Ruthless Empire (Royal Elite #6) by Rina Kent

Or he just wanted them to share his happiness. But I don’t say that, or Mum would go bonkers. She constantly thinks I’m siding with him anyway.

“You can leave, Mum. You don’t have to stay.”

“Cynthia Davis running from her ex-husband’s wedding. Do you want to see that in tomorrow’s headlines? I thought you were on my side, Silver.”

I’m on both your sides. I want to yell, but I don’t, because that will freak her out more than the words themselves.

“Well, are you?” she insists, her brow furrowing.

“Of course I am.”

“That’s my Babydoll. Now, come here. Let me look at you.” She takes me by the hand and spins me around so she can get a full view of my soft pink dress with tulle as a skirt. It stops a little above my knees and is tight at my breasts and waist. My hair is straight and falls to the small of my back in thick blonde strands. I have worn light pink lipstick to match.

“I’m so proud of how you’ve grown up into a fine lady, Babydoll. Happy birthday.” She kisses my cheek and I nearly break then and there.

Papa and Helen did wish me a happy birthday this morning, but they seem to have forgotten all about me now. Not that I blame them, but still.

It’s the first time Mum is one step ahead of everyone.

“Your father is a selfish bastard for scheduling his wedding on your birthday.” Disgust is written all over her face. “He was out to ruin your special day.”

“Mum…” I trail off.

“What? I’m only stating facts.” She pulls out her phone and brings me to her side. “Let’s take a picture.”

My lips curve in an automatic smile as I stare at the camera. It comes too naturally to me now, I don’t even have to stop before I fake it.

Mum posts the shot on Twitter with the caption: Having the greatest fun on my only daughter’s eighteenth birthday. This girl right here is the future. #MotherandDaughter #ReplicaofMe

Almost immediately, the comments filter in about how she looks like my eldest sister, not my mother, or how I turned out stunning like her.

It’s the type of comments that Mum thrives on. The type she screenshots and sends me in our chat. She saves each and every one that says I’m taking after her, not Papa, then forwards it to the both of us.

I can’t help stealing a look at her wrist. It’s covered with a thick watch, but I can never forget what that watch is hiding. For the rest of my life, I’ll constantly worry that Mum’s black thoughts will one day take over and I’ll lose her.

Cole has always said I’m Mum’s puppet and that I’m turning like her, but that bastard didn’t see what I did. He didn’t walk in on a pool of blood and nearly faint.

If being her puppet will allow me to keep her, I don’t mind. That’s why I never, ever antagonise her. Since the divorce, I’ve learnt to bottle all my thoughts and feelings inside, put on a mask, and move along.

It’s been the safest choice for everyone.

Just not for me.

The same wave from earlier is about to hit me again, and I have no confidence that I’ll be able to hold it in when Mum is around.

As much as I want to protect her, sometimes I hate it. I hate that I can’t sleep at night, thinking about what she could be doing, or that I have to call her first thing in the morning and five times a day like a clingy boyfriend.

I’m not supposed to have had these bursts of anxiety on a daily basis since I was freaking eleven.

“I’m going to get the camera from Papa’s office,” I tell her.

She says we don’t need that since my pretentious father has paid a ton of photographers, but I deflect and leave the scene anyway.

I ignore all the chaos in the house and smile at Papa’s friends, accepting their congratulations. I slip out of their usual questions about who would I vote for if I was given the choice between Papa and Mum.

As soon as I’m inside Papa’s office, I close the door and lean my forehead on the cool surface.

My shoulders shake and my head is about to explode from the pent-up thoughts crowding inside it.

“Why can’t this day end already?” I mutter under my breath.

Then the voice that comes from behind me shuffles all my cards, “Bored already, Butterfly?”





13





Silver





You can run, but you can’t hide.

I didn’t believe in that saying until this moment.

Over the past weeks, I’ve done everything to run away from Cole, avoid him, not look at him. I even went as far as feigning exhaustion to not stay in the same room as him.

But here I am, trapped with him in Papa’s office.

Sure, I can go outside. I can open the door and run again, but that will look cowardly and I’ll never do that.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn around and see Cole for the first time today, like really see him, instead of pretending to while I avert his gaze.

Cole sits on the edge of Papa’s conference table, reading from a book titled The Rule of Law by Tom Bingham.

The dark blue suit pants mould to his muscles and tighten at his strong thighs with his sitting position. He’s only in a white shirt and a black bowtie, the jacket lying neatly on the chair beside him.

His chestnut hair that has darkened over the years is styled back, showcasing his forehead and the sharp lines of his face. His green eyes fall on me as his lean fingers hold the book — fingers that were inside me a few weeks ago. Fingers that brought me to a height I’ve never experienced. Fingers that —