Chapter 5: Into The Heart Of Blacks

Group Project – Hilton Mare St.

Theme: Realism to Surrealism | Oil Medium | Nature Study

Time: 1:20 P.M.

Group Members:

- Gabbs Wilson

- Oleander Black

- Dorothy Phil

- Azel Aswald

Submission Date: January 23, 09

Instructor: Miss Lincy ***

B-4 | Ho*** | Co-or***

Would someone explain to her how she had missed her group project? Because, honestly, she was a little perplexed.

It hadn’t even been that long since she returned home, yet her mother had already dragged her into another arranged playdate. Despite that, she still took the time to check on the classwork she had missed due to the trip. Half of her delayed assignments were already done. So how had this one completely slipped her mind?

Thank heavens she still had time.

Looking at the names on the list, she felt a little relieved. She was quite close with these people, so catching up on what was going on wouldn't be too difficult. Her eyes drifted back to the address. It was close to Blackboat Mansion.

Heh. How amusing. Coincidences really did form in mysterious ways.

Grinning, her dark eyes gleamed.

But this does make things easier for her plan.

She supposed Grandfather still had some spare compounds where she could stay. The thought of skinning him with a saw was almost thirst-quenching. A deep, burning desire clawed at her—the urge to make him feel even a fraction of what he had put her through.

The only time she truly felt content was when she stepped out of the world of riches and schemes and into the ordinary life of civilians. That was when she could finally breathe—when pure, untainted ecstasy filled her lungs.

Nevertheless…

How would her family react if they found out?

It was better not to waste a single thought on it.

Though…

Their scrutiny would undoubtedly ascend to the level of mockery—an act of blasphemy against their prestigious name. But contrary to their adamant belief, Oleander didn’t give a rat’s ass about it. Sneakily enrolled in a university, now in her third year of BFA, she thoroughly indulged in the wonders of imagination and artistic mediums. It was a well-known fact that this wasn’t a degree any Blackheart would look upon favorably.

(Heh)

It was an everyday occurrence to have her passions belittled. Raised under strict etiquette and a molded image, this was her norm. Family members generously showered her with unsolicited career advice.

“Lea, honey, these useless degrees—arts, social sciences, humanities, design—they're good as side hobbies, but that’s all.”

“Go for science, technology, or engineering. Look at my son, Massey! He has his own estate and all the cars he could ever want.”

“It’s best if you pursue something in the sciences. You’ll have plenty of degree choices, but trust me, science is the only way to go.”

“Six figures—”

“Connections—”

“Family business—”

Those voices feel suffocating.

Oleander slumped forward, gasping as she supported herself on the table. Exhaling sharply, she pressed her back against the sofa.

Her entire body buzzed with adrenaline, memories she desperately wanted to bury clawing their way to the surface.

(Don't remember)

Moving forward from the past had been an uphill battle.

"I was never normal..."

The whisper of an undeniable fact pinned her into a corner of vulnerability.

A voice rang softly in her ears, urging her to remember.

What had she forgotten?

Thankfully, the only person who had always supported her passion was Sheryl. Even Bleiz took a step back when it came to this.

The Blackhearts’ entire existence revolved around their empire—a web of endless chains, shackling them to the one who sat on the Blackheart throne.

Back to her current plan—she was going to move into the family’s main estate for the rest of her university years.

To destroy someone, the best way was to stay close.

They claimed her kidnapping had been nothing more than an incident. But that gut-wrenching feeling gnawed at her, as though the Mansion and her kidnapping were somehow connected.

She remembered that before her own birthday, there had been Brianna’s—March 13th, to be exact. Five days before hers.

For every Blackheart child turning nine, the clan held a grand celebration. But it wasn’t about a mass party—it was a gathering of family, where elders bestowed their blessings upon the child.

She had been spared from it, thanks to being used as a leverage for money at that moment.

Recalling it now, Brianna’s arrogance had skyrocketed right after her celebration.

Shutting her laptop, Oleander packed her things.

