But it was the opposite. A screaming silence divided our senses of expression and glued our mouths shut, furthering more silence. The awkwardness of the gathering was partly in wake of the spontaneous externality responsible for our presences, but it was also simply due to the elements which made our family set apart from others, notably the royal blood coursing through our bodies and the socioeconomic status that came with it. 

We were evenly distanced from each other, the glowing neon beams lining the vehicle's corners conjuring a relaxing air as we blankly stared at the floor, ceiling, and out the tinted windows. Diagonal to me, each seated on opposite sides, were Palmer and Phoebe. While Palmer was the youngest here excluding myself, he was one of the most feared men in the nation. He was radical, brash, and unafraid of getting his hands dirty. His skinny physique and edgy mannerisms didn't warrant any underestimation, though his white-dyed buzzed sides and grown dark chocolate colored top was a tad over the edge, I had to admit. All he had to do next was tattoo his sclerae black to counter his orange irises and he'd complete his Transformation of Edginess, but I disgressed. 

Phoebe was practically the opposite, an eccentric woman incapable of investing her utmost into anything that didn't concern her own desirable outcome. While she wasn't immensely older than Palmer, she owned Galagr Fashion, the most expansive fashion company on the planet that flipped the industry upside down overnight. It was needless to emphasize how ambitious she was capable of being when she really cared, which I found more powerful than Palmer's ubiquitous chaos. Her perfect blonde hair was iconic and immediately recognizable, making her one of the world's biggest celebrities. All her emerald green eyes sought for was attention, glamour, and individualistic power. 

Beside her was the only other woman in the Beaumont family: Kylie. She was meticulous, and above all else, a mystery. Of the Beaumonts, she was the one I knew least about, and was one I rarely spoke with. Her reserved nature often dismissed her the burden of socializing in the first place, and nobody questioned it, not even Father. The age gap between her and Phoebe was the largest of the family, likely a primary reason why Phoebe admired her so much. Unlike Phoebe, her beauty was more of a natural elegance that effort couldn't duplicate, leading to many, many desperate proposals from rich snobs that were tragically shut down. Her short violet hair accentuated the gold hues within her eyes, and she held a posture that exuded a reposed state of being able to hush a crowd. I would have been lying if I said she didn't impress me. 

She met my eyes briefly, but quickly looked away with her usual stone face. It was clear I wasn't the only one that sensed the tension in this limousine, especially between us. If I didn't know about her lineage and my relation to her, I would've taken her for a stranger: that was how little we'd interacted during my lifetime. 

Across her was our older brother, Cecile. Behind his charming smile and thick, wavy forest green hair was a cunning mind and mindboggling intuition that made me wonder if he was truly human. If it came down to a game of chess or requiring a teammate to play a new game, there was nobody I would have selected over Cecil. His eyes were a lighter shade of green than his hair, but not alluring like Phoebe's. They possessed a certain ominous wrath that I couldn't quite place, something that made me hesitant to be within his vicinity. 

Then, there was the oldest brother... no, the oldest Beaumont child, Sieg, who sat directly across from me, the head of the limousine. He was essentially the backbone of us siblings, the pillar of constancy that was infinitely reliable and never to be quarraled with. If there were any issues amongst the Beaumonts, Sieg would be the one to put things straight with his normal tight-lipped expression of cold steel. And, unlike Phoebe, his ambition was on permanent overdrive for all tasks. If he had unfinished business, no man in the Beaumont Empire would have dared stepping in his way towards seeing it through. Disregarding this mental fortitude, his linebacker sized chest and watermelon sized leg muscles were enough to make him, by all accounts, a man. His long black hair touched his middle-back, and the magenta beams in his typical glares were enough to make international leaders crumble on live TV. 

If Cecile was the cunning fox, Sieg was the unstoppable force, a human specimen. 

And then there was me, the comparatively ordinary youngest child with no obvious facets worth noting and a to-be-desired résumé that mostly consisted of academics. By no means was I a person inhabitants of the Beaumont Empire looked up to for guidance and strength. But, most of all, I wasn't the type of man that would be put in the history books, nor remembered by anyone other than the aging certifications of my existence that collected dust in the Royal Family Library. 

At least, not at the moment.