The Color of Trouble

Chapter 1

Chapter 1- Violet

Stilettos.

Red.

Echoing on his epoxy floor?

Taa taa. Taa taa.

The unusual feminine sound halts David Rhineston's fountain pen, the point inches from underlining Eric's strengths. Edward Ruvara, ten-year-old mischievous (or misunderstood to David) Eric's father, is at that moment on his way for a first meeting with David.

The boy needs to be taught tactic. Getting caught trying to sneak a snake into his mother's purse is poor execution of a brilliant plan. He should've had a back-up plan since he doesn't posses a natural silver tongue like his father.

Of the five unique locations he likes to unlock personalities, David chose this enormous Italian style mansion for Eric for its male dominance. He sensed, from the mother's selfish complaints, the boy needs male handling as soon as before he was born. Instead of screaming, there's to be spanking. In place of complaints, action. The mansion also boasts of a library rivalled by no other. This will feed the boy's curiosity whilst the space provides freedom of exploration and mental growth.

'A great engineer,' David tells himself sensing it in his bones. He's glad Edward's trusting him with Eric, putting aside their personality clash. God knows how much talent is lost because parents want to mould their children using their own blueprint instead of the blue print the child's born with.

'I mean, we all have our own unique DNA even if we inherited it afrom our parents. Why then are we forced to be a specific person when our body knows what it needs. After all, it divided and specialized without anyone's help. Of course,' David pushes his reading glasses up his roman nose, 'we need guidance to read our blue print. I suspect not many know how to read other people's blueprint the way I do.'

David sighs. Edward is going to be hard to persuade to let the boy lead his own way. Being one of the richest men in the city, Edward believes commerce runs the world from household to empires.

'Excuse me.'

The voice, like rivers of syrup tickles, his ears.

'Marylin Monroe,' he curses remembering the invasion of his male world by a feminine sound. He raises his head such that the view shifts from his rich and curly dark tresses, which glimmered in the sun strimming in from the tall rectangular window behind him, to his beryl eyes which first seek the intruders red shoes. His appreciating gaze then shifts to a slim, tall and straight figure wrapped in a fetching short black peplum dress. He ends his study abruptly with her wavy black pixie hair.

'Violet Ruvara!' The country loving heiress to the flower breeding empire poises by the door. He's never met her, although he's interacted with her cousin Edward Ruvara on numerous occasions. 'How can I help you?'

He doesn't stand up nor is his tone welcoming. Its a surprise to him he spoke in a civil manner at all. Not with ripples of pain travelling through his muscles as his five personalities complete the link that started as soon as he recognized her from the magazines he reads occasionally.

Bad news.

His five personalities, which he views as five points of a star, are distinct.

Were.

They were easier to control that way, because of the difficulty of switching. Now that he can switch faster, it will be like witnessing the person you love transform into a stranger at universal speed limit.

For him, its not a problem. He's in control. Always. On the other hand, each of his different versions attracts and repels different people. None attracted to more than one version. If he transforms haphazardly it is bound to cause confusion. Like building an igloo in the middle of Dubai.