Eun-Ae

"God is real," declares a caustic, raving undertone. "I prayed that if it is meant to be, you will be here tonight, spoilt girl."

After a day of sushi and water, I unfasted the cream soda, a tiny sip inflaming my sides. Enclothed in a velvety, lustrous Juicy Couture tracksuit and a black tank top beneath, it is perfect for a leisurely August day. Lazily turning, I attempt to fight a strange, timid sensation at the boy's crooked snarl.

Seok Jong-Su. Traditionally accustomed to Western norms, it'd be Jong-Su Seok. Honestly, it should be The World's Biggest Asshole on his birth certificate instead. For the millionth time since I met the peasant boy—I call him that because of his fucking-awful charisma—I contemplated why, on earth, his parents didn't commit that necessity. It'd save people like me the hassle, time, and energy.

His skin, pristine and porcelain; no doubt would make girls shriek in irritation with their ten-step skincare routine. His hair, glassy and jet; no doubt it reflects images. His physique, scrawny and tall; no doubt he's an inch or two shorter than my older brother. The latter was supposed to be an insult, something that should turn me off, but the fucker is still taller than me. I'm a sucker for tall men.

"But, I didn't think this is your kind of scene."

"You don't know me well enough to label my kind of scene."

"I'm just saying—you should run before your good ol' daddy finds out that Harlow Matthews is hanging out in the ghetto."

"Eun-Ae Levesque-Matthews," I correct. "My mother is also an important figure."

I'd argue she's more essential than Dad. Dad was born in gold; Mum was born in nothing. Dad was always and proceeded to be the upper ruling class; Mum was the working-class class, progressing to middle-class status and then to Dad's.

I've seen how people like my Security gape at her. They want her approval, her kindness, her attention, her admiration.

My parents encourage my brothers and me to talk back to them in our household. It's not to have an attitude; it's to challenge societal norms. My parents' parenting technique reminds us that we're human and deserve to get our voices heard, children or not. One time, my little brother Elijah had a shitty day at school and was bitching to everyone. He got into an argument with Mum, and before Elijah cussed Mum out, Dad said warningly, "Remember that you are my children. But the woman you are talking to is my wife, the mother of my children. If you disrespect her, Eli, you disrespect me. Think twice before you say something."

It's so naked that Dad loves us, his three sons and one daughter.

But Derek Lysander Tobias Levesque-Matthews loves April Ayomi Levesque-Matthews more.

If his child dies, if he goes into an uncontrollable manic episode, if he wants to start a war and kill hundreds of people—which is so unlike his character—only Mum can stop him. And if Mum dies, then the world has to suffer like him, rationally and irrationally. He will fire buildings, roads, pathways, parks, humans, and animals.

Jong-Su whips his palms upward. "Of course, of course. Your Mum is pretty, so I can see why."

Turning, surveying the mass for my friends, I mutter, "Why did you want me here, Jong-Su?"

"Actually, there is something you can do for me. I'm doing an EPQ on the division between the minority ruling class and the rest of society. I'd like to be in your life to get that A*."

The tip of my tongue skims my lower lip. "Minority ruling class?"

Jong-Su grins. "Doesn't take two and two to fit the dots, spoilt girl."

"You think my family is part of the minority ruling class?"

"I think it's quite obvious." He leans forward, sardonically whispering, "I got evidence."

"Like what, TikTok?"

"TikTok is free media," he defends. "It shows all perspectives—a pretty useful search engine."

"Conspiracy theories won't necessarily get you a high grade."

"Did you know that the word 'conspiracy' was created by the CIA, a fucked-up organisation?"

"Eun-Ae!" My Bengali friend, Aafiya Hassan, calls me a few metres away, standing by a group from Maple Park School—my secondary school and also my education for A-Levels. Such an odd sight, perceiving how it irregularly integrates with Edgewater Independent Sixth Formers.

