Ruthless Empire (Royal Elite #6) by Rina Kent

Aiden calls him petty and he is in some ways. Cole doesn’t stop when he’s on a mission — everything in his environment becomes a means to reach a goal. He doesn’t sleep a wink until he achieves it.

Not that I’m any better in the jealousy department. I make it my job to make sure no other girl hangs around him or in his immediate surroundings.

The other week, Teal, Elsa’s foster sister, was sitting with Cole in the school’s garden and reading from a book he specifically ordered from overseas.

My relationship with Teal — if you could call it a relationship — is better than the one I have with Elsa. Partly because we crossed paths in La Débauche and we’re both into voyeurism. And okay, I might have pushed Cole away when I recognised her because I didn’t want to be associated with him anywhere in public.

That fantasy of us being together for the world to see started and ended in that small town in France.

Seeing her with him, and knowing that they got along on some level when Cole never actually showed any interest in the opposite sex in the past, made me rage like a volcano.

I’m the only one he’s supposed to read to. The only one who falls asleep listening to his voice, dreaming about a parallel world where he can read to me in the park while my head lies on his lap.

So I flirted with Ronan as double payback. Teal is Ronan’s fiancée; he wasn’t amused to see her with Cole either.

That evening, Cole tied me to the bedpost and fucked me the entire night. No kidding. He only let me sleep around dawn.

Well, he didn’t let me. I fell asleep on him when he went to run a bath for me.

I’m still not talking to him because of the whole Teal thing. She almost kissed him back there. He didn’t stop her, Ronan did. If he hadn’t, Cole would’ve let her fucking kiss him.

Now I’m the one who’s being petty, but whatever. It’s enough torture that I don’t get to kiss him in public, that I don’t even get to hold his hand or flirt with him, that I don’t get to shout it to the world that he’s mine. I don’t need to see other girls’ claws on him on top of everything else.

“Have fun, kids.” Helen waves at us from the front door.

Her face looks worn out, which is understandable considering she’s about ready to submit the final manuscript for her next release to her agent. He read the first half and was thrilled, calling it her best work yet.

She kind of died a little in the process of meeting her deadline. I feel sorry for her since Papa isn’t around much anymore.

Most of his nights and days are spent at the party. Although he barely shows up at home, Helen’s been nothing but supportive. Now that I think about it, most of my parents’ fights were because they didn’t find time for each other in the midst of chasing their careers.

Helen is kinder and less outspoken than Mum. It’s been several months, but she’s never called Papa out or blamed him. She’s simply left him to his devices and taken care of the house and us as if she’s lived here her entire life.

I love Helen, but sometimes, I miss having Mum around. It’s crazy given that she moved out ages ago, but before the marriage, she always dropped in unannounced just to fight with Papa.

Now, it doesn’t happen anymore. And to an extent, I’m grateful to Helen for that.

I snap the seatbelt over my simple soft pink dress that falls to above my knees as Cole drives his Jeep away from the house. Ronan is throwing a party in the Meet Up. Since his parents returned from their overseas trip, he doesn’t have full access to his mansion, so the Meet Up is his next best option.

Parties have never been my thing, so I considered skipping and lounging around to watch the latest political debate. However, the brute, Cole, barged into my room and told me we’re going.

I know for a fact he doesn’t like parties and that the only reason he attends them is to observe everyone, to tuck in their habits and weaknesses for later use — especially his friends.

He feels like they could be the most threatening to him considering they’ve known him the longest, so he needs to be prepared for them.

When I told him he’s too distrustful, he said he’s only prepared because they’re fuckers. His words, not mine.

He’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and his Elites royal blue jacket. They won tonight, so this is some sort of a celebration.

I try not to focus on how the colour blue suits him so well, or how strands of his chestnut hair fall across his forehead, or how good he smells straight out of a shower.

Considering the tingles between my thighs, I’d say I’m failing.

“Why did you drag me out again?” I fold my arms over my chest.

He keeps his attention on the road, driving with one strong hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. God. I’ve always loved how he drives — it’s so effortless and masculine. And he does it with so much confidence, like he could do it with his eyes closed.

They say a person’s driving style speaks of their character. I often get worked up with idiot drivers who don’t respect road signs or etiquette, but Cole tunes them all out as if they don’t exist, as if they’re the dust on his shoe.

His dispassionate disregard of others is so weird given how much he observes people, but I guess he doesn’t observe them because he likes them. It’s more because he needs to see how they’ll fit in his plots.