Chapter Four

Lyrical

I sit at my desk, drawing a sketch of me on my knees in front of Snow with my hands tied behind my back and his dick in my mouth.

Why do I have this weird obsession?

Better yet, why would I want my first time to be like this?

I've been having these types of fantasies since I was sixteen years old—since I discovered porn—and I can't shake them. I want to speak to Lilac and ask her some questions. Maybe she feels disgusted about it as well. Maybe she doesn't. She was confident enough to hook up with Irvin at the party. I always wanted to explore that side of myself but was too chickenshit to do anything about it. Now I'm going to marry Snow, I probably won't be able to explore it. The way he said I was his toy turned me on, turned me on more than I'd like to admit. When we used to be friends, he never gave me any indication he wanted to fuck me, though he would flirt with me here and there, tell me how beautiful I was, he'd never said such vulgar stuff to me. It turned me on to the point that when I got home, I touched myself thinking of him.

My phone buzzes on my desk, so I grab it to find my mother's name across the screen. We don't talk as much as we used to since the accident. I pushed her away due to the shame I felt of letting her down. The car accident almost ruined the arranged marriage between Snow and me. It's been my father's dream to have a male heir to inherit part of his share of the American Billionaire Club, but since I turned out to be a girl, he adamantly signed my life away to who I was going to marry.

I watch my phone ring, debating if I should answer, but I'm not in the mood to talk to her.

I can't avoid her forever, so I tap the green button and hit Speaker.

"Mother." My tone is low.

She wants me to be a stay-at-home wife like her, thinking owning my own art gallery is a waste of time, so speaking to her about my future feels like it's redundant. In high society, women take care of the household while the men are the providers, but I feel like I can do so much more than be someone's wife, especially to a man who hates me. My mother had this vision of how she wants my wedding to go. She's handling all the details such as the venue, caterers, and flowers, and all I need to do is show up. I hope to God we don't have to go on a honeymoon because I don't want to.

"How is school?" I can hear the disdain in her tone, and I picture her tucking her golden hair behind her ear, tapping her foot against the floor.

She's asking out of respect for me, but my mother has no real interest in my career. When we're around her friends, she only brags about how proud she is that I'm going to be a stay-at-home mother, not mentioning anything about my passion for art. If I tell her I might fail algebra again, she'll nag me to quit school altogether, and I don't need her discouragement.

A tight smile plasters across my face, but she can't see me. "It's okay. How are you?"

"Things are going good. Your father is at the American Billionaire Club and won't be back until next week, so I'm here by myself. You know how things can get with him."

I wonder how my mother feels about him being the vice president of a gentleman's club? After all, they have a section that is a sex club. Does she get jealous or does she turn a blind eye to it all?

Growing up, when my father was home, he loved and doted on my mother. He worshipped the ground she walked on. If someone were to tell me he was cheating on her, I wouldn't believe it.

"Dr. Luna told me you stopped coming to your sessions." Her words are filled with annoyance.

I was going to a psychologist about the loss of Bailey, but I stopped attending the sessions. There isn't anything he can say that will make me believe it wasn't my fault she died. The guilt and rage I feel will never go away. It was getting to the point where I would tell him what he wanted to hear just to shut him up. When I mentioned to him that someone drugged me before the accident, he told me I was looking for ways to escape my mistake. So, I never mentioned it again.

Sighing, I stand from my desk, glance out the rectangular window in my bedroom, and stare out at the crystal-clear sea.

"I don't need it, Mom. As long as I'm not locking myself in my room, then I'm fine. I started painting again and I'm hanging out with my friends."

"I think you shouldn't pursue art. Most people don't make money and end up being nobodies in the industry. They have all the talent but no one respects it."

This is why I don't like to speak to my own mother about my dreams, because she makes me feel so shameful for loving art and being independent. I want to be myself; I want to be free . Be free from the demands of being the daughter of a billionaire. Be free to make my own decisions without a husband tied to me.

"I'm marrying a billionaire, Mother. Even if my art career doesn't work out, I'll still be all right. Art is my passion and I want to pursue it. Didn't you have a dream that you wanted to pursue as a kid?"

"Dreaming is for little girls, and you're no longer one. Life is not about passion, it's about being on top. Anyway, how are things between you and Snow?" My mother completely ignores my question.

I wish she would support my dreams. I want her to be excited that I'm doing something I love, not revolving my life around a man. I want to be happy with my life. She has a happy life, so why can't I be happy too? I want to say more but it's going to lead to a big fight, so I keep my mouth shut out for the sake of peace.

"Snow is being Snow," I tell her.

There is no way in hell I'm telling her about how he treats me, not that it will make a difference, because they are still going to make me marry him after graduation. My parents are focused on keeping their generational wealth more than caring about my well-being. They are focused on being one of the most successful couples in North Haven rather than worrying about Snow giving me hell. The only thing my father asked of Snow is to never beat me. Snow is a lot of things—wife-beater is not one of them. He's so high-strung and always wants things his way. I suspect why he was possessive over me before the accident, but I don't understand why he is now as we're no longer friends.

"We're going shopping for your wedding dress right after the engagement party. So many people are going to be there. A-list celebrities, the mayor, and other powerful people."

I don't want to hear any more about my engagement ball and marriage. I feel like an object that's been bought and not a human being with feelings. I hate this lifestyle and what comes with it. I want something more than to pop out babies, and sometimes I wish I wasn't the only child with so much riding on me. I'm supposed to carry on our bloodline. When I have kids, their marriage is supposed to be arranged as well, and we're supposed to continue the age-old traditions. I have never had control over my life and the little control I do have, I use it to do what I love.

"Mom, I have to go. I have my next class, I'll see you later," I lie, pressing the End button.

Tossing the phone onto the bed, I go back to drawing Snow.