The Dark Angel

Chapter 1-Angela Isabelle

"Who gave you the permission to shout at me in my own house!?" I glared at him, completely annoyed. Of all things, yes, annoyed. Because he's envading my privacy.

His dark brown eyes were piercing straight at me. He has this tanned complexion but still, it doesn't hide the redness of his face. He's really angry.

I yawned. This is not how I want to start my first day for the Senior Year. I don't even wan't to get it started at all, by the way.

"C'mmon. Spill the beans, I'm not in the mood for an eye-to-eye battle first thing in the morning." I deadpanned.

He throws something on my direction, it landed on the mattress just above my knee right before I could catch it. Confusely, I just stared at it for a good couple of minutes.

A newspaper. My eyebrows furrowed more as I look at it.

I held it in front of my face to examine more of it. It's really a newspaper! "Wow. Since when did you sacrifice your job for a 'newspaper boy' job?" I sarcastically ask him, faking an enthusiast laugh.

Seriously. He travelled all the way here just to deliver a piece of a crappy newspaper, when he can't even pay me a visit even for a single hour of the day, maybe to see if I'm doing well or not or to just check me up?

Well, he does. But not to 'check' on me, rather, spat things on my face.

Anyway, is this some kind of a joke? Why would he give me a newspaper? Why not food instead? That'd make it more 'fatherly' of him. Seriously. I'd be happy with just only a sandwich. But surely, it isn't as funny compared to his joke-of-a-face...

Okay. Cut the crap.

But this is new...This person in front of me is no other than one of the most influential man in the 'Bussiness World'. It's quite amusing, though. Imagine. . .

The multi-billionaire CEO, now my personal newspaper boy.

I think I should throw a party for that. Too bad, I hated parties.

"Are you really out of your mind, Angela?" He yells exasperatedly, cutting me off from my thoughts. I rolled my eyes and ended up looking at his face. He looked exactly like Hell Boy with that long, red, face.

"You're all over the newspapers!" He continued on yelling at me as his hand flies to his head to cup his forehead and the other on his waist. "You're all over the newspaper and the internet for going to jail, for Pete's sake!"

Really? That's awesome. I hastily opened the newspaper in my hand, and right there in the headlines is an article about me. I can't help it but to be. . .awed. I mean, c'mmon. I looked up at him and shrug.

"And what is that in your head!"

"I'm famous. What do you expect?" I deadpaned and smirk at the same time, ignoring what he's pointing out at my face. I rolled out of bed and pulled my unruly hair into a messy bun.

"How did you get that wound in your forehead!" he repeats himself and finding a side table for support. "Oh. . . What would your mom think of this." he mutters softly, massaging his temples.

"That you're on irresponsible father." I supplied him the answer with an innocent shrug. "Like. Duh. I'm always in the all sorts of bloody newspapers, like always. Why don't you ever get used to that?"I added and boredly yawn. "

George came out from out of nowhere and offers him a glass of water, he simply raise his palm on his face, refusing it.

"Get used to it? No I can't. But famous? Of course, you are famous." He smirked." You're the one people call 'the tabloid princess', the spoiled brat who wastes her money on luxurious cars, planes, helicopters, yachts and a warfrea. . ." Blah. Blah. Blah. I can't hear anything at all.  Is this some kind of deja vu? Because I swear, this already happened before...