Master Class: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (+ Bonus Book 'Silent Daughter 1') (16 page)

T
he things
you have to do once you become part of a new world...

A world that doesn't want you, but a world you need.

It has always been my ambition to make it, to become part of this. Growing up in a world divided into
us
and
them
, I have always wanted to be one of
them
.

This is who I am, where I belong. On top, above the mediocre masses that struggle to wander through life with a degree of dignity.

I grew up among them. Among the weak and poor. Uneducated people who worry about paying the rent, paying off their self-imposed debts and even about the next meal for the numerous children they should never have had. I lived among them, but I never belonged.

I fought my way out of that miserable life, and I am proud of it. Yet, I know that there are places where I will never be seen as one of them, despite my success.

This is one of those places. Most of the people who gather at this house for the ridiculous event of tonight never had to fight their way up. They have been born into this world. They are just as weak and pathetic as those I grew up with, maybe worse.

They are content, saturated and proud. Proud for no reason, I might add. It was not their efforts that brought them here, but just a lucky draw in the lottery of life.

But I have to play along. It comes with my success, and I might need these people sooner or later. They have connections. They
are
connections.

Will has been a reliable partner for quite some time now. When his spoiled, dull joke of a son gets engaged and I am asked to attend the social event associated with it, I have to show up.

I will smile, I will be nice, I will shake hands and conduct small talk as much as I have to. I won't let anyone know how much I despise being here, and I will use my insights into human nature to find those that might be of value to me.

After all, many of the guests are owners and leading figures of companies in the new technology sector that I am exploring. They know the market, and they know people. They
are
people.

My breast pocket is stuffed with business cards and my face is sporting the obligatory smile as I walk through the door, welcomed by a domestic servant—how backward.

I am at the ostentatious residence of the bride-to-be’s family, a gigantic mansion that has been the family's home for decades. The Barringtons. A family with old money and no male heir to the throne, but three daughters, all younger than me by a few years.

At first, I don't see anybody except for the servant but can hear voices coming from the back of the house.

I am led to the giant hall that serves as a welcoming area for a champagne reception. Just like everything else in these people's world, the whole event is extravagantly overdone, especially considering the occasion. One of their daughters—the second—has agreed to marry her suitor. Apparently, this is all of an excuse the family needs to invite their whole circle of acquaintances to their home, plus some people they don't even know nor have any connection to.

Like me.

The place is already packed with people. I am introduced to the head of the house, an unobtrusive man with thinning hair and a belly that I am sure used to be slimmer when he was my age.

"George Barrington," he introduces himself. "And this is my wife, Sybill."

He gestures to a frail-looking, middle-aged woman with light brown hair and too much makeup standing next to him. A whiff of intrusive perfume comes my way as she steps forward to shake my hand. Her features are delicate and I am sure that she used to be quite a beauty in her younger years. In fact, she still would be if it wasn't for that excessive makeup and the ludicrous amount of pearls that are adorning her neck and ears. It gives her a tacky look, even though I know that she comes from a family with old money. She had enough time and cash to develop a good feel and taste for how to decorate oneself but still went for the tacky newly-rich impression.

I smile at her and take her hand, careful not to squeeze it as much as I have with her husband. Women demand different care.

"Leonard Clark," I introduce myself. "It is a pleasure to meet you, and congratulations."

They both smile and nod as if it was their personal accomplishment to have one of their daughters marry a promising young man such as Will's heir. I guess, in a way, it is.

"Oh, so you must be William’s partner then?" Mr. Barrington asks.

I nod. "Yes, we've been working on the Kidman deal together and he was kind enough to invite me today."

"So I've heard," he says, now turning to his wife. "He's quite a talent, this one. William has nothing but praise for him!"

"Is that so?" she retorts, pressing her thin, strongly painted lips together as she looks up to me. "Clark, is it? That name... doesn't really ring a bell."

There it is. That condescending look, the reminder that she fancies her blood to be nobler than mine. My name doesn’t ‘ring a bell’ for her because I don’t belong to one of the affluent families who have been settled in this suburban neighborhood for decades, centuries even. Families with big names, majestic estates and old money in their bank accounts. They are a close-knit society, and they don’t like newcomers.

