Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

Just like I did eleven years ago.





13





NICOLE





AGE EIGHTEEN





Three months.

It’s been three whole months and two weeks since that night everything went terribly wrong.

Except for the popping my cherry part—yeah, that one went perfectly right.

It’s probably the rightest thing that’s happened to me after being born.

The only thing that’s surpassed my every fantasy.

And that’s where the problem lies. Due to being an experience out of magic land—or filthy land—semantics—I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not even after Daniel ditched me like a used condom—that he didn’t put on while deflowering me or the gazillion times after.

I still think about the people who looked at me as if I’m a nutcase and should be admitted to a psych ward for sitting at the step of a literally burning mansion.

The similarities weren’t lost on me and they were probably right. After all, I sat on those steps, watching the entrance like a pole dancer watches the Queen’s notes.

I didn’t blink, didn’t move, and definitely didn’t pay attention to the chaos unfolding around me.

It’s how unhealthy obsessions work. The world kind of ceases to exist, and the only time it does is when it’s working as a vessel for the subject of my obsession.

Who, if you didn’t gather already, didn’t show up.

The one who did was my mother. She grabbed me by the elbow and kind of shoved me into her car, which was very unlike her. Showing any violent behavior, even while enraged, is very unladylike-like.

I chalked it up to the fact that she was mad for finding me in the process of killing myself.

Daniel didn’t call or text that night. Granted, we don’t have each other’s numbers.

Correction—he doesn’t have my number. I stole his from Astrid’s phone when she was too careless to leave it unlocked three years ago.

He’s gone through an excessive change of nomenclatures on my phone since then.

Lollipop.

Peaches.

Snow Globe.

Fantasy.

Obsession.

Unhealthy.

And the very latest is my favorite.

Bloody Idiot.

No clue why I had his number for years when I never called or texted him. I guess knowing he was in there was enough before.

Now, it’s not.

So what if he didn’t have my number? If he wanted to change that, he could’ve asked Astrid for it. Despite my strained relationship with my stepsister, we do have each other’s numbers.

But then again, she’s the reason he ignored me all summer. That night, Astrid was involved in a hit-and-run whose culprit remains free.

They found ecstasy in her bloodstream, due to the shot Daniel snatched from me and gave to her. Uncle Henry has been mad at her for doing drugs.

To be fair, I’m sorry about that, but not enough to out myself in front of Uncle Henry. Mum would kill me. Well, not exactly, but being disappointed in me is no different than that.

After my peaches incident, she didn’t speak to me for three months and only got back to talking to me when Uncle Henry started to notice. I still have nightmares about that.

If she hears I’m the one who unintentionally drugged Astrid, she’ll think of ways to erase me from her existence.

And I’m kind of invisible to someone else so I don’t need that double torture.

Besides, ever since her accident, Astrid has possessed Daniel’s attention worse than his favorite tacky action films.

As a result, he hasn’t looked at me, hasn’t spoken to me, and certainly hasn’t spent any alone time with me.

It doesn’t help that he was at a football camp for most of the summer.

But even after we got back to school, he just ignored my existence as if I no longer existed.

He’s back to being Royal Elite’s heartthrob, a charming athlete, and Astrid’s side piece.

I don’t even recognize myself around her anymore. Sometimes, I catch myself genuinely wanting to hurt her. Genuinely wishing she never came around.

Genuinely wanting to push her into the pool.

Those thoughts were scary.

My feelings for Daniel were even scarier.

If I was willing to go that far to have him, what did that make me? Desperate? Obsessive?

An unstable lunatic?

Maybe it’s a combination of all three.

And the worst problem is that I can’t put an end to these toxic, hate-infested thoughts.

Or the emotions behind them.

It’s why I’m wearing Levi King’s jersey at tonight’s game. Chloe is wearing Ronan Astor’s because she’s always after the hottest piece around.

I am, too.

Just differently.

Since that night when Levi’s family holiday mansion went up in flames, he’s been getting suspiciously close to my plain stepsister.

Sometimes I wonder what she has that I don’t. What makes the hottest, richest boy in school and Daniel so wrapped around her tiny finger?

She’s a bit tomboyish, weird, and entirely unsophisticated. She doesn’t even like her own father’s lifestyle.

That hasn’t stopped Levi from following her around like he wants to strangle and fuck her at the same time.

And while I don’t care about that, Daniel is getting in the middle of it.