He walks towards us with an arm around Aiden’s shoulder. The latter — Elsa’s boyfriend — is the tall, dark, and handsome type, and he’s playing the role with that scowl that says Come close and I’ll slaughter your family tree. It’s why the onlooking students admire him from afar, not daring to get in his way. For Aiden, only one person exists in the female population — or the entire population, actually — and it’s my foster sister.
Aiden King is one of a group known as the four horsemen of this school’s football team, something stupid about the damage they do to their opponents’ defences. Aiden is Conquest, and true to his name, he’s already conquered Elsa.
While he ignores everyone, his attention falls solely on her, as if he can cut the distance and magically appear beside her.
The one by his side is doing the opposite of ignoring his surroundings.
He winks at one girl, high-fives another, and tells a random freshman to call him with a huge grin that nearly splits his face open. They all eat it up, nearly tripping over their feet in front of him.
Ronan Astor.
An earl’s son with a Prince Charming complex.
Nicknamed Death for his position on the team.
He doesn’t know that death isn’t a title. Death is the beginning of every war, and I’ve already started mine.
I stole his will, his future, and soon enough, his life will follow.
I have a secret, I’m a thief.
Ronan Astor is my next target.
As well as my future husband.
2
Teal
Beauty is subjective.
I read that once, and since then, I’ve had this weird feeling that it spoke to me.
Beauty is a strange concept for me. Black is beautiful, and dark chocolate with nuts can also be considered beautiful.
But other than that, what’s human beauty? Gigolos — sorry, I mean guys with model-like looks such as Knox’s — are considered beautiful. Aiden, Elsa’s boyfriend, is handsome, too.
There’s a different type of beauty that’s darker, a bit sinister, hiding under the surface rather than pushing to the top.
I guess that’s beauty for me. It’s not about the physical aspect but rather about what the exterior hides. You can feel it when someone possesses no beauty by societal standards but their charisma speaks to you in one way or another. You can’t see it, but it’s there.
Ronan, however, has no beauty at all.
His is the shallow type like gigolos. If he were a woman, he would be labelled a slut, but in his case, he’s called a playboy.
From the outside, he has a well-proportioned face, and it’s symmetrical, actually. It’s the same on either side of his proud straight nose, from the eyes to the cheeks to the sharp jaw and even to the ears.
It’s a symmetry like I’ve never seen in my entire life. Some people, like actors, have what resembles symmetry, but never actually a perfect one.
He does.
His face is too symmetrical, as if it were sculpted by a Greek god. People’s eyes usually have a slight asymmetry — not his. Even as the outside sun shines on them, they both glow in a rich identical brown colour.
I guess it’s part of his filthy aristocratic blood, a heritage he claims by being the whatever generation of the world’s nobility.
His beauty makes no sense at all for two reasons. A, he’s too aware of it; it’s cringy. B, and most importantly, there’s no depth behind it.
At least in Knox’s case, he uses the plastic easy-going personality as a defence mechanism to get what he wants. I know all too well what he’s hiding beneath all the laughs and grins.
In the few weeks I’ve watched Ronan, he’s never shown another facet of the sickly, cheerful personality. He’s always smiling, laughing, grinning, throwing parties, fucking, and fucking, and more fucking.
It’s…boring.
And yes, I have watched him. After all, he’s part of my plan.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
Soon, though. So very soon.
“Drop your arm, Van Doren.” Aiden stops in front of us. He’s smiling, but there’s no warmth behind it.
That.
The depth.
The human desolation.
It’s what makes him beautiful, not as a man, but as someone who stands out from the crowd of normal.
Aiden is anything but. He’s all darkness with little light that he only shows to Elsa.
“Come on, King.” My brother grins. “She’s my sis.”
“You share no blood. Actually…” He pauses. “Even if you did, I’d tell you to drop your arm.”
Elsa suppresses laughter by biting her lower lip as Aiden tugs her to his side by her other wrist. I tilt my head as she snuggles to him, wrapping her arm around his waist while he holds her with a hand at the small of her back.
It’s like they can’t get close enough or touch each other long enough.
Why would they do that?
Human touch is overrated. I’ve tried it, and it didn’t really matter. At least not in the way I wanted.
Knox and Aiden go into some sort of argument that doesn’t really register. It’s like they’re speaking in outer space — no idea if I’m the one blocking it out or if it just doesn’t exist for me anymore.
As I slide my attention back to my phone, a harsh glare registers in my peripheral vision. When I lift my head and my eyes collide with that infuriatingly symmetrical gaze, a grin greets me, all perfect and put together and worthy of an earl’s son.
I could swear someone was glaring at me just now, but he’s the only one in sight. Someone with his reputation and shallowness doesn’t even know how to glare. Ronan is all about laughs and having a good time to the point that negativity is considered below him. I’ve never seen him angry or displeased. Even when Elsa was taken to the emergency room, he came by filled with laughs and jokes, trying to cheer her up.