It’s a good thing, though. I don’t want my name to ring a bell. I have a goal. I am here for business and business only. As soon as that is done, I will be gone as quickly as I came. Just a visitor, soon to be forgotten once I am out of sight.

At least that’s the plan.

"I just moved here a couple of months ago when Will and I started working together," I explain.

"Oh," she says. "So you're not from
these parts
?"

Everybody damn well knows what she means by
these parts
. I know George does, as he throws his wife a warning look to speak no further.

"That is correct," I say, sporting a confident smile.

"Mhm," she says and sips on her champagne.

"Leonard!" I hear a familiar voice.

I turn around and spot my business partner Will approaching me with his wife in tow.

"Glad you could make it!" he shouts, reaching his hand out to greet me.

"You've met my wife," he notes as she steps forward to shake my hand.

"Of course. It's nice to see you again, Shirley," I say and take her hand.

"Let's see if we can find my son and his fiancée," William quickly adds. Already, his cheeks are blushed, and I am right to assume that this is by far not his first drink of the day.

I know he is excited about this. Pete is his only son, his only child, and he landed quite a good match. A Barrington daughter is considered just as much of a jackpot as his own son is.

The match is so suiting, so perfectly thought through, one could almost assume that it was an arranged marriage.

I follow William’s wide, excited steps as he leads me through the fancy crowd, heads turning to me left and right. I am sure most of them wonder who I could be.

"Ah, there he is!" Will shouts as he spots his son standing on the terrace at the backside of the house.

We scurry through another light and expensively decorated parlor and pass through a giant French door that covers most of the wall separating the parlor from the garden.

The garden is filled with people, and it is here that I realize that almost all the women are dressed in light pastel colors. Not by coincidence, that's for sure. Events like this one always have a dress code and sometimes these dress codes come with special demands such as colors that people are to refrain from or colors that are desirable. Today it appears that the women were asked to dress in angelic light colors, gracing the garden with their alleged purity.

The man of the day, Will's son Pete, is wearing a white smoking jacket and is, therefore, standing out in a crowd of men dressed in black, dark gray and blue suits.

"Pete," Will yells as we approach the young man.

He turns around, a boy who still looks like a baby even though he is only a few years younger than I am. A young woman is hooked into his arm, holding a champagne glass. She is a classic beauty with light brown hair, a slim frame and green eyes that look up at me questioningly. Her dress is white, the only one around in that particular color.

Next to them is another couple. Judging from the looks, the two women are sisters. The other woman's hair is a little lighter with more of a blond tone and her eyes are a clear and bright blue, but she has the same facial features and slender frame. Her dress is of a light pastel pink and a matching flower is perched in her hair.

"This is Leonard Clark," Will says as he introduces me to the group. "My partner in crime, quite literally."

He turns to his son who is shaking my hand at that moment. "He's the one I told you about."

"Ah, yes," Pete utters. "So good to meet you. My dad mentioned that you would be a good role model for me, seeing as you've had so much success so early in your career."

I shake my head.

"I don't think I qualify for that," I argue. "I just did what I like to do and it turns out that working my ass off is just about the only thing I enjoy."

That is an outrageous lie, but if Will knew about the things I
truly
enjoy, he would certainly not think of me as a role model for his baby-faced son.

"Well, it certainly paid off for you," Pete says. He gestures towards the girl standing next to him. "My fiancée, Sandria."

I step forward and shake her hand. She beams at me, pretty but so utterly empty that it almost offends me. There is no depth behind her undoubtedly beautiful eyes, no character in her motions. She looks like a picture perfect doll.

"Very nice to meet you," she says in a high-pitched voice. "And this is my sister, Lucia, and her husband, Adam."

I dutifully shake their hands as well, catching Lucia’s eyes for just a moment. They are just as hollow as those of her younger sister.

We engage in painfully boring small talk. It wouldn't be half as bad to talk to Will on his own. I like the guy. He is unpretentious and hard-working, a smart man living in a world of fools. We share a mutual respect for each other.

