e l i t e s / T. Shelby / The Brat Pack

eleven * ˚ ✦

The boy was crying silently as his father continued to chew his ears off about how he must never forget his mother and the fact that she will never be replaced. Quite ridiculous, really. Of course, a mother can never be replaced; Irene knows this better than anyone.

So Irene Grosvenor intervened. She stood abruptly, causing the blue-eyed Thomas to stop his talking. "That's enough, Mr Shelby."

Thomas looked taken aback. His voice dripped with venom as he inched closer to the heiress, "What?"

Irene sighed, "I said, that's enough, sir. Can't you see your own boy crying?"

Thomas turned his head towards Charles, a bit shocked to see his son with tears rolling down his rosy cheeks. Part of him wanted to hug him, say sorry for the way he acted over a simple matter.

But another part of him, the war-infected side of him, had whispered words in his brain to keep on going. Show his boy that his mum can never be replaced with anything or anyone.

Thomas picked the latter. He mock-worshipped the heiress, "Hail the princess who finally speaks!"

Irene rolled her eyes, "With all due respect, Mr Shelby, I think you're overreacting over something a child had said."

"He had crossed the line. He forgot his own mother."

"Crossed the line? Mr Shelby, Charles is a child. Most of his childhood is supposed to be filled with crossed lines. And I, for one, is sure as hell he didn't forget his own mother; no true child would forget their birth giver that easily."

Thomas raked a hand over his hair. Pointing at the heiress, he said, "What does a conceited toff know about raising a child, eh? All you know is how to spend daddy's money."

"Better than you, apparently. Charles enjoys his time with me and trembles at the sight of his own father!"

"You. You are nothing but a fucking toffee-nosed heiress who doesn't think about anyone but herself. Don't you dare say you know how to fucking parent a child better than I do, you bitch. Oh, that's right, do you think I don't know about what toffs like you do for fun? You fuck other toffs to make you feel satisfied."

Irene's face turned expressionless, "You have crossed the line, sir."

Thomas lit up a cigarette while looking at her, disdainfully, "What are you going to fucking do? Hang me, eh? Put me in a fucking jail? Report me to the Queen?"

The heiress scoffed as she grabbed her fur coat and handbag, "You have no idea what kind of hell this conceited toffee-nosed heiress could bring to you."

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It's been a while since Irene and Robert enjoyed their daily morning horse riding. Riding horses at six-thirty in the morning have always been a favourite sibling activity for the siblings. They would wake up at six-fifteen or so, strap themselves, and gallop on their horses in the vast estate they have.

Their riding activity would always end with some laughter, a few occasional banter, and of course – Irene's personal favourite – breakfast. An abundance of breakfast foods would be brought to the yard, and the siblings would enjoy breakfast with a view.

Today was quite different. Not only today was the day after Irene's little banter with Thomas Shelby, but the ride today was only for Robert and Irene. As their sisters and her friends were definitely not in the best morning mood. Ana and Izzy almost threw the vases beside their beds towards Irene when she woke up the girls.