Page 16 of Vermilion Desire

Scarletta

When an animal is injured, they lick their wounds and arm themselves with bared teeth. When a human is injured, they fall into a pit of self-deprecation and vengeance.

Braxton Berkshire is a combination of the two. He comes bearing a gift after he had returned home to stew in his hate and tend to his wounded ego.

It’s almost comical to see him react the way I would have predicted. I have been prepared for his counterattacks after humiliating him in public, and it’s amusing to see the news dragging the family name.

Unclean, filthy, disgusting. Inbreeds. Many people contribute to the Berkshire family members’ narcissism and cult-like thinking process with inbreeding. Braxton’s fans believe that he is a king that has been reincarnated from the past, and his bloodline is pure due to inbreeding.

They are beyond brainwashed. Beyond redemption, and they don’t want to be saved because their precious King Braxton Berkshire is untouchable and the one who will lead them to a life of fulfillment.

I close the letter, folding it neatly and sliding it back into the envelope. The man in front of me sips his coffee, a smile pleasantly displaying on his lips while performing a scene for his fans in the café.

“How fragile,” I croon, eyes curving with malic and ridicule.

He raises an arched eyebrow, groomed to perfection without one hair out of place. “May I ask what is?”

A soft squeal from beside us gets ignored as I know he had intentionally let his fans stay to watch him try and put me down.

“Your pride.” I stir the cup of coffee in front of me. I haven’t tasted it, and I don’t want to despite how the flavor must match the dark, roasted coffee beans.

The entire café has been dominated by employees of Berkshire, and this cup of coffee had been brewed with a specialty machine and imported coffee beans.

“I wasn’t aware that Berkshire men could not handle a friendly conversation.”

He smiles. “You must have misinterpreted, Miss Scarletta.”

Ah, so he knows my name. He’s done his research when he went home with his tail stuck between his legs. I have provoked a man who doesn’t like to be challenged and not have the last laugh.

The letter is his way of getting back to me. I haven’t even begun to start worrying yet; people like Braxton Berkshire are not one of a kind. They have been common from the time I was being housed with a bunch of entitled, albeit brilliant, children who believe their intelligence makes them entitled to everything.

I was a troublesome child, causing trouble for the supervisors and the guardians that took care of us while we were being placed in the international program. Once a day, I like to poke at their ego to see if it would deflate quicker than water being drained.

The common reaction I would get is explosive anger mixed with embarrassment because they humiliate themselves. I simply mention a little thing, and they blow it into a massive proportion.

They can’t blame anyone but themselves for being hotheaded.

“What I am doing is charity.”

I hum, glancing out the window to see the profile of a bodyguard by the door and the other one on the other side near the end of the building.

“I didn’t realize that charity consists of putting your foot into research facilities, and it’s a shame that it happened to be the one where I work.”

Braxton chuckles. Even his freaking laugh is measured perfectly in breaths. This man is either a machine, or he is a doll. I have no idea which one is creepier, considering he just has this weird vibe around him.

“No, no.” He chuckles again, showing me those white teeth. “It’s an investment for future businesses.”

Oh my, that sounds like a threat.

“I see. What do you plan on doing with the research facility? I believe your specialty is music.”

He doesn’t hide his dislike towards me with his eyes, but he keeps his façade firmly on for the sake of public appearance. If his lawyer had called me and told me to meet them in a more isolated area for privacy, then I would most likely be harmed.

Braxton would want to let out his aggression on me, and I could tell that by the way he first laid eyes on me when I walked through the coffee shop.

“A businessman never reveals his secrets, Miss Scarletta.”

I put down the spoon, and a coffee stain hit the white coffee cup plate. Anger and something else flashes in his eyes as he forces his eyes to not linger at the stain. His hand twitches on the table, but he tries to hide it with his other hand as they squeeze together.

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