“You have to be kidding me! Anywhere but there! Please!” She sniffs, turning up her nose at my tone. She shakes her head, channel number five wafting towards me. “Annabelle! It’s very kind of Vincent’s family to allow us to stay. The storm wiped out nearly a hundred member’s homes. This is our only option. And don’t let your father hear your whining, I’ve had enough of his temper for one day.” I don’t respond, stewing in my indignation, this was just perfect. Vincent was, how do I put it, intolerable? No, too kind. He treated me horribly at school, there was always such a cutthroat atmosphere at St John’s, I’d never shared that, I did my best and that was that. But Vincent despised it, he despised that I was smarter than him. Of course, he would never phrase it that way. I suppose it didn’t help that we practically knew each other from birth. Our families share common interests, drawing them closer together. God, the dinner parties. A way for Vincent’s parents to parade about his son, and relish in his accomplishments. I mean, who needed to know how to play every single wood instrument? Someone with far too much time on their hands, that’s who. The car comes to a jolting stop despite Huxley’s precision behind the wheel. “Huxley, what’s the trouble?” Dad booms, despite him being sat in the passenger seat, my god that man’s voice was grating. “Just a moment sir, I'll check and see if everything is okay,” Huxley replied, in his everlasting cordial tone, I swear that man’s patience was something of envy. I remember the time my father was hosting a small dinner party, his idea of small was laughable, there must have been about sixty people. Huxley had decorated the place beautifully, all the fine china placed in beautiful synchronicity, champagne towers dotted in each corner of the dining room. His little face, he was so happy with his work. What did my father do? Insist that he changed the menu in one hour. Yes. One hour before guests arrived because Mrs Hunter’s husband ‘didn’t like seafood’, said ‘it was a poor man’s steak.’ But of course, Huxley remained himself, if he was bothered he didn’t show an ounce of it. “Ah, just a flat. I’ll have her ship shape in no time Sir, do not worry.” We arrive just after four in the afternoon, the winds still harsh against the Bentley. The palace stands there, grand as ever. I disliked Vince severely and at times his family too, but my god was their house beautiful. The pathway lining the entrance was all marble and sophisticated patterns, with trimmed greenery on either side. Beautifully offset by a golden glow of outside lighting. I had a pang of sadness hit me that we would have to build anew. “Beautiful isn’t it.” Mother said, her voice was throaty, still in awe even though we’d been here a few dozen times. “Yes.” I mirror her tone, equally in awe. We step out, with the butlers taking our luggage for us, and parking the car in the adjoined garage to the left. I hated watching people carry our stuff, it was second nature to my parents but it always put a queasy feeling in my stomach, it never felt right. “Caroline, Richard, gosh it’s so lovely to see you! You must be feeling awful!” Mrs Kingston professed. Her arms spread wide theatrically and Dressed to the nines as usual. “Julie, pleasure as always. It's too kind of you to open your home to us.” My mother gushes, patting her handkerchief under her eyes still teary from the night's devastation. After Miss Henderson the head housekeeper shows us all to our rooms I put my things away; fed up already with this new environment. Though of course, I’m grateful. But devastated too, they won’t be able to salvage a piece of our house. My entire childhood was savaged by the storm, all my small trinkets and memories, though mother and father were never too much the sentimental types. The closest thing they came to displaying baby pictures was hanging and framing my valedictorian award. I packed away my things, basking in the room that would now be mine for a few months. I mean luxury didn’t even cover it. I dreaded to think what the other rooms looked like if this was simply a guest one. The queen-sized bed sat amongst the cream walls, the window overlooked the most gorgeous lake I’d ever seen. I nearly passed out at the sight of the en suite. The Japanese toilet and rainfall walk-in shower were stunning. It all made it very easy to forget what had happened just shy of twelve hours ago, but thankfully no one was harmed. I dressed into my satin cobalt evening gown as instructed, Mrs Kingston was scarily particular. I wore my red hair in loose waves, inherited from my grandmother. My parents had always resented me for it, claiming Pearl was the rotten apple of the family on my mother's side because she married a commoner. Well, rotten apple she may be to them she was just about the only thing that got me through my worst times. Though stinking rich, she had a heart to match her millions of gold, never once allowing it to affect her attitude. When the bell for dinner rings I finish my makeup and head downstairs. I follow my parents down the winding gold staircase leading into the creamed marble hallways. We reach the dinner table and my blood heats immediately, Vincent strode in with his usual confidence, his tan skin complimented by his black tux which made him look a good few years older than he was, sort of, Manish. His eyes find mine immediately, narrowing as they skate down my