Heartless: A High School Bully Romance (The Privileged of Pembroke High Book 1)

by Ivy Fox

  “I bet you never expected we’d meet again, especially under these circumstances, huh?” Elle Grayson whispers under her breath beside me.

  “No, not really,” I confess, offering her a meek smile.

  Elle looks stunning, and even though our dresses are identical, she wears it with a confidence and grace I’ll never master. The sixteen-year-old really is exceptional. Give her a few more years, and she’ll possess a beauty that painters use as their muse. She returns my smile with a genuine one of her own, lighting up the room with her natural glow.

  “Well, after this we’ll be sisters. I think we should take some time to get better acquainted, don’t you?” she adds, and the sincerity in her amber eyes comforts my melancholic mood.

  “Yes. I’d like that,” I answer honestly.

  Even if I’m not exactly looking forward to moving to the Big Apple, gaining Elle’s friendship might be the one good thing that comes out of it. Elle’s smile grows wider as she’s about to say something else but is interrupted by my mother’s arrival.

  “Is everyone in place?” my mother asks the wedding planner at her side.

  “Yes, Ms. West. Everyone is already seated outside and just waiting for the bride to walk down the aisle.”

  “It’s Mrs. Grayson, now,” my mother snaps back, annoyed by her lack of respect. However, when her eyes land on Elle, her attitude does a complete one-eighty.

  “Elle! You look lovely. Thank you again for accepting my offer of being my bridesmaid. I already feel like you’re a daughter to me,” she cajoles.

  “You look beautiful, Vivienne,” Elle replies, but I see her genuine smile is now just as fabricated as my own.

  “Let’s not keep your father waiting any longer. Tracy, please start the processional.”

  The wedding planner does as she’s told, speaking into her headset, and not a minute later do we hear the small orchestra my mother hired starting to play Pachelbel’s Canon. I know she doesn’t have a penny to her name, so I can only assume the judge is picking up the bill for this lavish affair. He better get used to it since it’s probably the reason Vivienne rushed this wedding in the first place.

  Elle gives me a little wink before stepping in front of the patio doors and making her way up the aisle.

  I wait the ten seconds the wedding planner orders me to and then begin my own slow-paced march. The first thing that hits me is the backdrop to the ceremony—the endless, blue water that extends beyond the cliff edge, cast under a soft, evening sky. For all her faults, my mother did a stellar job at organizing this event. If I didn’t know firsthand how vile the woman was, I would think every bride deserved such a beautiful wedding.

  The strange faces staring at me, as I slowly take each step, unnerve me somewhat. With every ooh and ahh spilling from their lips, I get more anxious. I’m not used to being the center of attention and prefer to keep myself to the sidelines. I take a deep breath, trying to shake my nerves off. They subside a bit when I remember that, as soon as I get to the altar, all eyes will be on the bride herself and no one will think twice about me.

  But my anxiety morphs into debilitating pain when my eyes land on the men standing beside the groom. Three recognizable faces line up on the groom’s left side, revealing the unquestionable familial resemblance between them. They all look breathtaking in their tuxes, and the only thing that hinders their beauty is the scorn embedded in each of their eyes. From left to right stand the sons of Judge Grayson, and in a few minutes, all three will also be my new stepbrothers.

  Oliver.

  Asher.

  And, to my utter surprise, the intimidating guy from the back alley.

  Since I was fifteen years old, I have pondered what dying must feel like. What would be the thoughts that traveled in my mind when confronted with the day my life was ripped from me? Would I see death coming? Or would it simply come out of nowhere and tug the carpet out from under my feet?

  I no longer have to ask these questions.

  Now I know.

  Chapter 14

  Roman

  I watch the light in her stellar, gray eyes switch off as the blood rushes away from her face with every step she takes closer to us. For a little con artist, she sure does clean up nice, though.

