The Billionaire's Authentic Daughter ▶️

7 2 | J U L I A

Taking his hand, I carefully pried the glass out of the flesh. It was a little deep but Braxton didn't even flinch. I suspected it had to do with his drinking. He did not even seem to register the pain as I pulled it out. I would've writhed in pain if I was in his place.

"You should take better care of your hands. They're precious. You're a drummer," I said as I began cleaning the wound.

"And that's all I'll ever be," he said. He had turned his face away and was staring at eye lamp on his nightstand.

"That's not true."

He remained silent.

"Weren't you out with the members? Did you have fun?"

"Fun," he scoffed. "If by sitting there quietly listening to their stories about their experience with other artists and not being able to say anything on it because you couldn't relate to that is considered fun then yeah I had tons of fun tonight."

I bandaged his hand. "I understand you feel left out."

"I hardly spoke five times during the whole time. I was feeling like I was intruding on them." He finally turned his head a little toward me but didn't look at me. Instead, he chose to inspect if I had treated his wound nicely. "I tried, Julia. I tried hard to be happy for them and not mind it but I'm failing."

"Maybe," I leaned my head forward to look at him. "Maybe you should talk to TalentNest. Tell them that you're interested in a collaboration with another artist. They'll find you someone."

"That would be considered begging to them. I'm not the priority right now. Besides, the difference would be that the others were offered those deals. They didn't ask for it. Am I not good enough?" He looked into my eyes for the first time, searching for an answer and then I saw how he was so insecure about his talent even after rising to such success.

I shook my head. "You are more than good enough. Millions of people, including me can attest to that. It's not you in particular. You know that in every band, the drummer is the one who gets the least attention. You're the best at what you do, and you can sing too. Doing the drums and singing at the same time is a difficult job and you it do excellently. You're the most talented person I've met in my life."

He blinked but his eyelids drooped for a second longer. "Thank you. I love my drums but maybe this wasn't the right career choice for me."

"I think it's better if you get to do what you love. Not a lot of people get to do that." If I had stayed with the Sanders' then I was sure singing would have only remained a dream. But I reminded myself that everyone had their own struggles. Just so Braxton was in a better position than I was didn't mean I could disregard his problems.

"I know. I'm being ungrateful again, aren't I?"

"No, it's only natural to get intimidated by competition," I reasoned.

He let out a tiny yawn. "You always know what to say to me to not make me feel like an asshole." He leaned forward and rested his head on my shoulder. My shoulders instantly went stiff. His soft hair brushed my neck.

I wondered if his head was comfortable.

I chuckled. "You're not an asshole." I let my hand dest lightly on his shoulder. I patted it a couple of times.

"How was your class today?"

"Huh...it was good. I'm learning a lot of things. I'm getting better at the high notes."

"That's good. You keep doing your best."

"I will." My eyes landed on a brown teddy bear with big eyes. "Where did you get this?"

He followed my gaze. "This," he plucked the teddy from his bedside and looked at it. "A fan gifted it to me during one of the fansigns during my tour. She made me promise I'll keep it with me always. I didn't even let my people check it and snuck it off. I didn't want it to get mixed up with gifts the other's received."

"That's really sweet of you." This time, Braxton let out a huge yawn. "You should go to sleep."

"I really should. I–I'm barely keeping my eyes open," he said.

He removed his head and I imperceptibly rolled my shoulder, feeling it just begin to numb under his head.

He let himself fall on the bed and I couldn't help laugh silently in amusement. I stood up and helped him with the covers. He was out like a light barely five seconds after I tucked him in.

I left him an Aspirin for the next morning and a glass of water.

As I was packing up the leftover bandages and gauze my eyes fell on the Corona beer bottle. There was only a small amount remaining. After a small debate, I picked it up and walked out of his room, closing the door behind him.

I put my nose over the rim and sniffed. The smell was sweet. Dismissing my inhibitions, I took a small, hesitant sip and instantly winced. It tasted a little sweet but a little bitter as well. My first alcoholic drink. I didn't like it.

Still, I drank the remaining and chucked the bottle into the bin.

The next morning, Braxton woke up with a massive headache and I was glad I'd left him the Aspirin. He woke up way early than I had expected and was groaning and dragging himself to the kitchen where I was after emptying his stomach.

He sat at the island, head between his palms as he rubbed vigorously at his temples. "Thank you for last night," he said, then dropped his head over his arm and turned in my direction.

I smiled at him from where I was making pancakes. I was hungry and breakfast for him wasn't going to be ready until at least an hour later when the cook usually came so I decided to help myself to some.

I set a glass of water in front of him. "Are you feeling better now?"

"I'm getting there," he said and emptied the glass at once into his system. He set the glass down suddenly. "My God, what is that?!"

"What?"

I looked over at him to see that he watching me, or rather my arms. Panic struck me as I realized I was in my pajamas–a sleeveless top and knee length shorts which I had been careful to just wear when I was alone and in my room because it revealed everything I had to be ashamed of.

My cuts, bruises and cigarette burns courtesy of Maira and her friends were on full display in front of him. The most prominent of them all was my newest self inflicted weeks old scar because of Ajax. It was covered in brown scab and had quite a length to it.

I hid my hands behind my back and looked at him to see he had risen out of his seat, his headache apparently forgotten. He rounded the island but before he could reach me, I took off towards my room.

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