Bash’s fondness for his captive was growing concerning, had Marcel been involved he would’ve executed their old man’s orders with cold, swift calculation. No time for hesitation. No time for second guessing. No room for growing soft.
Marcel accepted that he would end up in a loveless marriage just as his father had; out of politics and convenience. In the game of life they played and with the hand he was dealt, there was no time for any distractions when you were busy running an empire. Marcel had learned that from an early age, given that his parents didn’t even have the patience for him.
You ruined me.
He could hear the blizzards of ice shards in her voice as it echoed through his head, preceding the impact of glass, shattering across his face. Red wine muddling with blood. Marcel winced at the memory, only seventeen and eyes wide open to the cruelty of other humans. His fingers grazed over the scar that slashed its way through his eyebrow, dividing the body from the tail. Marcel would always be marred with the reminder from that day; he ruined his mother.
Even if there wasn’t a drop of love in his own future, Marcel didn’t want to carry on the cycle of resentment and trauma. He didn’t want to keep playing who could inflict more damage on who.
With a quick pivot of the heel, his fist connected with the mirror, barely scuffing the laminated glass. He glared at his reflection; he sported his father’s chiseled face but his eyes held the same fury of his mother’s dark conniving emerald. He leaned closer, almost nose to nose with his reflection. He tilted his square jaw back and forth, examining every inch of his face. Why did he have to look like a young mirror image of his father? But better looking.
Marcel had the opportunity to be with a bountiful of beautiful women; a harem if he really wished. His acute self control is what made many question his sexuality. A man of his caliber could have any woman, and yet temptation never seemed to phase him. All because in the emotional department, Marcel knew he couldn’t give a woman what she wanted, not to the extent that they expected from fairytales. He lived in a dark twisted underworld, hidden from the public eye. Dragging an unknowing girl into the mix was a recipe for catastrophe.
With a slow deliberate hand, Marcel undid the clasp to the Manila folder detailing Summer Flores’s life. He reached for the series of photographs out of the folder first; some were photos from her social media and others were of her unaware that she was even being watched. Through the trees as she walked on the streets; through the cracked glass of her bedroom window. Poor girl.
Still thumbing through the photos, he paused to scan a candid of her, face turned three quarters and laughing. Her brown eyes twinkling. Marcel ran his thumb over the photo, clearing off the settled dust. Summer wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the room, but she was still easy on the eyes in a soft delicate manner. Petals of beauty akin to the flowers that bloomed during her namesake. He couldn’t look away, afraid if he did the pretty little birdie would fly from reach.
As she should.
She couldn’t though, not while his brother had her sitting comfortably in a golden cage where a quick hand could snuff out the life from her at any given moment.
For a moment, he considered paying her a visit. Would she cry at the approach of the wrong brother? Would hot tears sting at the corner of her eyes?