But this young bunch of spoiled little brats is of no use to me. I don't care for socializing with them, and I am sure there are more interesting people at this event that Will could introduce me to.

I am only pretending to listen, nodding here and there while my eyes discretely wander off to our surroundings. It is unusually warm and the weather is just as picture perfect as most of today's attendees’ getups. Naturally, the garden is filling up with more people wanting to enjoy the late afternoon’s sun, but I don't recognize a single one of them.

I am just about to turn my head back to the group when I see her.

A surreal fairy-like beauty who stands alone, secluded from any group.

She is standing at the other end of the terrace, holding on to her glass of champagne for dear life as she absentmindedly stares out into the garden. Young, early twenties. She is wearing a chiffon dress that ends just above her slim knees. Just like every woman here, she opted for a light pastel color, but hers is gray, giving her a less flowery look than the other girls at this event. Her long and dark brown hair falls over her fragile shoulders in lusty waves and is only kept in place by a slim, silver hairband. Her pale skin almost blinds me as the sunlight hits it, and that face... that fucking face.

Fuck.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something about her. Something very... wrong. Deliciously wrong.

I don't understand how it is that she is standing over there by herself with no one even perceiving her existence but me. A surreal, delicate fairy with that captivating beauty.

My cock is twitching as all the wrong thoughts race through my head...

My gaze stayed on her for too long and Will, of all people, notices. He leans forward, stretching next to me to see what or who is stealing my attention for so long. Soon, all the other faces in our group follow him as well.

I take my eyes off of her and turn back to the group, trying not to give even the slightest clue about what had kept me so occupied.

I hear Pete's fiancée sighing next to him.

"Is she being awkward again?" she whispers.

"Who?" Will asks innocently—and too loudly. Sandria rolls her eyes at him, suggesting that most people in our circle were not supposed to be aware of their exchange.

"Elizabeth," the blonde, Lucia, says. "Our little sister."

I gulp at that revelation but try not to let it show too much.

"Oh, I don't think I have met her?" Will adds.

"That's her over there," Sandria says, nodding towards the brunette beauty. "She is a bit... special. She doesn't socialize well. You don't need to talk to her.”

"Sandria...," Pete hisses. "Don't you think we should introduce her?"

Sandria casts him an annoyed look, but nods. "Yes, darling."

"And she's just standing there, all by herself," Will adds. "We really should call her over. Family shouldn't be left by themselves."

The two sisters exchange a look, but eventually Sandria frees herself from Pete's arm and scurries over to the dark-haired beauty, who had just turned her narrow back to us.

My eyes follow her as she reaches the girl and taps her on the shoulder, her motion distant like that of a stranger. She says something to her, but I don't see the girl respond anything. Instead, she just nods and follows her sister as they return to our little group.

"
E
lizabeth
, my father-in-law to be, Mr. William Bishop," Sandria introduces. "William, my younger sister, Elizabeth."

"A pleasure to meet you, young lady," Will exclaims as he reaches out to shake her hand. "It's so good to finally meet all of my daughter-in-law's family."

She doesn't speak but gives a slight nod as she shakes his hand. Now that she is standing close to her sisters, I notice a faint resemblance between them. All three of them display the same delicate nose and full lips, topped off with big eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes and the pale skin of the noble class. The Barringtons have three perfectly beautiful daughters, that’s for sure.

But that is where the resemblances between the three of them end. Elizabeth is much taller than her sisters, her hair is darker and her eyes...

I grit my teeth as she turns around to me and we are formally introduced. She looks up at me with those dark, iridescent eyes. Just like her hair, they are a lot darker than those of her sisters, but that is not the only way in which they differ. The color of hers appears to be a mix of both of her sisters, seemingly changing from a dark blue to dark green, depending on where she is looking.

They are flickering, moving like the wild sea.

It drives me insane.

As does her touch. I expected her handshake to be soft and weak as it is with most women, but I was wrong. Her hand is cold, but her grip is strong and engaging, almost as if she was trying to pull me closer.

