The Mercedes Benz S Class, a sombre, charcoal grey carriage, came to the doors of St. Alastair Academy of You Young Gentlemen, with the same smoothness with which a daily rite is performed.
The domestic attendant, whose inconspicuous uniformed glimpses at the black windows were the least possible, barely looked at the blackened windows it was all known that this was the personal carriage of the Thorne heir.
Indoors Kaelen Thorne did not dare to look out.
He wore the navy blazer of the school the cut perfectly made out to fit his broad shoulders.
But the perfect uniform was merely another means of underlining the shocking almost inhumane paradox that was his life
He was the copilot at eighteen, in the biggest corporation conglomerate of the state, with the ability to ruin men three times his age with one simple computer transaction.
He had inherited the tact, the generalship of a veteran commander, the deep voice of a man accustomed to secret martial exercises in his spare moments and the svelter figure of a martial artist.
However, all these perceptions of the people diminished him to his face only.
He raised a thin hand, with knuckles dusted lightly with the bruise which had faded a few days before after a battle in the gymnasium and stretched his own brown hair.
The strand was softly floating around a face so wonderfully symmetrical, so finely lineal that it seemed as though it were a Renaissance painting.
The large and eye catching violet blue eyes were narrowed with professional concentration and were reading the most recent port logistics report on his custom made tablet.
"Congestion at Pier 4, 15% delay.
Have to divert container ship Phoenix to Pier7 and hasten the customs clearance of the electronic parts, he grumbled.
Here we are, Young Master, Mr. Chen, the driver, said in a low voice.
Kaelen replied, and he put the tablet in his briefcase.
He knew the itinerary of the day alreadyTwo hours of ceremonial work in Advanced Economics, a mere lunch break ordeal, and then a flight to his real work back to Thorne tower.
In his opinion school was a sham, a gilt cage that his father insisted he fill to receive his social structure, a term Kaelen considered more than ironic.
It was as though a cool breeze swept in the air around the drop off zone when they departed
St. Alastair is a venue of the children of members of the elite of the state, and even the most privileged of them the sons of the members of the state who have sworn loyalty to the Thorne Empire, engage in the minor sadistic game of victimizing Kaelen.
Oh, it's that Kae lina, somebody said in an elderly voice somewhere in the direction.
The interlocutor was at the same time a second level heir, the owner of the humble textile business of his family, and his business relies on the cooperation with Thorne logistics.
"Did you hear? Daddy had got her a new necklace. Oh stop, said the other, that is only her face, I mean that is her face.
Kaelen passed between them, with head raised, face set in a blank display of indifference.
He never reacted.
Reaction is seen as a sign of weakness in the business and academia and he could not have a single dent in his armor.
He knew the poison they carried with them a cocktail of enviousness at his wealth, his sheer brilliance, the contradictory bitterness of their longing to possess his pretty face which their courtiers were boasting on the internet.
They could not attack his intellect or empire they turned their spleen, therefore, upon what appears to be a small physical defect a malady which was really no malady at all but a curse to his real name
Liam Donovan was his only friend and he was waiting near the lockers.
Liam was long, awkward and never took off his spectacles, and the son of a reputable professor at the university.
He was the opposite of Kaelen he was stable, upright, and completely indifferent to money. The friendship was based on a common cynicism and intellectualism.
"Pier 4 is having issues, Thorne. It is the Phoenix going off course, I suppose? Liam muttered, and he was at once using them on a professional shorthand.
"Naturally. Good morning, Donovan.
Have any one yet tried to put you into the lockers? Kaelen answered and with a masculine voice which contrasts so startlingly with his appearance, and frequently startles new students.
Liam adjusted his glasses. "Not yet. They are too occupied complimenting your new haircut. I overheard Varrick lay a bet with all his allowance that you wore a bra under your clothing.
Kaelen stopped, and a flash of pure cold rage flared through his violet eyes
"Varrick is a fool. Do remind me about the renewal of Varrick Textiles contract.
Maybe the 40% increment in the rate of unforeseen logistical complications should be justified? He smiled a cold, chilling smile, a business threat disguised in a face which could launch a thousand vessels.
The gilded cage was stifling, but Kaelen Thorne had the exact knowledge on how to overcome it.