  The pink halter dress falls flawlessly down her tall, thin frame, coming to a stop just a little above her knees, taunting us with those tanned legs of hers that go on for days. Her platinum hair is braided in a way that accentuates her heart-shaped face, while some loose strands flow beautifully in the light wind, touching her toned shoulders every once in a while—a perfect cross between innocence and decadence.

  My new stepsister is quite something to behold, I’ll give her that much. Such a pity her outer beauty is tarnished by the ugliness that breathes inside her tiny, black heart. Although, I’m probably being too kind; I doubt Holland West ever had a heart, to begin with.

  I feel Ollie stiffen at my side, and the hatred seeping out of him makes my own lips thin out. I don’t even dare look at Ash. If Oliver is this upset in seeing his presumed ex, then Ash must be livid at the very sight of her.

  I never wanted my brothers to feel the pain of betrayal the way I did. I know all too well how loving someone who never truly loved you back—only faked it for their own gain—brings out the darker side in a person. When such an offense is made, not only are you acquainted with a crippling pain that will gut you for all of your days, but you also begin to thirst for something you never knew yourself capable of craving—spiteful vengeance.

  It becomes all you think about, consuming your every waking hour. The need to see the person who destroyed you—in the most deplorable of ways—on their knees, begging you for a mercy they will never receive, even invades your dreams, never once giving you a moment of peace. And you realize that the person who wronged you didn’t just leave you broken; they created a monster within you—one that you’ll have to fight against to keep it in check.

  As much as I tried to protect my siblings from my father, I let my guard down with the other dangers that tend to lurk around families like ours—opportunists, backstabbers, and two-timing liars. They wear pretty smiles and utter soft promises, and are a dime a dozen in our world.

  I foolishly thought the twins could distinguish friend from foe. I should have prepared them better, but I honestly believed that, after what I went through, they would be more cautious with their own hearts. I was dead wrong, and now Ash and Ollie are paying the price. What’s worse is that they will have to survive a cruelty even I never had to endure. I can’t even begin to imagine the hell it will be for them to live in the same house as the girl who tore them to shreds. And since misfortunes always come in streaks, they’ll probably have to put up with her at Pembroke High, too, giving them no escape whatsoever from their misery.

  I see Holland taking the place next to my sister, and the smile Elle throws her way unsettles me further. Elle should know better than to fraternize with the enemy. Holland isn’t a new pet-project she can take on or the long-lost sister she always wished she had. The girl is trouble, through and through, and I make a mental note to have a word with my baby sister and warn her to keep her distance from the snake. Holland doesn’t need rescuing, no matter what her dispirited gaze pretends to hold. If anything, we’re the ones who are in danger of falling for her innocent act. Ash and Ollie learned of her treacherous intentions the hard way. I won’t let Elle fall prey to whatever game she’ll think up next.

  The wedding march begins, prompting the guests to stand as the conniving mastermind behind my brothers’ pain walks down the aisle, finally obtaining the reward for her and her daughter’s shady ways. In a sleek Vera Wang number, Vivienne West is able to get exactly what she wanted out of today—all eyes on her, praising her beauty and elegance.

  It isn’t a mystery where Holland gets her good looks from. Her mother wears the silk wedding dress like it’s her second skin, and all that is missing is the crown on her hea
d. For a woman in her late thirties, with a teenage daughter to boot, she looks like a runway model ready for her photoshoot.

  Vivienne might be making every woman here green with envy, and making all the men lick their lips as they undress her with their eyes, but to me, she doesn’t compare to the younger version that is standing just mere feet away from me. I find Vivienne’s cold, blue eyes lacking in comparison to her daughter’s bright, gray ones. Devil eyes that I’ve been trying hard not to focus on, yet desperate to have just another small peek at.

  My father takes two steps closer to his bride, placing a tender kiss on her cheek before ushering her toward the minister. Everyone melts at the endearment while I almost gag at my father’s performance. Sure, he might like to dip his cock into Vivienne’s cunt from time to time, but that’s about it.

  Most of the men here are at half-mast already just looking at her in the backless dress that almost shows the crack of her ass, so it’s not like the judge isn’t looking forward to consummating this sham of a marriage. The woman might be an iceberg, but she’s still hot as fuck.