She is not, though. As soon as our hands met, they part from each other and I watch her as she takes a step back, deliberately standing about half a foot outside of our circle as if she didn't belong.

However, if she is one of the Barringtons' daughters, she belongs just as much as the other two, despite so many signs that say otherwise.

I wonder what is wrong with her. I am intrigued by her even more, now that she is standing so close. She radiates something. Something dark. Her motions are careful and sophisticated, unnatural, in a way. As if she had practiced every gesture, every look she casts around. Even the way she is standing doesn’t seem natural. If her movements didn’t have that elegance and flow about them, I would almost call her robotic.

I also wonder what it is that causes my insides to growl and my cock to involuntarily rise to attention as I look at her.

"The youngest and the tallest," William makes a helpless attempt at small talk.

"And the darkest," Lucia adds. "Our parents keep joking that the blonde is gradually dying in our family, as illustrated in the three of us."

"Elizabeth likes to add the killing blow, though," Sandria adds, casting Elizabeth a nasty smile. "She would be a little lighter if she didn't put all that glop into her hair."

Elizabeth doesn't show any reaction to what her sisters are saying and displays a helpless smile as she looks at William, then down on the floor, then back up, turning to me.

"Oh, so this is not your natural hair color?" Pete asks.

She looks at him and finally utters her first words.

"It is not," she says. "As Sandria pointed out, naturally my hair would be a little lighter."

Her voice is airy but deeper than I expected. She doesn't speak in high-pitched resonance like her sisters do, but in a very soft tone that is barely audible.

She's not a screamer, I bet.

"Sandria tells me you just returned from college?" Pete interrogates.

She nods. "Yes. I graduated a few weeks ago."

"What was your major?" Pete wants to know.

"It doesn't matter," she replies. Her face is stern, frozen in an unreadable mask.

A few moments of awkward silence follow before Sandria takes a deep breath to scold her sister.

"Elizabeth," she breathes. "What an odd answer to give. You can tell him! Don't be embarrassed."

Elizabeth's eyes narrow as she casts her sister an evil look, but again, she doesn't say a word.

"What does she have to be embarrassed about?" I ask, talking about her in the third person while directly looking at Elizabeth herself.

She turns toward me, returning to the same indifferent expression she has shown most of the time since she was forced into our little circle. Everything about her is calm, except for her eyes. They appear to be on fire. Dark green-blue, looming fire.

She is hiding something underneath that pale, apathetic mask. A shadowy beast, screaming to be freed.

The left corner of my mouth rises just the slightest bit as I reciprocate her gaze. Of course, she doesn't react to it. She just looks at me, unwilling to talk.

That quiet, disclosed exterior. That perfect beauty. I want to smash her to pieces. Everything about her begs to be broken.

Speak
.

"Nothing," she breathes. Finally.

A normal person would have continued that statement with a short clarification as to what her sister was referring to, but not Elizabeth. Apparently, she thinks that one word to be enough of an explanation and decides to take another sip of her champagne while a soft fall breeze flies by, causing her doll-like hair to dance around the delicate shoulders.

The image of her is maddening.

She lowers her eyes and looks down at my hands. I have been clenching my fists without even realizing it. Now that her eyes are on them, I am terribly aware of it. Instinct tells me to relax my hands, but I fight it.

Let her see this. Let's see if she dares to react to it.

She doesn't.

"Well, she refrained from joining the Ivy League club," her other sister Lucia finally says, unable to stand the silence that must have become awkward for everybody else around us.

Out of courtesy, I turn around to Lucia, looking at her questioningly as does Will.

"It's only a Liberal Arts degree," Lucia explains. "She went to a liberal arts college instead of entering Yale or Brown as she could have."

"Like us," Sandria adds in a reproachful tone.

"Oh, you were accepted at Yale and Brown as well?" Pete asks, sounding genuinely impressed.

Elizabeth takes a deep breath. I watch as her chest rises beneath her light dress, the outline of her breasts clearly visible. They are bigger than her slim frame suggests at first, but not much more than a good handful. A perfect fit for my palms.

"Yes, I was," she says, now looking at Pete.

