Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
ATLAS
I enjoy sketching her. When Ophelia doesn’t know I’m watching, she lowers her guard. She lets me see her worries, frustrations, and insecurities. Apollo picked up on her biggest insecurity, and so did I.
She doesn’t see herself the way I do. I bet she doesn’t like the woman she sees when she looks in the mirror. But what’s not to like about her? She’s classically beautiful in an old movie star kind of way. That’s why I drew her as a pinup girl.
Not to sexualize her.
To empower her.
Apollo gets it. My twin is an empath like me and understands people, while Ares only understands Ares. He’s all about the quick fuck and the easy money. And for that reason, we have to protect Ophelia from him.
I watch her interact with Ares, slapping his arm to push him away. She hates him. But I can also see a burning attraction.
As they go back and forth, pretending they don’t like each other, my charcoal pencil glides across the page of the sketchbook. Ophelia’s big, brown eyes widen as Ares whispers in her ear.
She hits him again.
This time with her elbow.
He comes back with another retort, and surprisingly, she smiles. She has a beautiful smile that reaches her eyes and lights up her face. My brother must have stopped saying stupid shit. Because now, she’s practically glowing and leaning into Ares’s arm.
He touches her thigh.
She bites her lip.
He bites his.
She looks away.
They’re going to fuck.
It’s inevitable.
Apollo glances over my shoulder and watches me draw, tapping his fingers on my chair. “I see you’re obsessed with her, too.”
Ignoring my twin, I add the tiny mole above her lip, capturing every detail of her face. I’ve only lived in this house for one week and have dozens of pages filled with Ophelia.
“Focus,” Apollo says in a hushed tone. “We’re not here for her. She doesn’t have to get hurt.”
I nod. “I’m not the one who needs a reminder.” My eyes dart to Ares. “As usual, he can’t control himself.”
“I’ll handle Ares,” he whispers. “Just stick to the plan.”
Belen is our target, not his daughter. We watched her for months before coming here. Ophelia isn’t a snake, like her father. Her employees respect her because she’s fair, loyal, and honest.
Not her father, though.
“After the show Ophelia and Belen just put on,” Apollo says in my ear, keeping his voice low, “we need to escalate our plans.”
One month.
Our new timeline.
I nod to agree.
After breakfast, Ophelia leans over the back of my chair, her sweet perfume creating a cloud around me. “We can talk in the sitting room when you finish drawing.”
I snap the book shut before she can get a good look at the page. “Yeah, sure.” Tucking the pencil behind my ear, I push my chair out from the table. “I’m ready now.”
Apollo’s cell phone rings, and he exits the dining room with his hand raised, gesturing that he will see me later. My twin spends most of his days staring at numbers or on the phone with investors.
I like to create things.
His mind works differently from mine. We have almost no similarities, apart from our dark hair and the same Roman nose. Most people can’t even tell we’re twins.
I have a baby face that Ma still pinches because she forgets I’m twenty-four and not five. Apollo has a sharper jaw and fuller lips. He looks and acts more sophisticated and refined. My brother is also whip-smart and doesn’t have a single tattoo.
Apollo won’t get ink, not even the art I drew for him. It’s a darker take on the Gemini symbol made from olive leaves. The same leaves the ancient Greeks used to create kotinos for the winners of the Olympic Games.
We were born on May twenty-third. It’s our astrological symbol. I got the tattoo on my forearm, and Apollo chickened out. Ares and I have almost every Greek myth sketched onto our bodies. We don’t agree on much aside from our love of ink.
I follow Ophelia into the sitting room and recall the night we met when she threatened us with a gun. Nothing says welcome to the family like almost getting your dick blown off.
Ophelia sits in the armchair by the fireplace, her legs clad in dark jeans. She’s completely covered up despite the heat outside. I can see Ares struck a nerve when he called her fat. But he didn’t mean it like that. He’s just a fucking moron.
She paired the jeans with a three-quarter length blouse that covers her stomach, but with the size of her tits, she shows tons of cleavage.
I take the chair beside her, resting the sketchbook on my knee. If I ever have children, they will come second to this book. It’s leather-bound with removable pages. My dad gave it to me on my birthday, the last one before he died.
Ophelia crosses her legs, giving me a sweet but seductive smile. I don’t think she realizes how sexy she is without trying.
“So,” she says softly, “what do you want to show me?”
I flip through my sketchbook to the correct page and put it on the table for her to see.
“You’re talented,” she says as she leans over to review the new logo designs. “These are incredible.”
She only found out about our parents' engagement last week. But my brothers and I have known for a while. Her father had asked me to work on the marketing materials after he slipped a giant rock onto Mom’s hand.
Belen has gone out of his way to make us like him. He’s so desperate for our affection that he’s too blind to see what’s right in front of him.
We’re going to crush him.
Reclaim our birthright.
Bleed him dry.
“Which one do you prefer?” I ask Ophelia.
She points at the Olympus logo, which features dark clouds and custom Greek lettering. “This one is my favorite.”
Then she turns the page, and before I can stop her, she’s staring at herself. The pinup girl with the high-waisted panties and corset, her big tits spilling out of the top. She spreads her legs wide, hands on her knees. A seductive look tugs at her beautiful face, a look that says, Come fuck me.
But there’s more to the story.
She tilts her head to the side, trying to look away from the viewer. Uncomfortable in her skin, she moves one arm back to conceal part of her stomach, even though the panties mostly hide it.
I see her.
All of her strengths.
Weaknesses.
Ophelia doesn’t breathe or move, keeping her eyes on the page. If I were Ares, I would shake it off and use the awkward situation to get into her panties. Apollo would give her the diplomatic answer and try to charm her.
Not me.
“This is how I wish you saw yourself. Powerful. Sexy. But also vulnerable.” I rip the page from the book and hand it to her. “You should keep it as a reminder.”
She clutches the paper to her chest, mouth hanging open in shock. Her eyes close for a moment, fingers tightening on the page. I can’t tell if she’s going to cry or punch me. And then, she gets up from the chair and rushes out of the room.