In a city of sheep ruled by wolves, she became the python that pulled them apart.
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Sage Black is a girl of little opportunities, forced to see the seamy side of life growing up in New York. Witnessing what lengths billionaires will go through t...
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Cena De Lopez is one of the finest dining restaurants in the sub-region with exquisite but over-priced food, a live performer at night, and warm, wet towels served before the appetizers. Mellow, Spanish music plays in the background, and the air smells like comfort but expensive: spices and beans. Unsurprisingly, David asks the host to seat us by the window.
My mother happens to be a cook in their kitchen. She'd often come home smelling like their food and always brought home lime-scented towels for us. Now, I subtly bring the wet cloth to my nose, inhaling the familiar, fresh scent that reminds me of her. The two pairs of piercing eyes watching me make me drop the cloth, and I harden my gaze at them, wiping away any hint of mirth from my face. I don't enjoy being gazed at like a wild zoo animal.
My casual, old shirt stands in contrast to the sundresses and formality surrounding me, and I am sharply aware of that. I resiste the urge to pat down my frizzy hair. Instead, I clasp my hands in front of me, placing my bruised knuckles on display. David's son, Atlas Roman, flits his gaze to my knuckles, eyebrows furrowing only for a second. Pretty rich boy doesn't like what he sees.
David clears his throat and pats the white napkin on our table, signaling the official start of our arrangements. "I'd like to have a driver with you at all times."
"What's wrong with taking the subway to school?"
I can't afford a car, but I'm not used to other people working for me. And I don't find the idea appealing. Usually, Marli's mom takes us to school, but on the rare occasions when she can't, using the subway is never a bother.
Atlas scoffs but says nothing. He's been staring daggers at me the minute we sat down.
"Sage, darling, I'm taking you to one of the best private schools in the Upper East Side. You shouldn't spend forty minutes taking the subway when I can easily provide you with a driver that'll get you there in twenty."
"I don't like being in debt to anyone." It sounds stupid as I say it; he's paying my damn school fees.
"It's nothing," he sighs, "but if you insist, you can share Atlas's driver."
Atlas's head snaps to his dad. He wants to say something, but his dad only stares at him blankly, daring him to refuse. They seem to silently communicate with their eyes until Atlas's expression turns defeated. He looks down and nods.
Before we can carry on, a waiter stops by our table to ask for our orders. I choose the cheapest dish, still aware of Atlas's scrutinizing gaze.
Feeling a surge of insecurity, I can't help but wonder what he sees through his eyes. I lack the need to impress him, but surely he is comparing me to the wealthy, polished girls in his school. I knew I'm not unattractive but nothing about my face is striking. My nose is too long with an aquiline shape and my eyes are small, holding hazel orbs that are a faded brown more often than green. The non-subtle scar across my eye doesn't exactly help.
