Why don't you get a taste?
Golden girl Alison Rivers has it all: brains, looks, money, a father who adores her, and any man she wants... Or so she thought.
When she sets her eyes on Lorenzo Visconti, her academy's Italian, irresistible principal, sh...
Let me be weird for a hot sec: what are your reading settings?
I mean, this story has a certain elegant aesthetic, so in my expert opinion, I feel like this should be read using the Hoefler Text font and the second smallest text dimension. On white background. A whole 'nother experience.
Especially because Dior is mentioned in this story a few times, and the Hoefler font is so similar to the font they use for Dior so... Just sayin.
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It was now past 7 pm and I was still in my bedroom, sitting on my bed with my blood boiling. I was so mad that I'd even skipped dinner, deliberately ignoring the desperate wails that emanated from my stomach.
There was another thing that fueled my anger, specifically the fact that my dad hadn't come to check up on me.
It doesn't matter whether I'm in the theatre room, in my bedroom or by the pool, if I'm home I am always by the front door at 6 pm, waiting for him to open it so as to greet him. And if I am not there, he always knocks on my door and comes in to ask if I'm feeling fine.
But I knew it wasn't his fault, I knew that Victoria had invented some excuse to prevent him from seeing me in the state I was because of her.
Revenge was my constant thought, endlessly spinning around in my head like a catchy song. Only this was driving me insane, and it was noticeable in the way I was tightly gripping my sheets in order to avoid pulling my hair out or stomping downstairs to bloody drive a knife through her.
I knew that walking down the inviting violence path was going to have some ugly repercussions on me too, and that was only going to please her, so I decided to be patient and truly destroy her. How? By making my dad hate her. After all, I only needed to tell him the truth.
I checked the clock on my nightstand and saw that it was 8 pm, meaning that he was most likely alone in his office. I turned the knob and opened the door, closing it behind me and immediately walking towards the closest staircase, looking left and right to make sure that the bitch wasn't around. Ever so noiselessly, I descended the stairs and then tiptoed down the left hallway, where the office was located.
After finally arriving at my destination, I morphed my face into one that communicated pain and made myself cry, waiting until I had at least one tear gently sliding down my swollen cheek.
It is not habitual for me to manipulate my father, for I love him with my entire heart and I do my best to be the perfect daughter— meaning that I don't need to resort to these tricks to get what I want, but this was a serious matter.
I couldn't let his feelings for Victoria cloud his judgment, so I prepared myself for the performance of a lifetime. And sure, maybe it was a bit exaggerated, considering that every normal parent would choose their child over their partner, but I wanted to make him loathe her.