body. His stare was full of wrath, full of hatred, and so intense. My pulse ramped when he took the seat opposite mine, by his mothers suggestion. Oh, fantastic. “So Annabelle, your mother tells me, you’ve just been accepted into Yale. That’s excellent! Vincent’s doing so well too! He got accepted into Harvard, but with his interest in law, we felt Yale was a better fit. It’s psychology you’re studying though right?” Of course, she had to add that in, her _precious_ Vincent, completely undermining me as always. My parents hum noises of approval in his direction as if he needed any more. “That’s great for him,” I said with a bitterness I couldn’t hide, though everyone’s smiles remained, except one. Vincent’s icy blue stare burned through me, in my peripheral. It took effort not to look at him, his jet-black hair was slicked back. He looked much better than I’d care to admit. “Yes, that’s right. The human mind, how and why people behave in certain ways, it fascinates me thoroughly, I felt it was the perfect fit for me.” I smooth out the napkin on my lap and adjust my dress as the spotlight draws to me. His gaze narrows at my response, what? What had I possibly said that was irking him this time? Switching his gaze to my parents, he says, “Possibly law. But my main focus of interest is business currently, I want to run my own empire, take after my father.” He attempts a smile but all to be seen is ice, my spine tingles at the sound of his voice it could have only been a month since I’d seen him, how could his voice be _that_ deep? I beeline straight for my room after dinner, quickly showering and changing into my night bodice. An hour of consciousness passed and so I headed for the library, a good book, that would settle my mind. I placed my feet lightly on the cream carpet, my hand firm on the gold bannister, I went straight down the hallway taking the second door on the left. This was the perfect escape for me. It was enchanting, especially the fireplace at the far middle, and the emerald green walls encasing every book. I ran my finger across each spine, not taking too much notice of the books themselves. I spotted a decanter of whisky and a gorgeous glass placed face down next to it. Surely that’s an invitation to drink? I poured a modest amount and grabbed a book, opting for the chair closest to the fire. I sink into the leather, finding that the book was actually quite interesting, I’d never read Shakespeare before but Macbeth was quite a good read. A creak outside the door snaps me out of my book-induced daze. And when I glance at the oak door I find the hallway light has disappeared, oh, they all must’ve gone to bed. A few moments pass and an itch begins to form at the back of my neck, not so much a physical one, but a caress of awareness. “Who said you could drink my father's whiskey?” The ice of his voice chills me immediately, I dart my eyes around the room to find Vincent lurking in the far corner. He drew from the shadows slowly, his tie removed and one button loose, he looked so different, it was unnerving to be around. My eyes hone in on the glass in his hand, oh god I bet he’s drunk, that’s all I need. In the scarcity of light, he’s still able to follow my gaze, “I’m not inebriated, I can handle my liquor.” He says, placing emphasizes on I. “And I can’t?” I ask with a little too much annoyance, it wasn’t healthy the ease with which he could rile me. He shrugs, bringing the glass to his lips, and holding my gaze as he does so. He moves slowly around the chair, purposefully, and sinks into the seat opposite me. “What are you-“ “Why psychology?” He interjects before I get a chance to finish. I didn’t like his tone, he said it with accusation, as though he was annoyed I’d chosen it. My mind swirled with the usual pace it did around Vincent, so many unanswered questions I would never muster the courage to ask him. As much as I disliked him, he perplexed me, in a form of fascination, but I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “I already told you, the way people behave, and why they do certain things. It fascinates me.” I cut myself short, not wanting to reveal too much to him, I couldn’t be vulnerable with him. “Do I fascinate you, Annabelle?” He asks with a softness that nearly knocks the breath out of me. Okay, he _was_ drunk. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” I got up, and before I could move his palm circles around my wrist, burning the skin. “Sit.” He commands me, and I can’t be certain why. But I do. He looks at me expectantly. “Maybe I should study you. Get to know the psychopathic mind. Unfeeling.” He doesn’t share my humorous tone. “You think I’m unfeeling?” He cocks his head, leaning forward. I laugh a little harder than I’d intended to, certain he must be joking. “You don’t? You’re icy, Vincent.” His eyes glinted,” You never call me that.” “What, Vincent?” “Mm.” The heat of his gaze began to unsettle me I shifted my focus to the blazing fire instead. “You’re incorrect. And if this really is an avenue you want to pursue, you should sharpen your observation skills.” “Vincent you act as though you hate me, you’re so.” I wave my hands at him. “Intense all the time. How could I think differently?” “You think my intensity is equal to hatred?” He questioned. “Yes, I associate intensity with either hatred or passion and I can safely say which one it is.” His eyes darkened, “Are you so sure about that, Annabelle?”