I was asked once to describe myself in three words. Do you know what I came up with?

Rich. Beautiful. Rebellious.

Those are the three words that everyone will know, but only very few know the real reason why I chose those words above all else.

His eyes met mine and for a moment all time stopped. His eyes were deep grey pools, filled with anger and desire and the illusive need to fight both. A few more inches and all hopes for a fight would dissipate. Or at least that’s what I was hoping for.

“Oh…” I didn’t know how to respond to that. And he sounded different too. He didn’t sound bored or smug or cruel even. He sounded…content. It scared the crap out of me. I knew from the beginning that there’d be a chance I had more of an emotional attachment to him than he had for me, but now I actually wondered.

I thought back to that night when we’d tumbled together, baring all our secrets without actually saying anything. It was slow and passionate and at the end I actually felt a tear slide down my cheek. I’d fallen asleep in his arms and when I woke he was still there, arm wrapped around me. That morning we talked like I’d only ever talked with Racquel before. I told him things and he told me things…

I didn’t have any doubts about what I was doing when I stepped into the fireplace on that Friday. I was going to tell my mother once and for all that I wouldn’t be babied, I wouldn’t accept her acting as real any longer, and that if she wasn’t truly in love with this man, I wouldn’t have anything to do with her anymore.

 It was rare when I actually wanted to listen to my mother because a lot of what had come out of her mouth before was bullshit that she was just stringing together to sound good. But the story of her and my father’s upbringing was something I had never heard before and I was very curious.

I entered once and he was smashing things around, breaking anything he could physically. I entered and stood by the door, just watching the rage wash over him. It came in waves. He would smash something that would make a loud noise and then just stand there, his breathing coming in pants. When he was calm enough and had stopped staring at the broken pieces he would bring his wand out of his robes and repair whatever he had smashed and then just break it again.  

“What’s even more laughable,” I continued, “Is that you think for even a second that I care what my father does with you. You are more of a scam artist than I am, milking my father for all his money. Well here’s a newsflash for you; my inheritance is locked, from you and from my father. My father made it that way as a little incentive for me to stay within the company until I was of age. Some bribe eh?”