She was tired, but she could use a beer with those cold, crispy wings waiting in the fridge. In her casual T-shirt and leggings, she threw on a hoodie for some extra warmth before stepping out.

In this country, the sun hardly ever blessed the people. The weather was always cold or at least a little nippy.

How nice it would be to bask in some sunlight for once.

Coming out of her apartment, she headed toward the nearest store.

Two blocks down, a familiar red-and-white sign flickered weakly in the dull afternoon light—7-Heaven Convenience Store. The cashier was seconds away from taking a nap when she walked in.

Oleander browsed the fridge section, grabbing a few cans of malt beer. Just as she turned around—

Oof!

A soft thud echoed in the quiet store.

Rubbing her nose, she blinked down at the unfortunate victim sprawled on the floor.

Was she that fat?

The poor guy had landed straight on his backside, cup noodles scattered around him. Now, she felt like a bully.

With one hand, she picked up the containers while balancing the beers in the other. Tossing them into his basket, she mumbled a quick, “Sorry.”

A quiet “It’s fine,” reached her ears, but when she glanced up—

“Azel?”

And not far off was Dorothy, approaching with her own basket.

Well… she didn’t want to pry.

Smiling, Oleander greeted them. “Hey guys! Coincidence seeing you both here.”

Dorothy grinned. “Well, if it ain’t the prodigal sculpting genius.”

Oleander sheepishly darted her eyes toward Azel. Unlike Dorothy—the loud and lively one—Azel was quiet, reserved, and always half-hidden behind his curly hair.

To be honest, she had never really seen his features clearly through those wild ginger locks.

Ugh, I’m a little jealous of his hair color.

“Not even close, sugar,” she teased, flipping her brown hair behind her shoulder. “I’m just trying to outdo your multi-talented Azel Aswald.”

Flashing her pearly whites, she watched as Azel—hidden beneath his hair—mumbled, “Thanks.”

Dorothy nudged Azel playfully. He rubbed his arm in response, but didn’t seem too bothered.

“Come on, Azzy, you should be proud of your skills!”

Oleander raised a curious eyebrow, feigning innocence. But Dorothy, being perceptive and well-acquainted with her friend's habits after three years of friendship, caught on immediately. She broke into a nervous sweat, knowing Oleander had a tendency to over-imagine and turn even the simplest situations into dramatic novel-like scenarios.

“We’ve been childhood friends since forever,” Dorothy said proudly.

Ah… that explains it.

“Well,” Oleander began, smoothly shifting the topic, “when do you guys think we should start working on the assignment? I’d rather finish it early.”

Dorothy nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Gabb already finished his part. He had to leave for an internship, so it's just the three of us wrapping it up. Just let me know what works for you. I finally turned in Mr. Aver’s assignment, but he’s not letting me go unless I come up with an excuse to dodge another one.”

Oleander giggled. “That’s what you get for indulging in his endless architectural history lectures, hon. You walked right into that one.”

Patting Dorothy’s shoulder in mock sympathy, they finalized a time for two days later before going their separate ways.

Tomorrow came sooner than she thought though.

At the Black Estate… The intimidating black iron gates loomed over her, their silver-leaf designs exquisitely repoussé along the railings. It felt like stepping back into the Victorian era—ball gowns, extravagant galas, and insufferably stuck-up nobles.

Oleander popped a piece of gum into her mouth, chewing elegantly as she adjusted her oversized hoodie over her black pants. Tapping her boots on the pavement, she matched the rhythm to the music blasting in her headphones.

One.

Two.

Three.

With a snap of her fingers, the massive gates creaked open.

Her blank expression twisted into a full-blown smirk. Those cameras weren’t exactly well-hidden, and she could practically feel the impatience of those waiting on the other side.

Well, they could wait.

She still had another life—one far more important to her than this.

Her gaze roamed over the estate—lush greenery, towering trees, and vibrant flowers adding splashes of color against the dark brown brick walls. Even with all their wealth, they still couldn’t hire a decent gardener. The vines literally curled around the stone like a creeping embrace.