  However, him showing any type of tenderness toward her is all for the guests’ benefit, not hers. I know my father well enough to know that he can have his dick sucked and not give two shits for the woman who is on her knees getting him off.

  Vivienne might think she has it made with a ring around her finger, but she’ll soon find out that the judge prefers much younger lips around his cock. I give the asshole until the end of his honeymoon to pass her over, in search of more tempting soils to plow. If Vivienne is under the illusion that my father is going to be the doting, faithful husband, she is shit out of luck. She might get the fairytale wedding but she sure as fuck isn’t marrying Prince Charming.

  He’s the villain in the story, not the hero. The End.

  The wedding proceeds with the minister uttering words of love, loyalty, and devotion, and I zone out for the majority of it. Before I know it, we’re headed toward the reception tent as rice is thrown at the newlyweds, announcing the new addition to the Grayson family and celebrating a union made in hell.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I hear Ash mutter next to me.

  “Again? Then maybe it’s best if you don’t hit the booze tonight, little brother. Just because I cleaned your ass up two nights ago, doesn’t mean I’m up for a repeat,” I scold.

  Finding Ash locked away in some bathroom, pale-faced and hurling his guts out, is not how I want to end the night. I’m sure, amongst the two-hundred or so guests, I’ll be able to find some eager socialite who can take my mind off this sorry affair.

  “I need some air,” he replies, ignoring my advice.

  “We’re outside. How much more air can you get?” I tease, but he just shrugs off my goading and walks away from me.

  Realizing Ash isn’t even up for one of his sarcastic comebacks is all the confirmation I need to know that he’s fucking depressed. And having to pretend otherwise even for a minute, is more than he’s capable of right now. This girl really did a number on him. I’ve never seen Ash this taciturn before. He’s usually loud, obnoxious, and vibrant, and I love the asshole for it.

  I am worried about my kid brother, so my eyes never leave him as he maneuvers the joyous crowd and steps away from under the reception’s white tent. Since he’s not in the best frame of mind, I follow him, only stopping to grab a champagne flute on the way. As expected, the sweet, bubbly taste is just as nauseating as the rest of this elaborate charade. Still, tonight I’ll need every drop of alcohol I can get my hands on. No way am I dealing with this shitshow while sober. A man has his limits, after all. Ash, on the other hand, is volatile, so mixing booze with grief is a bad idea for him.

  I scan the outside perimeter, away from the tent and its guests, hoping to catch up with my sullen brother, only to find his twin instead, rushing away from the platinum goddess who looks like she’s on a mission.

  “Ollie, please! You have to hear me out,” she pleads with him, her shaky voice revealing the tears that are seconds away from pouring down her cheeks.

  “Go away, Snow. I have nothing to say to you,” Ollie grunts, his rage palpable even from where I’m standing. Instead of the girl taking stock of his angered command, she continues to trail behind him, obviously a glutton for punishment.

  “Please. Just give me five minutes to explain. This is all a misunderstanding. You have to believe me.”

  I watch my brother halt, turn around, and latch onto her fragile wrist with a seething smirk on his face. I hear her whimper, tugging her arm away and prying at his grip with her free hand. However, Ollie is having none of it. He drags her over to a nearby tree, hiding from the partying crowd, but not from my attentive stare.

  “Oliver, you’re hurting me,” she states with a whisper, but I hear her crestfallen words just fine. I observe Ollie’s brow dip a little as he lessens his grip, but not by much.

  “You want to talk? Talk!” he bites out harshly as she tries desperately to wiggle her wrist away from him.

  “Let me go, Ollie. This isn’t you.”

  “Really?! Do you really want to go there? How can you be so sure this isn’t me? Maybe I pretended to be something I’m not, too, just so I could get in your pants. Did you ever consider that?” he barks out savagely, finally releasing her from his hold and pushing her away.

