Vivian grinned. "See? What did I tell you?"
Anna hesitated. "Samuel's cute, I guess. But there's everything off about him. He is... harsh. Maybe even brutal."
Vivian's eyes lit up like a spark had caught fire.
"Five Brutal Kings," she whispered, like it was sacred. Like their cruelty only made them more fascinating.
She flopped back onto the bed, her voice soft, almost reverent.
"Brutal... but so compelling."
———-
Samuel declined the call without looking. Another block. Another echo from the past.
She still hadn't given up.
It had been a year. A brief, surface-deep infatuation, over before it ever became real. He'd been honest when it ended. Don't wait for something that isn't there. But she kept calling. Hoping. Reaching.
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the phone.
Had he ever told her he loved her?
He didn't think so.
Not because he couldn't, but because love, to him, wasn't casual. It was forever. And he hadn't met forever yet.
Tomorrow was Harrison's birthday. The group chat had been buzzing all week, but what stuck in Samuel's mind was what Harrison had said on the phone:
"She's amazing. Her eyes, I could look at them twice."
Harrison had that grin in his voice, the kind that made it impossible not to smile with him. He was clearly taken, by a girl named Roselle.
Roselle had already made her impression at the Charley house. Mrs. Charley had offered her popcorn, welcomed her in like she belonged. Harrison had been half-distracted, sipping juice and scrolling through his phone until Roselle waved at him. Her smile was hesitant but radiant. She sat at the dining table, graceful even in nerves, hands trembling just slightly as she accepted a slice of cake.
"Get acquainted," Mrs. Charley had said with a wink before disappearing into the next room.
At first, neither of them spoke.
But Roselle leaned in, chin in hand, eyes bright, and began asking questions.
She teased him. Called him adorable. And slowly, Harrison thawed.
Her curiosity was infectious. She made him feel seen.
He didn't just want to walk beside her at his party.
He wanted more than that.
Samuel was scrolling through contacts. The models he'd met lately, too loud, too timid, too polished, none of them felt right. He liked balance. Someone like Rachael, once. But even she had faded from his memory.
He dialed Michael, manager of the boutique he trusted. The phone rang twice.
"Samuel!" Michael's voice burst through, warm and theatrical. "What are we styling for today?"
Michael had a way of making luxury sound like mythology, each piece sacred, each choice personal. It wasn't just fashion; it was performance.
"We've got diamond-encrusted wristwatches," he said, "or the latest designer sneakers. Suits in textured cashmere, pure-silver pendants. And, of course, handcrafted leather shoes that'll outlive heartbreak itself."
Samuel smirked. He could almost see Michael gesturing with each word.
"I'll take the wristwatch," he said, voice cool. "And pair the suit with those leather shoes. Send me pictures."
"Consider it done," Michael replied, all confidence.
As Samuel sank back into his couch, the news droned on in the background—something about food prices and inflation. He wasn't listening. He was already flipping through profiles, searching for someone beautiful enough to stand beside him tomorrow. Someone forgettable.
Loneliness, he'd learned, was easy to mask when surrounded by luxury.
Elsewhere, his sister Georgia had postponed her wedding. Their father was sick, his heart worsening. She'd called two nights ago to tell him, voice steady but quiet. "I'll wait. He has to be strong enough to walk me down the aisle."
Samuel hadn't known what to say.
A ping pulled him back: Harrison in the group chat, cracking jokes, sending outfit ideas, asking who everyone was bringing. Samuel joined in, joking back, the banter light and easy.
Then the phone rang.
His mother.
He hesitated. Then answered.
Her voice broke.
"Samuel... your father—he's in a coma. They're not sure if he'll make it."
Silence.
The phone slipped from his hand.
The room held its breath.
The news still played. Somewhere outside, a horn honked.
The maid entered with a glass of juice, paused at the look on his face. She said nothing. Just bowed slightly and left.
Samuel sat alone. And for the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel empty.
It felt unbearable.
***********
The entire Cornell family had gathered around the dining table for only the second time that year. This evening, a new presence joined them.
Uriel, twenty, with crimson fingernails that matched the ruby pendant resting against her collarbone, had just returned from studying abroad. She was back for an internship at the family's prestigious business and would be staying in their grand estate, a home that whispered wealth from every marble corner.
Her mother, Mrs. Cornell's cousin, was overseas, absorbed in her whirlwind event planning career, leaving Uriel to navigate her return alone. It had been four years since she'd last stayed overnight at the mansion, a visit that ended on an awkward note. On the night of her sixteenth birthday, Daniel, Clinton's close friend, had kissed her in a dimly lit hallway. The moment had been breathless, fleeting... until Clinton had stumbled upon them. He'd paused, sighed, and quietly shut the door. The look in his eyes, of weary disapproval, had scorched her. Mortified, Uriel had left the next morning, and Clinton hadn't spoken to her since. Her attempts to reconnect had met silence.
Now, standing once more in the hallway, nostalgia pricked at her chest, mingled with unease. "Four years," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
From the stairwell, Clinton appeared, brow lifted in faint surprise. She stepped forward, a hopeful smile playing on her lips, hand outstretched.
He hesitated, then took her hand. "When did you get here?"
"Yesterday," she replied, a subtle warmth blooming from the brief contact.
⸻
In the kitchen, Tasha moved with practiced ease among the staff, helping Mrs. Ruth set the table and refresh emptied bowls. She felt Clinton's eyes on her, not constantly, but enough to notice. His gaze held something unreadable, something between curiosity and intent.
Uriel, seated between the other girls, chatted brightly about her plans to stay at the house. Still, there was an edge to her words, a tension only Tasha seemed to feel.
As Tasha passed behind Clinton, he gave a soft cough, subtle, but clearly meant for her. All heads turned.
"Pour me a drink?" he asked, his eyes holding hers.