e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
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Dying would be the perfect choice at the moment.
Dying somehow sounded better than facing Irene's gangster boss, whom she just belittled and cursed at, in front of his virile brothers and friend. In the middle of a business assembly. To add salt to the wound, Irene just told her brother to grow a pair and rebel against their papa. Oh, and she essentially told her father to fuck off with everything he's built.
"Ugh." The bed sunk as Irene's body fell limply; her ten-month-younger sister followed suit. Izzie sighed before rubbing her face frustratedly, "What have we done?"
"Well, to run-through, in essence; we just asked to be murdered by our heathen bosses." Irene felt ridiculous as she thinks about what happened. First and foremost, who said it was a good idea to get hammered at five in the fucking afternoon, storm off into their father's office, and tell him to fuck off? She knew the answer to this; it was not one person's fault. The girls all chipped in on the idea, as most of their ideas are formed. Hence, why their ideas are primarily bullocks.
Second of all, why did no one stop her and Isabelle from making fools out of themselves? Or maybe someone did but didn't try hard enough. Why didn't the butler stop them when they clearly, drunkenly, staggered down the stairs and into papa's office. Somebody's arse is about to be rid of.
"You know, it's probably fine. You didn't really do that much damage." Ana had perked. Irene turned to face her, "Didn't you just hear what I said? We just insulted our bosses, who happened to be the two most feared criminals in all of United Kingdom."
The only one sober at the moment, Daphne, bit her lip nervously, "Or maybe, because they're so despicable, they didn't even think twice about what you did."
"Oh, like they don't mind?" Imogen quipped, the girl still carrying a bottle of merlot. Daphne snapped her finger, "Exactly."
Thomas not caring about what they did? That sounded very much unlike him. Irene almost laughed. The guy would groom his vengeance for years on end but was willing to forget the insults thrown by a couple of blue bloods – a type of people he'd sworn to loath? The chances of a money-rain were far more likely than that.
Irene's eyes moved through the room, finding Tabitha to be dozing off on the sofa. "Is she taking a fucking nap? This whole thing was mostly her fucking idea."
"Let's not place blames here. We all thought it was a – a courageous thing to do." Daphne was the first to always get in the middle of a fight. She had always stayed neutral amid her confidantes' disputes. Taking sides is not really her forte. Most of the times, it's harmless, beneficial, even. But when her neutrality is used at perilous times like these, when her lifetime friends might not see tomorrow's morning, Irene would always think of Daphne as the most despicable of them all.
