𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬

06 - blood

We were best friends, childhood friends. Except one day? Our parents told us that at age 19, we would have to marry. Little did I know, that Carter had an option. To marry me or to not marry me. To not ruin my future and obliterate our friendship, he chose wrong.

Over the next 9 years, we avoided each other, refused to sit together and glared at one another at every opportunity possible. Until a couple weeks ago when my mother had the bright idea of sending me to boarding school, along with Carter and Blair.

Despite the fact I had leftover resentment from the arranged marriage fiasco, I still believed that we were soulmates in a way. Past tense.

"Carter, they would have built you a mansion if you asked for it. Let's not pretend like your choice didn't affect my entire future. Our, entire future." I drop his hand, taking a step back from him.

"That's not fair... I didn't just say yes for the fun of it Mila. I chose you, I will always choose you love." The rain splashed down around us, It was getting colder by the second.

"Too bad I didn't choose you." I whisper, throwing the words back in his face.

I hate being mean to him and I hate the way a small bit of hurt, shines through his pretty hazel eyes. But he hurt me all those years ago, whether he intended to or not.

I pick up the ends of my dress and begin to walk towards the reception, it's only when my back is turned that he speaks out. "Don't go."

It's more a plea than an order, his voice low and desperate. But I keep walking, ignoring how a small tear falls down my face.

I ruin everything.
I'm not enough.
I'm not capable of friendship.
I hate everyone.

I'm walking in silence, almost out of the gardens until an ear piercing scream sounds from inside the building. Shit.

"Carter!" I shout out but it's deathly silent, I can't help but feel my hands start to tremble. But it's fine, my dad taught me this. I stay close to the walls in the garden, my back flush against the stone. I edge my way back towards the house until I'm at the kitchen door.

You can do this.

In any normal setting, people would be sprinting out of this house, but since it's mafia upon mafia in here. Everyone is inside, ready to shoot whoever moves. The kitchen is empty, just leftover food and plates wrapped on some shelves.

I move further into the house, grabbing a gun from one of the creaky floorboards in the dining room. I hate how fucking silent it is. Who's dead? Who's alive? Who's bleeding?

I could save myself, hide and fear for my existence. But my dad taught me better than that. I open the main doors to the reception hall, trying my best to be quiet. The room is cleared, totally empty apart from the tables and chairs. Almost like everyone poofed into thin air.

I creep back out of the room, keeping the gun close to my chest. My dads office door is so tempting, another room that was left untouched during my mothers remodel.

It's his room, smells like him, it even kinda looks like him. Whether that makes sense or not, it just reminds me of him. It's the room where he kept all of his belongings and pictures. The most dangerous man in all of North America, with a little blonde daughter that worshipped his every move.