AU

Stephanie McMahon POV

All Fall Down

Chapter I

"Things had become too predictable for me…"

I wasn't sure what was better; living a life full of people that knew and admired you, but feeling no real connection to them, or living a life hidden in the shadows and thrown away like an outcast, once more, feeling no connection to people around you. On the outside, I was confident that people thought I had the life of a Princess. In some respects, yes, I do. But in others…I wouldn't wish the life upon anyone. It started out glorious. I had so many aspiring dreams. Over time, I felt them slowly slip away from me. They didn't simply vanish either. No. I felt the pain of them slowly slipping away from me. As much as I love my father, I can't stand him sometimes. His ego is bigger than everyone I know put together. He is self-centered, too cocky and arrogant for his own good, and far too intrepid. People would say that those are his strengths as well though. Considering the business he now heads and owns that's probably true. Wrestling, whereas used to be popular, now has no real rivalry against my father's business and therefore fights against itself.

I always thought that I had the ideal life. A life that was full of adventure, was never dull, and had so many divine perks that I wish could be granted to others. I thought I had friends that sincerely cared for me, and maybe they do, but if they do…I don't feel that love. Maybe there was something wrong with me? Maybe I just wasn't good enough? I married a caring and handsome man, one popular with the crowd and a man my father loved. I thought that was always good; if my father actually respected someone, then I was golden. And was that the case? No.

Through the years, I climbed my father's ladder in the business quickly. Many people slowly began to abhor me for it and stepped back. Whereas I used to be friends with the key grip boy, now he muttered a simple hello and hurried off to hide somewhere far enough from me to avoid questioning when all I wanted was a simple conversation on how his family was doing. Any time I tried to talk to my father, or my husband, Paul, about it, they simple waved it off. "What do you expect, Stephanie?" my father would say to me. "We're the royal family and they're the peasants. That's just how it is." But I didn't like that. I didn't want to assume that I was higher than everyone else because we all come from different backgrounds. Just because I have a bonds account from my father and I drive a car that is yet to be seen in the states doesn't mean that I account myself as a Princess and everyone else as my slaves.

When I agreed to come on air with my family, becoming…sort of an actress, I didn't like the turn my 'character' made. Sure, playing a bitch was fun; for a while. Now it was just dragging out. Not only did people shy away from me at work and whisper behind my back, but now I had a whole nation against me?

"I'm getting sick of it."

I watched over the desk as my father sighed out loud and rolled his eyes, obviously not caring that I was physically sitting right in front of him and could see and hear every little movement that he was making. I simply ignored it.

"How many times are we going to go over this, Steph?" he asked, his tone clipped in annoyance and insensible posture.

Despite his attitude towards the situation and my 'complaining', I wasn't going to let him get off that easily. "As many times as it takes for you to either take me off camera or change my character's heel claim."

I saw him click away on his mouse, his eyes darting all over the computer screen. I felt my blood begin to boil when I realized he was paying more attention the news headlines on the show last night than his own daughter. I always believed that playing 'The Bitch' slowly began to creep into my personal life. I never used to have a temper whereas now I have one that is not to ever be summed for the sake of people and objects a hundred meters around. I leapt up in one fluid motion, and pressed the button the desktop, efficiently shutting the machine down. My father gasped and turned to me, obviously taken aback with the action, as I sank back in the chair.

"What did you do that for?" he snapped.

I narrowed my eyes at him, pressing my lips in a firm and straight line. "I'm asking for five minutes of your time. That's the least you could give me." I watched him shake his head, muttering something under his breath, before I continued. "Now…"

"Stephanie, if you want to go off air, then fine," Vince replied, much to my distress. He would seriously take me off? "You're the head of the creative team."

He didn't need to remind me of that. Every member ostracized me with a heated passion. "I know that," I muttered in between my gritted teeth.

I watched him shrug, as if there was nothing further to discuss. "Then what's the problem?"

I clenched my fists at my side, oblivious to him, but forced myself to calm down. Slapping my father across the face wasn't the best idea. I had gotten a lot of crap from my mother the last time I did that, despite that he wanted it to happen on-air. Just because we were playing parts didn't mean I wouldn't make the physical effects very real for him.

"Fine." I stood sharply, throwing my purse over my shoulder, as I watched him work to turn the computer back on. I rolled my eyes, frustrated that I couldn't get a decent goodbye from him, and walked out of the office. I let the glass door close behind me, not caring how long it took, as I walked down the carpeted hall and towards the elevator.

The main WWE building, located in our hometown, was thirty-two stories high, completely made of glass and hosted on metal framed body. The building had been refurnished in the years after my father took out all of his rivals. My brother, Shane, and I had our own offices as well, but I rarely used mine. I was normally always working at home, on the road, or at shows. Just thinking of home made me think of Paul. We had been married for two years now. Not nearly as long as some would consider, but a lot of people thought we would had split up by now. Shane was always convinced that dating people in our work was a bad mix. While I never agreed or disagreed with him, I knew that he was probably right. Our business was dangerous. Paul had been injured plenty of times, but at least then he'd be home. I had to transfer to his show, Raw, just to be on the road with him. While I wanted a child, he wanted to wait until he could retire from the business. He was thirty-two now, the champion, and it didn't look like he was going to slow down anytime soon. It annoyed me; how very…simple and boring our lives had gotten. Like clockwork, everyday that we weren't together, he would call at three o' clock, asking what was for dinner. It was always something bland too; fish, or chicken. He wanted to 'watch what he ate'. It didn't matter to him that he worked out nearly five times a day and would burn the food off anyways. Things had become too predictable for me in this marriage. I was absolutely miserable.

~*~

"This is good."

I glanced up at Paul from my untouched plate of food; a combination of lemon pepper fish, corn, and lime beans. I gave a small smile, though it felt more like a grimace, as I mumbled a 'Thank You'. I looked back down, wondering if the food could look anymore nasty than it already was.

"You haven't touched your food," he pointed out from across the table. I didn't have to look up to know that he shoved a forkful of corn in his mouth. "Something wrong?"

I looked up again, setting my fork down. "I think I'm going to leave the business," I blurted out. It sounded, more or less, like a confession. I watched his indifferent face, slowly taking in the information, before he nodded and grunted, going back to his food. My eyes widened slightly. That was all he could do? Grunt like an ape? I had been with the business before him, I had contributed more, and I was a McMahon for crying out loud! "That's all you're going to say?" I demanded.

He looked up. If he was surprised at my tone, he sure didn't show it. "What do you want me to say, Steph?"

I sighed loudly, squeezing my eyes shut. "Nothing," I whispered. From the corner of my eye, I saw him give a self-assurance look, like he knew he was right. "I have a headache," I announced, getting up and grabbing my plate. He didn't say anything and if he did, I ignored him. I was too uptight at the moment to give a damn about his thoughts, opinions, or feelings. I dumped the food in the trash and set the plate in the sink, walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to our bedroom. I normally never let dishes sit in the sink, but I didn't care. All I wanted now was to curl up and sleep, forgetting about this entire day.

As I changed into nothing more than a long shirt, one of Paul's, my stomach growled. I was hungry, but not enough to eat any of the disgusting and healthy meals that Paul had. I considered going out and getting McDonalds or something, but then Paul would question me, and I didn't feel like fighting with him tonight. It was nine in the evening anyways and I doubted the drive thru would be open much longer. I sighed, forcing my eyes closed, praying for a dream that would perk my mood up.

I didn't have any luck.