  Holland discreetly rubs at her wrist, but I see the imprints Ollie’s fingers made around her soft skin. This is the second time I’ve seen this girl physically hurt by someone else, and it doesn’t sit well with me that it was my own brother causing her new wounds. I need to have a talk with Ollie after this. I’m all for him hurting her in any way he likes, but he doesn’t have to do it by leaving visible scars—the hidden ones inflicted to the soul are much more gratifying and take longer to heal.

  “Maybe you’re right. It’s too soon for us to talk this out. You’re not yourself tonight,” she mumbles, upset.

  “Make up your mind, Snow! But trust me, I doubt I’ll ever give you another opportunity.”

  “I’d rather take my chances and wait. If all you want to do is fight with me, then maybe it is a waste of time trying to explain. I really thought you knew me better than this. I guess we were both wrong about each other,” she retorts stoically, and another sense of déjà vu occurs.

  When I first bumped into Holland at the Ivory, there was a taint of defeat and anguish in her eyes. But as soon as she approached her lunch companions, her pose changed abruptly. Her back became rigorously straight, and the look of vulnerability on her gray, cloudy skies was replaced by a blank canvas ruling over her every action and spoken word, looking emotionless and detached. She is bravely trying to apply the same facade now, in reaction to Ollie’s anger. Too bad for her, I know it’s all for show.

  I watch as they stare into each other’s eyes, both unwilling to show the other what they are truly feeling. The pregnant pause is stifling, and when Holland begins to turn her back on my brother, I let out a deep breath, thankful the awkward, intimate moment is over. She hasn’t even taken two steps away from him when I hear Ollie call out her name in a rasped snarl.

  “Just tell me one thing. Was any of it real?” he questions apathetically, running his fingers through his light-brown hair, trying hard to keep his own vulnerabilities at bay. Ollie still has his head held down, so he misses the little flash of hurt in Holland’s eyes when she turns to face him. But not even the twinkly lights all around us, illuminating this particular starless night, distract me from noticing it. “You know what? On second thought, don’t bother. I don’t want to hear another lie come out of your mouth. I’ve heard enough of them to last me a lifetime,” he adds, and when he turns his back on her this time, he doesn’t stop, and she doesn’t follow him.

  Now, with two brothers on a self-pity rampage, I go after the one who I still have eyes on. Hopefully, Ollie will know where the hell Ash ran off to all of a sudden. I place my hand over Ollie’s shoulder
, and he flinches, turning his rage on me. When he realizes it’s not his ex wanting to prolong their nasty conversation, his shoulders relax from their rigid stance.

  “You alright?” I ask, concerned; I hate seeing my carefree brother so uptight.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “No.” He shrugs with a loud sigh.

  “Yeah, I thought as much.”

  Ollie looks in the direction of the party, and the scowl on his face deepens.

  “This wedding is a fucking joke.” He hisses in contempt.

  “Pity I don’t find the punch line funny.”

  Ollie just shakes his head, walking closer to the cliff’s edge. I keep to his side cautiously, worried his mind is even more forlorn than Ash’s.

  “I don’t get it. Dad isn’t stupid, Rome. He must know Vivienne married him for his money.”

  “You mean ours, don’t you? I wouldn’t worry too much about our father, Ollie. Something tells me dear old dad might not have been so forthcoming with his new bride. She’ll get hers soon enough. The judge is a narcissistic asshole, but he isn’t stupid. I agree with you on that front at least.”

  “Then why marry the bitch? Why have her and Sno… Holland enter our lives at all?” Ollie asks, trying to make sense of this shotgun wedding. I, however, have had enough time to work out our father’s motives. If Ollie weren’t so heartbroken, he’d be able to piece the puzzle together just as easily as I have.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and I believe I’ve come up with the only plausible reason he’d go through with this sham of a wedding. Our father never makes a decision that doesn’t benefit him one way or the other.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I think he might have played the grieving widower card for long enough. He wants the chief justice seat at all costs. What better way to improve his image than by portraying a doting husband and family man?” I explain.