Olivia's POV
Three Months Later
I was exhausted.
And it wasn't from the moving, as much it was tiring. It was from my annoying mother.
Who knew that even after her husband had been imprisoned for fraud, most of her money being ripped away from her, and the mansion no longer under our name, she would still be a nagging mother.
At times I even forgot she was my mother, but instead my instructor.
Three months ago, she would simply scold me for the way I carried myself or presented myself.
Now—thankfully a highschool graduate—I was her full time student. Constantly giving me lessons on the proper etiquette of a woman.
I just recently turned eighteen, and the woman already had me wearing stilettos and pencil skirts.
I stared up at the ceiling of my room, the bed beneath me seductively calling me to slumber. And it was only two in the afternoon.
A whole morning of shopping for the right makeup and right clothes was the cause of my exhaustion. As if I cared about any of those things.
All I cared about was this bed and its softness. But as soon as I began to drift off, the wicked witch of the west—whom I loved unconditionally—called.
"Liv! Come here please."
I sighed in frustration as I debated on locking my door or not.
Not.
"She'd probably break it down, idiot," I told myself as I pushed off the bed, and heard the most frightening sound come from somewhere on my body.
I looked down at the white pencil skirt I'd worn and saw a piece of thread sticking out from its seams.
Oh crap. I'd ripped the damn thing.
Two months, two freaking months was all it had taken for puberty to complete its work by making me full in the hips, and giving my ass a special pumping. And let's not leave out the fact that most of my bras barely cover anything.
Standing up from my bed, I slipped out of the skirt and folded it nicely before placing it in a laundry basket. I did the same to my cashmere sweater, before walking into my walk-in closet to pick out a purple summer dress.
My dark hair was still pinned up in a neat chignon. But I didn't dare undo it.
Rule number twenty eight; never let your hair free, unless it is to do so for style and fashion.
"Olivia!" my mother warned.
"I'm coming, mother?" I voiced loudly, but gently. Another rule.
Walking out of my room, I headed for the kitchen, passing through the fancy hallway.
As much as most of my family's money was taken away, my mother refused to lower her standards. So we'd moved into a very extravagant and modern apartment.
I'd warned my mother that it wasn't such a good idea, but she'd said it would be best if I left our finances to her while she told me what to do.
"I have something for you," my mother said excitedly, immediately she saw me enter the luxurious kitchen.
She handed me an envelope before she continued to type away on her laptop.
"What is it?" I said, eyeing the pretty envelope. Only to look at the back of it to see the Vogue logo.
As much as Vogue was nice and all, I wasn't interested in modeling. What I wanted was to immediately head off to university and follow my dreams, as cliche as it sounded, but it was my life.
"Mother, we talked about this. I don't..."
She raised a finger to stop me. "I have a deal for you."
"A deal?" I asked, not sure where this was heading.
"Yes, a deal. If you sign that..." She pointed to the envelope in my hand.
"Yes?" I said, impatiently waiting.
"Then...I'll sign for Yale."
My eyes widened in shock, not really sure if I heard correctly.
"You'll sign for Yale?" She confirmed with a firm nod.
Three months ago, I would have jumped up and down. But if I had to do that at the moment, my mother would probably disown me.
Well, at least she'd threaten to.
"Thank you."
Immediately I was in the privacy of my room, I did my own little victory dance. I was so excited.
But my excitement rapidly diminished. There was no one to share it with.
Christina.
I hadn't seen her since graduation, four weeks ago. And things still hadn't been good between us before the graduation.
None of it was her fault. In fact, I'm the one who pushed her away.
News of my father's fraud case spread like wildfire. Everyone was talking about it at school, and people soon forgot that I was one of the populars, instead I became the topic of discussion.
I didn't want Christina involved with my problems, so I pushed her away.
But ironically, that wasn't the real reason why I pushed Christina away.
An image of gorgeous hazel eyes and dark wild curls formed at the back of my head.
It took me until only the next day after the barbeque for me to realize that I had been in a bad place when I ended whatever was going on between me and her.
"Suck it up, Olivia. It needed to be done, that's the end." Even as I encouraged myself, I walked to my desk and opened my laptop.
I went to the browser, and immediately typed in Shayne West.
Stalker, the voice in my head said, just like it did all the times I'd been doing this in the past three months.
I clicked search, and the first words that came were in bold.
Gorgeous and Talented
Right under the words was a photo of Shayne seated in a recording studio, and even though I'd seen the photo so many times, my heart still made a little somersault.
Those hazel eyes were looking right into the camera, as though they were looking straight at me.
Her full pink lips were curved into a sexy smirk, causing me to momentarily confuse the simple process of breathing.
Her elbows were leaning against her knees, long fingers clasped together.
Due to the Lakers basketball jersey vest she'd worn, her tattoos and toned arms were bare, and the sight of them had always made me crave for them to be around me.
That long and wild hair was tied back in a low and heavy afro puff, I craved to dig my fingers into it.
Under the photo was a short article.
Amber Pierce,
Anyone wishing to be a Mrs. West? I know I am.
This talented record producer is not only drop dead gorgeous, but she's also wealthy and young. Anyone thinking what I'm thinking?...yap, she's the whole package.
The gorgeous LGBT member has not officially settled, but sources say that the sexy stud moves from female to female, breaking their hearts along the way.
But if any of us are being honest, who wouldn't mind getting their heart broken? As long as you took a piece out of this, there is bound to be life long satisfaction.
Right after the article was a pic of a shirtless Shayne, sweaty and...
"Liv, have you..."
Immediately I saw my mother budge into my room, I shut my laptop.
"What are you doing?" she asked curiously as I tried to act casual.
"Porn." It was the only thing I could come up with.
Fortunately, she just gave me a I-cant-deal-with-this kinda look before she stepped out with her hand over her head.
Internet Shayne was all I had. She wasn't going to take her away from me, as painfully pathetic as it sounded.
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