If you want to be a dickhead, then pay for my drink, asshole.
Knowing that I’ve potentially—probably—fucked up with that little stunt, I make sure to hang around the gate agent's desk for the rest of my wait.
Ignoring the feeling of eyes on me, I take a seat on the floor, pop my pink cat ear headphones on my head, and play a game of Mario Kart on my Nintendo Switch.
I sit for a good hour before my ass starts to get numb. Thankfully, it’s almost time to board, so I dip into the bathroom real quick before our flight is called to board.
The flight isn’t a long one, so once I’m settled in my seat, I take a nap to pass the time. When I open my eyes again, we’re landing.
It’s not until after I grab my bags and call an Uber that a sinking feeling twists my stomach.
We pull up to the front gate of my parents' mansion, nestled in the cliffs of La Jolla Farms.
My mom and stepfather got married when I was thirteen and bought this place together, moving my stepbrother and me in with them. They formed this perfect little family, at least on paper. In real life, I’ve always felt out of place with them. Like I didn’t belong.
My mother is a world-famous fashion designer; my stepfather is the coach for the San Diego Royal Alphas, a KP hockey team.
I grew up in the spotlight. With a famous mother and stepfather, it came with the territory, which is why my mother controlled me so much. She tried to make me into the perfect little mini version of her.
My mother isn’t an evil person. Growing up, she never hit me and always gave me everything I could have ever needed in life. I wanted for nothing, but it came with expectations: Be a good girl. Get good grades. Dress to her standards. Don’t do drugs. Don’t party.
Be the perfect daughter.
But, hey, at least I got to live in a massive house with the beach just below the cliffs, right?
“Damn.” The Uber driver whistles as she leans forward to look out the window through the gate’s bars. “Do you live here or are you visiting someone?”
My brows furrow. “That’s a bit of a personal question.”
“Sorry.” She smiles politely. “I just haven’t been around these parts before. Most people with this kind of money don’t Uber. I’m sure they have drivers or whatever.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not like most people,” I laugh. “You can just let me out here.”
She looks disappointed, like she wanted to drive in and get a better look.
I know better than to let strangers onto the property. One time, we let a delivery driver drop off a package, and a fewdays later, there were photos of our house splashed all over the tabloids. The driver tried to spin some story about having an affair with my mother, and the photos were apparently his proof.
People will do anything for a quick buck and a moment in the spotlight.
I guess now I can kind of sympathize with them on the money part. I never knew how expensive it could be for the average person to just get by.
It gave me a whole new outlook on how privileged my life has been.
After grabbing my bags from the trunk, I make sure to tip the girl well as she drives off.
“There goes the last of my money,” I sigh.
Punching in the gate code, I make my way down the long path with my bags in hand to the front door.
I’m sweating and out of breath by the time I get there. Groaning, I sit on the front step and take a moment to rest.
“You could have buzzed the front of the house. I would have come to help you, Miss Ashford.” My head snaps around, finding Alfred, my parents’ Beta butler, standing in the doorway.
“Alfred!” A wide smile stretches across my face. I get to my feet and rush forward, wrapping my arms around the elderly man.
He chuckles softly, hugging me back. He smells the same, like clean linen and a hint of mint.
“Welcome home, Miss Ashford.”