Edgewater Independent is a school owned by my parents. It used to belong to the Everstons, an elitist branch of my relatives. Tío Tan, Dad's younger brother, was elected as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. He abolished private and grammar schools—the tripartite system—to create equality within the nation and provide more opportunities for marginalised communities.

Mum and Dad fought for the ownership of their childhood school. Edgewater Independent was practically how their romance was announced, flourished, and evolved.

Five steps towards Aafiya, Jong-Su grabs my wrist. I hurl at him, my eyes flaring in annoyance, no doubt exposing disapproval. He flickers down at the contact and immediately releases me. For some reason, I feel briefly disappointed.

"Think about it," he pesters.

My throat clogs with nothing. His topic of discussion is enticing for the markers. Something different for once. Yet, if he dives too deep into the rabbit hole, he can't escape it. He'll be stuck there forever. It could fuck with his head—he could fall into depression.

Because that happened to Dad. Despite that Dad knows he grew up privileged, despite that he is the wealthiest person in the world minus the acknowledgment of the Ten Families, it destroyed his childhood. He donated and donated, and no matter if he gave away all his wealth, the Universe would reward him tenfold for the return; he argued with idiotic politicians on Twitter when he was fifteen; he kept fighting for justice and the cause.

Because, apparently to my older brother, that was what happened to Bodie Banks.

And apparently, that happened to Mum, too.

But her case is a touchy subject in the Tate Manor.

"I'm also doing an EPQ," I tell Jong-Su. "On my family."

There are countless things I'm unaware of about my family. Mum is the figurehead in the picture—something happened to her when she was around my age, something vile that ruined her for years.

Then there are the bloody Everstons ...

"My family is horrendous," said Dad one time last year. "You do not want to meet them."

"But what if I do—"

"Eun-Ae," he snapped. My voice drowned in disappointment. We had this conversation several times before, and I could tell Dad understood with patience why I kept nagging, but I also saw he was tired of me not understanding his reason.

Dad sighed, plucked off his black-framed glasses, folded the legs, and settled it neatly in front of his high-tech computer. "The Everstons are a dangerous kinsfolk. They hated your Tío, which means they hate Mum—"

"They're racist," I whisper.

Dad nodded. "Inherently racist. My grandfather—" He winced at the label, disgusted to give Grant Everston that title. "—endeavoured to stop Urgroßtante Marlene's and Ojisan Lin's wedding. He tried to stop our weddings. He even tried to remove your brothers and you from the Everston Capital."

The Everston Capital is a funding scheme to support each individual entitled to the name. Us, the Matthews, have one, and so do the other Decagon Families. What differentiates the Matthews Capital is that most of our abundance goes to the Matthews Industry and helps calm humanitarian crises.

"Wouldn't it make sense for them to do that?" I asked. "Mum and you don't want us to be Everstons."

"The dynamic is that the ancestral Everstons are good pictures to learn from. Their compassion made Mum and I agree to keep the four of you in the Everston Capital. You're Carlyle and Florence's direct descendants because of me, and knowing what they are like, they would want their wealth to go to Eun-Woo, Tareq, Elijah, and you. It is a matter of manners and human decency, Schatzi."

He walked around his desk and cradled my hands in his large ones. "They are sick-minded. Remember that the only Everstons to trust are your Great-Grandmother, Great-Uncle Thomas, and Uncle Xavier."

"You don't trust me," I whispered.

"No," he corrected instantly. "I do trust you. I just want to protect you."

"How can you protect me if you won't tell me things, Dad?"

"The stuff the Everstons do, you should not wish to know in detail."

"Just give me a hint."

"They're paedophiles."

I flinched at my older brother's voice. I was so engrossed in the conversation that Dad and I didn't hear Eun-Woo entering the Manor's most prominent office.

I glance at him, register the words, and then look back at Dad.

Dad nodded slowly as he observed my reaction. "They are willing to diminish your Tio's bisexuality but are ignorant to their perverted behaviour."

