BOOK 2: The Runaway Heiress

I hate him.

I gritted my teeth as I glared at my father's back as he stood near the window of his office whilst holding a glass of whiskey in his hand and the other hand was in the pocket of his pants. The way he stands emits dominance and power. As a matter of fact, his presence alone is intimidating—I can hardly breathe.

I've never felt so inferior my whole life until today. My heart was pounding so fast against my chest.

"Tell me what you did," he said, his voice oozing with obvious threat and cruelty. I shivered. It wasn't a question nor a request. It was a demand.

I balled my hands into fists as I tried not to tremble. "I did, what?" I fired back, sarcasm was palpable in my voice. I know I was only adding fuel to the raging fire, but heck if I'd let him not have something to get angry about. Oh, I love drama.

I saw my father's jaw ticked as his grip on his glass tightened. I almost grinned in victory.

"You really know how to make me mad, don't you?" He spun around and faced me.