had recognised him. He had the same burning amber eyes as his father, the same authoritative tone of voice, the same chiselled jawline and trademark 'I-know-it-all-already' smirk. Given his father's position, him being there was...well, he shouldn't have been there. Was this a trap?

His forehead creased at the look of worry on my face, "Don't worry. I'm part of The Alliance." He continued to hold out his hand, the gesture more so a gesture of peace now. I cautiously shook it, eyeing him with caution.

"Why? And what do you mean 'roommates'?" I questioned, still distrusting him. I hadn't been told much, but this wasn't at all what I'd expected.

"For similar reasons to you: I'm tired of our fathers' ways," he winked "though perhaps I'm not so blasé about it as you, Melinda." He resumed his smirk, which I think may have been his default expression. "And yes, sweetheart, you'll be rooming up with one of the most eligible bachelors this country has to offer. Aren't you a lucky girl?"

I scoffed at his forwardness.

He raised his eyebrow, "Given your writing, I'd expect you to be a little more conversational."

I mirrored his expression, "Well, I'm not."

He sighed, irritated, "I can see living with you won't be easy."

"It'll be no cup of tea for me either." I replied, hotly.

"Clearly my efforts here are wasted. Do you know where we're going?"

"No. I've not been told much. I suspect you know a thing or two."

"Well, I suspect we're going to The Alliance's HQ. All I know is that we're both under their protection, and we'll be living together."

"Helpful. Why didn't I know about you?" I asked, frustrated by the fact that he'd known about me, but I hadn't known about him.

He chuckled at this, his eyes twinkling merrily. He reminded me of Puck, the impish fellow in A Midsummer Night. It didn't help that he took that opportunity to speak in riddles, "Well, I do know how you like your mysteries."

There was a tone beneath his words I didn't like. I pursed my lips, arms crossed, and turned to face the window. I just wanted to get from A to B and be left alone. I wasn't one for company, and his arrogance made it entirely worse. Trust me to be thrown into a situation with someone like this.

"I just hope this will be over soon." I muttered under my breath.

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Chapter two, done! 

What do you guys make of Dean and Melinda? I know this isn't a great chapter, but I wanted their first meeting to make its way into this. 

Again, if you guys have ideas, questions, or criticisms, just send me a message or write a comment down below! 

Thank you if you're still here and not drifting off.

Chloe :)

(P.S. Vote/Comment if you liked it!)