"Impressive!" Pete exclaims, much to the dismay of his betrothed, who rolls her eyes at him.

"Yes, she is quite a smart one," Lucia adds, but it doesn't sound like a compliment at all. If anything her remark has a sarcastic touch to it.

"No. Just diligent and rich," Elizabeth objects.

"And what school did you chose to go to?" Will continues the interrogation, completely ignoring her awkward statement.

"Williams," she says. "It's a-"

"Private liberal arts college, I know," Will finishes her sentence. "And the best of the country, I might add! It outranks the Ivy League schools in some aspects, you know."

He scans the little group to see if all of us heard this revelation.

"There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of," he comforts Elizabeth, tilting his head to the side as if he was feeling sorry for her.

"I know," she hisses. "Like I said: I have nothing to be ashamed of."

Sandria and Lucia snort, exchanging a telling look.

"Will that be all?" Elizabeth asks, startling everybody with the question. "If so, I'd like to excuse myself for another drink."

She doesn't wait for anybody to reply but turns around and hurries away, aiming toward the French door to enter the house.

My eyes follow her, scanning her dainty body as she walks away. She is wearing thin and barely visible pantyhose beneath her dress. Through the thin fabric, I can see the marks around her ankles. She has scars on both sides, encompassing almost her entire ankle on each leg. Faint, red stripes. Cuts, maybe. In fact, that is my first assumption. But they are a little too wide and too trivial for that.

They look more like rope marks.

"In fact," I say, directed at no one in particular. "A drink does sound good. If you would excuse me for a moment."

A round of empty smiles and nods lets me know that I am free to leave the group.

I turn around and follow the path of the youngest Barrington daughter, hoping that she hasn't disappeared or started a conversation with someone else.

Neither fear comes true. I spot her alone at the bar, placing her empty glass on the table and replacing it with a new one.

I approach her with wide steps and place myself next to her, nonchalantly reaching for a glass so close to her that our arms brush.

She flinches. Ever so slightly. That little touch sends shivers through her graceful body.

I look at her, expecting her to turn around direct those beautiful eyes at me.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she makes a move to get away from me. She turns around and is just about to flee when I stop her by saying: "Does it hurt?"

She freezes mid-motion and hunches her shoulders. Her feet are pressed together, shifting one in front of the other as if to try to hide the marks.

"Excuse me?" she asks, looking back at me over her shoulder.

She is so charmingly awkward.

"Your ankles," I say in a low and husky voice. "Looks like you're hurt there."

She slowly turns around to me, her eyes turning up to me.

"I think most people would consider that quite the impertinent question," she utters.

"Are you most people?"

She frowns and takes a sip of her champagne. Her signature move it seems, especially when it's her turn to speak.

"What happened to your ankles?" I press.

"Nothing," she lies.

She wants to run away and escape from this conversation, I can feel it. But I won't let her. I am enjoying her discomfort way too much to let that happen.

"Well, I'm pretty damn sure you're lying to me right now," I whisper.

She throws me an innocent look and shakes her head. "I don't lie. Ever."

"Tell me what happened then," I probe.

"Nothing happened," she insists.

"I thought you don't lie?"

"I don't," she says. "Nothing
happened
to me."

She smirks and catches me off guard with that expression. It's the first time that her face shows anything but apathy or indifference.

I quickly check our surroundings. There is no one I know within earshot. William and the little gang surrounding his son are still outside on the terrace, probably talking about the weather or wedding preparations. The Barringtons are still guarding the door, and everybody else is nothing but a mass of stranger's faces to me.

She is giving off vibes. That smirk. The way she is looking at me. Expectantly. While just a few seconds ago it seemed as she couldn't get out of my reach fast enough, she now looks at me with expectation.

Yet, I cannot risk it. I cannot talk to her the way I want to. I cannot do the things I want to do to her.

Not here. Not now.

For now I'll have to leave her with her obnoxious family and let her return to that casket of safety.

"Alright then," I say. "I'll believe you."

I turn around without waiting for her to reply anything and walk away. The knowledge that her shimmering eyes are following me as I leave makes me growl on the inside.

I want her.

She needs to become mine.