Kingsley’s Golden Boy : Asher Collins

Asher Collins's Point Of View.

I woke to the faint sound of knocking against my bedroom door. The curtains had already been pulled apart by one of the servant, allowing the morning light cast across my massive room. My bedroom alone was larger than most apartments in the city, furnished with dark marble floors, expensive artwork, and floor to ceiling windows.

“Good morning, Master Asher,” Mrs. Greene said, from outside the door. “Your bath is ready.”

I sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over my face, while one could see the exhaustion behind my eyes. I had barely slept three hours after last night’s party. I pushed the dark grey comforter away from my body and swung my legs toward the side of the bed. Before my bare feet could even touch the cold marble floor, Mrs. Greene hurried forward and slid a pair of black slippers beneath them. That was how things worked inside the Collins mansion. Everyone existed to anticipate my needs before I even spoke them aloud.

I entered the bathroom, there was a scent of sandalwood in the air while soft music was playing from hidden speakers overhead. One servant adjusted the water temperature in the shower while another prepared my uniform neatly across the counter.

I walked toward the sink first, and grabbed the toothbrush that had already been prepared for me with toothpaste applied. I brushed, while staring at my reflection through the fogged mirror. After rinsing my mouth, I stepped under the shower. As the hot water fell over my body, the smell of alcohol and smoke from last night washed away. I tilted my head back, letting the heat sink into my skin, trying to release the irritation building in my chest.

The moment, I finally stepped out of the shower, Mrs. Greene handed me a towel, before I even reached for one. While I dried myself, one servant approached to help button the cuffs of my shirt while another adjusted my tie, and fixed the collar neatly into place.

“Your blazer, sir,” Mrs. Greene said, her tone was soft yet professional. My blazer settled perfectly across my shoulders, tailored exactly to my build as I slipped my arms into the sleeves smoothly.

I walked toward the mirror, grabbed the small towel resting near the counter, and ran it once through my damp hair. I reached for the small container of hair wax and worked a little through the front strands, enough to keep it messy. I pushed few strands of my hair back with my fingers, and styledd them into the effortless look. Perfectly imperfect.

“You have a meeting with your father this evening, sir,” Mrs. Greene said, reminding me gently.

“Lucky me,” I scoffed, irritation flashed across my face as I tugged at the cuff of my blazer. She pretended not to hear that.

By the time I walked downstairs, breakfast had already been arranged across the long dining table. Fresh coffee, fruits, pancakes, eggs, and pastries covered nearly every inch of it.

My mother sat elegantly near the center, faint purple bruises were visible on her wrist where the sleeve of her satin dress had shifted a liitle while sipping tea.

“Asher,” She greeted, with a warm smile. She had tried to cover the bruise beneath her eye carefully, layering foundation over the darkened skin, but it still showed if someone looked closely enough.

“Morning.” I said, as I dropped into the chair beside her and immediately pulled my phone out, scrolling through messages to clear my mind.

“You are late,” She murmured as she placed her teacup down onto the saucer.

“I am alive. That’s enough,” I replied, barely glancing at the untouched breakfast spread across the table.

“You should eat before the food gets cold,” She whispered, after a moment. She reached for the silver knife beside her plate, though her movements seemed slower than usual this morning.

The sight of the bruises on her wrist and the poorly hidden mark beneath her eye had already ruined whatever appetite I might have had. Every second spent sitting in the dining hall felt suffocating.

"I am not hungry." I said, while pushing my chair back and stood up.

"Asher," She whispered, in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

“I said I am not hungry,” I muttered, while grabbing my car keys from the table and without waiting for another response, I walked toward the entrance of the mansion.

The sound of familiar footsteps echoed through the hallway behind me, Mr. Damon Collins. Head of the Collins Family and unfortunately my father.

The servants straightened nervously, lowering their eyes as though afraid of attracting attention. I did not turn around, nor did I wait for him to say a single word. Instead, I tightened my grip around my car keys and continued toward the front door.

The morning air brushed against my face the moment I stepped out of the mansion, and walked toward my Aston Martin while adjusting the sleeves of my blazer. I tossed my bag carelessly into the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, while music played loudly inside the car.

As I turned onto the main road leading toward the Kingsley academy, the roads were crowded with students, office workers, and pedestrians trying to avoid the puddles left behind by the morning rain.

My eyes landed on a group of students walking along the sidewalk. Most of them immediately stepped away from the edge of the road, the moment they noticed my car approaching. Most.

One girl remained distracted, struggling to hold onto the pile of books in her arms while trying to fix her bag strap. There was a large puddle, across the side of the street beside her. I could have avoided it easily. Instead, I pressed harder on the accelerator. The tires went through the puddle, splashing the muddy water over her. My mood was already ruined, which usually meant someone else’s day would be ruined too.

Through the rearview mirror, I caught sight of the girl stumbling backward in shock, her white shirt was stained with muddy water while the books nearly slipped from her hands. A satisfying grin pulled at the corner of my mouth.

Childish? Absolutely.

Did I regret it? Not even slightly.

I reached Kingsley Academy, after the few moments and the second, I stepped out of my car, twirling my car keys around my finger, cold water splashed across my face, soaking my hair, shirt, and blazer. I wiped the dirt, from my eyes, and standing only a few feet away from me, with muddy stains across her own uniform, and an empty water bottle in her hand, was Evelyn Hart.