“Bonjour, ma belle,” he tells me, his tone light, welcoming, and I think there’s some flirting in there, too, but I’m not sure.
Ma belle.
My beautiful.
I don’t know why he calls me that when he’s never once thought I’m pretty. I heard him talking to Kimberly — Elsa’s best friend — the other day, and when she told him I’m pretty, he said, “There’s pretty and there’s creepy, and she falls in the latter category. Mmmkay?”
It was the first time someone said those words. Creepy? Sure. I’ve felt it during my limited interactions with humans, but no one has said it out loud, or maybe no one has said it out loud for me to hear it. They usually think I’m crazy, abnormal…mad.
I’m curious to see how he feels now that he’s forced to marry a creep, but I have neither the mind nor the patience to pursue it.
Curiosity can be beneficial, but its outcome is usually disastrous, and I have no time for that in my life.
Focusing back on my phone, I turn around.
They’re all so busy talking and throwing shade, so I doubt anyone will notice I’m gone.
Knox nudges me, a sly grin on his lips.
Okay, anyone but my brother.
I ignore him and walk down the hall. I’ll have to take the longer route to get to the classroom.
I don’t mind as long as it gets me away from that circle.
Lacking a talkative nature can be a disadvantage when surrounded by people who won’t shut up. Sometimes, Elsa and Aiden’s group of friends throw remarks my way, and I usually figure it out too late. I hate that.
It’s not my fault I’m not so witty like all of them seem to be.
I pass by the faceless students and try focusing on one of them, squinting to form an image. How hard could it be? Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It’s that easy.
Only it’s not.
I need a lot of focus to form faces, a familiarity of sorts, but I still don’t have that with RES’s students. The one I concentrate on barely has eyes; they’re washed out, and the person quickly strides past me, shattering any focus I had.
I shake my head and rekindle the connection with my phone.
Maybe one day after the war finishes, I’ll stand in a public place and recognise every face and every person. I’ll be normal.
Though, what’s normal? I never lived it, never experienced it, so how come I want it so much?
I’m a human, after all, like my therapist says. I can deny it all I want, but I keep snapping back to what’s considered normal even without my permission.
Stupid anatomy.
“A word, ma belle,” a low voice whispers in my ear from behind.
I startle and my hands shake, nearly dropping the phone on the ground.
Something jerks in my chest, as if invisible hands are rummaging through my organs.
It takes me a second too long to regain control over my breathing.
Refusing to show Ronan a reaction, I continue walking as if he didn’t just set off my second trigger for the day. First Knox, and now him.
I’m usually more aware of my surroundings for this exact reason, but I spent all night searching for and watching videos of my opponent, making sure I know him better than he knows himself.
I guess a lack of sleep can cause a deficiency in attention.
“Did you hear me?” He speaks with that smile plastered on his face as he falls in step beside me.
“Yes, and my silence was the answer, just like how I left to stop being in your immediate vicinity.”
“You’re getting it all wrong, but I’m generous so I’ll fix your misconception. Silence is a sign of affirmation.”
“For me, it’s a sign of denial.” I stride faster than I usually walk, but it’s useless. He’s way taller than me and his legs eat up the distance, keeping pace with me without any extra effort.
“That’s lovely.” He smiles, but I don’t think he believes what he said — the part where he thinks this is lovely, I mean.
No, it can’t be.
He’s as readable as it gets. Even with my weird relationship with feelings, I can figure him out. I watched him for weeks on end before I took this step. He can’t possibly be hiding anything up his sleeve.
“Do you mind?” I stop, motioning at him to go ahead. Ronan and I often throw jabs at each other. What? I’m allergic to his over-positivity, and I can’t stay quiet about it. He always retaliates and we soon drop it.
But that’s only when someone else is around.
I never spend alone time with Ronan, and it’s for a reason. He’s always surrounded by people; it feels suffocating just watching from afar.
“I do, actually.” He smiles again, adding a wink, but it’s not at me — it’s at a girl passing us by. “Party at my place, Nicky!”
She nods several times like an overeager kid on Christmas morning then blushes when he winks at her again.
I sidestep him and continue on my way. After all, I don’t want to hinder his man-whorish ways.
I make a beeline to the library to return the book A Military History and Atlas of the Napoleonic Wars. I read the whole thing last night, so I might as well take another one.
I’m in front of a shelf when a strong hand grabs me by the arm from behind.
Third and final trigger.
My heart nearly stops beating as I shriek. The sound is so loud my ears pop.
Only no sound comes out.
A hand wraps tightly around my mouth, killing any protest I could form.
I stare up at Ronan’s symmetrical eyes. There is no laughter in there, no winks or anything familiar. It’s a bit blank, a bit too…empty.
It’s almost as if I’m staring at a different person.
The change disappears in a second as a grin breaks out on his face, and just like that, the shallow version returns.