Scene: Earl's estate
🔥 Charles 🔥
"Charles! Get up, lazy!"
My mom's voice hit me like a tax audit. Sudden. Violent. Uninvited.
I groaned from under the covers, face buried in silk pillows that cost more than some people's rent.
"Nope. Not today."
Silence.
Then heels on marble.
She was coming.
Seconds later, the bedroom door swung open like a curtain rising on a bad comedy.
There she stood, perfect as ever, dressed in a silk robe that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped impatiently on the doorframe.
"Stop hiding," she called out, stepping into the room like a queen surveying her empire.
I peeked out from the blanket with one eye.
"What happened to 'Good morning, my firstborn, my favorite child, heir to the Earl chaos empire'?"
She rolled her eyes. "That title goes to whoever brings me Thai takeout without flirting with the hostess."
I yawned like a spoiled prince and sat up. "Harsh.
I flirted once. For extra dumplings. That's called strategy."
She didn't blink. "Shower. Clothes. Keys. Go.
I dragged myself out of bed with the kind of dramatic sigh that deserved applause and headed straight for the bathroom.
The smart shower lit up as I stepped in, adjusting to my preferred temperature like it was trained to please me—which it was.
Ten minutes later, I stepped out, wrapped in a soft robe that smelled like rich-people laundry.
I looked at my cologne shelf, picked my Clive Christian perfume, it wasn't too strong—just enough to smell good if someone walked too close.
I brushed, moisturized, and ran a comb through my perfectly chaotic hair. I didn't need much—money does the heavy lifting.
I pulled on one of my favorite hoodies. It looked casual but cost a small fortune. I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Skincare routine: flawless.
Hair: messy but intentional.
Cologne: subtle but expensive. The kind that whispers my trust fund has a trust fund.
Downstairs, the kitchen looked like a luxury furniture ad. Mom sat at the island, sipping green tea like she was judging the world with every sip.
"Morning," I muttered, grabbing a protein shake.
She looked up, unimpressed. "Your brother hugged me this morning."
I blinked. "Okay… and?"
"He's clearly my favorite now. You walked in like the ghost of disappointment."
I opened the fridge, grabbed my protein shake, and raised it like it was champagne. "Still better than being the ghost of overachieving."
She snorted. "Get Thai noodle. Extra spicy. And Charles?"
I paused.
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't charm the poor girl into giving you free dumpings again."
"That was a one-time thing!"
"Three times, Charles."
"I make no promises," I muttered.
Just as I was tightening my hoodie and reaching for my keys, the sound of her heels echoed down the hallway, like the calm before chaos.
And there she was.
Lily Earl. Seventeen
My younger sister.
She strode in like she owned the house, the city, and probably the rights to everyone's last nerve.
She was dressed in a cropped Jacquemus blazer layered over a ribbed white bralette, paired with cargo-style leather pants that hugged her like they were made for chaos.
Her silver Amina Muaddi slingback heels sparkled with every step, clicking across the marble like a countdown to disaster.A pearl-studded Prada mini bag hung off her shoulder like an accessory and a threat.
Her edges were laid to perfection, honey-blonde curls swept into a sleek claw clip that screamed, "I have meetings to ruin."
Pressed to her ear, her voice sharp and bossy.
"If those centerpieces aren't Hermès orange, Madison, cancel the brunch. I'm not hosting a farm wedding."
She breezed past me without a glance,her perfume trailed behind her like a warning sign: this girl runs on privilege and zero patience.
"Good morning to you too, Your Highness," I muttered., watching the designer hurricane pass.
She paused at the hallway mirror, adjusted her lip gloss, then lowered her glasses just enough to throw me a look.
"Charles, if you're stopping by Mei's, grab my coconut rice. And tell her it's for me, not for 'your boring brother.' Last time she played dumb."
"She's still recovering from the time you tried to rename her restaurant after yourself."
"I was giving her marketing advice," Lily sniffed. "She should pay me."
And with that, she stormed off, still barking into her phone: "No, Madison, you cannot invite influencers who drink matcha and lie. I have standards, not desperation."
I turned back to Mom, who didn't even flinch.
"How did we raise her?"
She took a calm sip of her tea. "Easy. We gave her unlimited Wi-Fi and a black card."
I grabbed my car keys from the counter
I grabbed my keys, spinning them around my finger, and headed to the garage.
My matte-black Lamborghini purred to life like a beast awakening.
As I rolled toward the gate, the guard nodded, like we were in some elite members-only club of people who wake up surrounded by wealth and drama.
Another normal day in the Earl House
Scene: Madison Avenue
I was supposed to pick up some takeout.
Instead, I found a ghost.
She was walking down Madison Avenue in a blood-stained silk robe, barefoot, her skin bruised, her hair tangled like she had fought a hurricane and lost.
At first, I thought she was drunk. High. Or another heiress staging a 'rebellious escape' for the paparazzi.
She moved like her bones were too heavy for her body.
People stared. No one helped.
It was like she was invisible.
Without thinking, I threw the car door open and stepped out.
"Hey," I said, reaching for her gently. *"Are you okay?"
I turned her face toward mine.