𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒

CHAPTER ONE

𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚊

"For there is hope in every heart." His mother's sickeningly sweet words oozed from her mouth like honey. She grasped his cheeks harshly, her perfectly manicured nails dug into his flesh leaving behind indents. "Wipe that frown, darling. It's only your first day." Her eyes shone with everything beautiful and gold (though sharing the same eye color, hers belittled his measly ones in comparison).

Wincing slightly, Luca removed her hands from his face. "What's wrong with me attending public school?"

She looked at him in exaggerated disbelief. "Darling, we're aristocrats now! We don't slump it with those below us anymore." She flung her hands in the air dramatically, almost hitting him in the process.

What she meant to say was she's sleeping with the aristocrats now. But of course, he didn't voice that out loud.

Rosalie Jones was -how shall he put this lightly?- an interesting woman with one goal: to survive. And though he of course respected his mother's goal, it didn't mean he approved of her demeaning methods. She'd do anything to shed her image from the past and if donning herself in satin dresses and adorning her neck with strings of pearls and sleeping with married wealthy men is the way then so be it.

Her latest lover, or more preferably husband was none other than Erik Coldwell. A dignified man of few words and even fewer virtues. One of the high-powered patricians that ruled West Mines with a fist of steel. And only just a few months ago became his new stepfather. He'd like to believe that he was simply moved with pity for them and took them in from the kindest of his heart. But he knew that would only be a lie, afterall his mother had him wrapped around her slender finger many years ago and similar to how she gripped his cheek, she also gripped this man's heart and held it in a tight grip of desire.

"But why a Catholic school? You don't even believe in God," His miserable pleas fell upon death's ear.

She ignored him and instead, frowned at his attire. Who could blame her?

In the full length mirror, he could clearly see a tall, lanky boy wearing a navy blue bucket hat and a loose fitted denim jacket. His converse were ragged and beaten up after years of owning them. "Darling, to be frank. You look like crap.Why couldn't you wear the lovely clothes I picked out for you?" She pouted, gesturing to the blazer waistcoat and jeans she laid out on the bed.

"It just isn't my style, Mom," He frowned.

She clicked her tongue. "Ridiculous! You would look marvelous, like a young Prince Harry."

Prince Harry is white, mother. Have you forgotten? Was on the tip of his tongue but a sarcastic drawl interrupted him.

"I do have to agree with your mother for once, Luca." Bright, cerulean eyes met his through the mirror.

Myron Coldwell snorted, "You do look like shit."

Heat crawled at his neck, nipping his skin like a fiery flame. He rubbed the back of his ear, turning away from the mirror, not wanting to see his image anymore.

"Language," His mother reprimanded.

Myron's eyes darkened, and his mouth pulled into a thin line. "You may have forgotten, Rosalie but you're not my fucking mother."

Rosalie pulled back in dismay, her hand meeting her mouth.

Rarely ever experienced, anger enveloped Luca in an overbearing embrace and led him blindly towards the oblivious Myron. Hands holding onto the material of his shirt,he lifted him up to meet his eyes. He gritted out with clenched teeth. "Don't ever disrespect my mother that way." Myron's nose flared, and pure resentment danced in his eyes.