The hot water hit my skin, and for a while, it was the only thing I could focus on. The steady rhythm of droplets against my shoulders, the steam fogging up the mirror, the familiar scent of vanilla and coconut from my body wash. But even as the warmth eased the tension in my muscles, my mind refused to quiet down.
Who were the Verts?
Jason Vert. Paul Vert.
Same last name. Same cold, unreadable stare. Same habit of wearing gloves like they were stuck in a historical drama. It wasn't normal — and no one at school seemed to question it.
I scrubbed shampoo into my silver hair and sighed.
Maybe it wasn't my business.
But curiosity had a dangerous habit of getting the best of me.
Once I stepped out of the shower, I wiped a circle in the fogged-up mirror and stared at my reflection. Damp silver hair clinging to my face, those pale blue eyes like two pieces of glass.
Why do I look like this?
Why won't Mom tell me anything about my dad?
I shook the thought away, grabbed a towel, and headed to my room. I changed into a pair of soft shorts and a loose tank top before flipping open my laptop. The glow of the screen filled the room as I typed:
"The Vert family Royalty High"
Nothing useful.
I tried: "Jason Vert Paul Vert family history"
A few old gossip blogs and glossy magazine clippings appeared. Apparently, the Verts weren't just another rich family — they were part of a mysterious old-money community called The Vert Tribe.
A tribe of impossibly beautiful people.
Every picture looked like something out of a fairytale. Pale skin, light eyes, sharp cheekbones. Like they didn't even belong in this world. The articles said Paul Vert was next in line to lead his family's council. His parents were flawless, all designer suits and evening gowns at charity galas.
But nothing about the gloves.
I frowned, chewing the inside of my cheek.
Why the gloves?
Why didn't anyone question it?
Was it some weird family tradition? Or something darker?
As dead curious as I was, I couldn't just ask. Jason seemed cool but distant. Apart from him being Eli's friend, we barely spoke. And Paul Vert… he was something else. That intimidating, unreadable aura. Like a character from some gothic novel. The kind of guy you couldn't imagine cracking a joke, much less having a casual chat.
And yet, here I was — obsessing over people I'd barely met.
But it wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was this gnawing feeling in my chest.
Something about them felt… off.
Like a puzzle with missing pieces.
I sighed, shutting my laptop.
Why can't I find anything real about them?
Were they hiding something?
And why did it feel like everyone else knew and just didn't talk about it?
My stomach growled, breaking the tension.
I dried my hair quickly, then padded downstairs barefoot. The kitchen smelled heavenly — pizza. On the counter sat two big boxes: one extra cheese pepperoni, my favorite, and the other, a meat lover's for Eli.
"You hungry?" Mom called from the living room.
"Starving," I muttered, grabbing a slice and a can of zero sugar Coke. I flopped down next to her on the couch.
"Wanna talk about your first day?" she asked, eyes still fixed on the TV.
"Nope."
She laughed softly.
Pride and Prejudice was playing. Again.
I'd grown up watching it a million times because of her, but honestly, it wasn't bad. Watching Elizabeth Bennet give Mr. Darcy hell still made me smirk.
For a while, we sat there in a comfortable silence.
Pizza in one hand, Coke in the other, the only sound coming from the TV and the soft hum of the fridge.
Then the front door burst open.
"I'm home!" Eli's voice boomed through the house.
Before I could react, a pair of sweaty, muscular arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind.
"Ugh, gross!" I yelped, nearly dropping my pizza.
"You stink, bro!"
Eli laughed, still in his basketball jersey, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He smelled like sweat, cheap cologne, and whatever sports drink the team lived on.
"Missed me, kiddo?" he teased, giving me a noogie.
"I was literally having a peaceful evening, and now my life smells like gym socks and bad decisions," I grumbled, waving a hand dramatically in front of my face.
"Leave your sister alone, Eli," Mom called from the couch, fighting a laugh.
"Go shower before you infect the whole house."
Grinning, Eli grabbed a slice of meat pizza from the box and started toward the stairs.
"Night, losers!" he yelled.
"Tell Mom when you'll be home, idiot!" I called after him.
"Before ten!" he shouted back.
"Maybe."
I sighed and flopped back onto the couch.
"Brothers," I muttered.
Mom smiled as Elizabeth and Darcy danced across the screen.
"You'll fall for Mr. Darcy eventually," she teased.
"Never," I smirked, though something about the brooding, unreadable guys always got to me.
Paul Vert included.
And yet, even in that peaceful moment, my mind drifted back to them.
To the Vert family.
To those gloves.
To that stare Paul Vert gave me, like he knew something I didn't.
So many questions.
No answers.
But tomorrow was another day.
And something told me Royalty High's secrets weren't done with me yet.