A memory trampled my thoughts. "Is that why you told Grant to leave Marlene and Lin's wedding?"

Eun-Woo tilted his head. The event was more than five years ago. "You remember that?"

"Obviously," I mumbled. Besides the horrendous deaths, it was the first time I saw Dad—in his early twenties—enraged.

Since then, he never expressed his anger. Even in parenting, he disciplined my brothers and me in a firm, calm tone. He does trust us—and his trust invigorates me to perform well in life. He is a gentle Father, although strict and rigid when necessary. I think conducting that behaviour heals his inner child and teenager—a sad boy abused by an ill-praised man.

"You were the flower girl," said Dad. "He commented—"

"About my dress," I guessed. "Which wasn't revealing but—"

"It was to his fucked-up head," finished Eun-Woo.

I exhaled sharply. "But it wasn't just to me, was it?"

"To Rose," said Dad.

Rose Levesque. Mum's little sister, who was practically a baby at that time.

There is more to the picture, I'm fucking sure of it. Mum and Dad are keeping things from Elijah, Tareq, and me. Eun-Woo acknowledges everything, yet as the eldest in the family, he needs to conjugate with our parents to conclude what to unveil.

I'm going to find out alone. I think writing an EPQ on it will help.

"Does that mean we have a deal?" says Jong-Su Seok.

I shrug. "If you're not a dick about it."

He smirks. "I'm the world's biggest sweetheart. So, how are we going to do this?"

"We have to be around each other a lot."

"Like a couple?"

"Since you want to study the minority ruling class, you must be included in my life. But a relationship won't work. My parents are too smart. They can sense a lie a light-year away. You can come to my events ... like the art exhibition tomorrow."

Jong-Su arches his brows. "Your Mum's studio?"

"She's hosting an exhibition to raise money for Palestine." I step closer to the working-class boy. "But you must promise me one thing."

He lets out a heavy breath, caressing my nose. "Anything, spoilt girl."

"Don't humiliate my family," I demand. "Sure, my family is fortunate, but if there is one thing I'm more confident about, then it's that my family is grounded and compassionate. They do things for the public that the public doesn't know." There are secrets that public shouldn't know though have the right to—

Elijah. My arms bristle in anticipation, baby hair prickling in shock. Elijah is another Minotaur in this labyrinth. Mum vaguely mentioned that Elijah's disabilities were not inherited; they were nurtured through trauma.

"You must treat them with respect. Understood, Jong-Su?"

He contemplates momentarily. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"I understand, Eun-Ae."

For a second, I distinguished a little spark of life emitting in his dark irises. "Where shall we start?"

He reflects on my grin. "With your Mum." He sets his plastic cup of lemonade and vodka on a random car's roof, withdrawing his phone and turning on his mobile data. Whatever he was planning to show me didn't work out—he suddenly cursed out a breath, his eyes amplifying in surprise. "Holy shit."

"What?" I demanded.

His chuckle is half-genuine and half-fake as if he doesn't know what to do. "I guess I don't need to show you my study on her."

I eyed his phone, perceiving his Notes App titled with Eun-Woo's Mum. The notepad appeared to be a long list of ... well, notes. "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year," he mutters. "But that's not the point. Your Mum has an interview tomorrow, right?"

I nod slowly.

"It's her first interview?"

"Yeah ..."

He whistles sympathetically. "She's going to be asked about it, that's for sure."

"Jong-Su, what are you talking —"

He shows me an article on his phone.

My soda cup splatters to the concrete ground, staining car wheels.

April Levesque-Matthews's Tragedy: A Gang-Raped Victim

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i'm sorry for not being on wattpad much. just been busy with work and uni!

as you can see, i re-wrote this book after revising the plot. 

Eun-Ae is Harlow and Eun-Woo is Parker. They changed their names and you will find out why :)

thanks :)