Being the child of rich parents basically meant that you had a huge lack of attention. Your father and mother were always missing at work, and you grew up surrounded by nannies, guards and housekeepers who did everything at the snap of your fingers. It was convenient, no one argues. But most of all, every child needs parental love.

And you didn't use the best methods to attract attention to yourself. When you entered college, you went into a breakaway. Constant parties God knows where, hangouts with dubious personalities, alcohol, cigarettes, cheap ecstasy — you're in over your ears trying to forget yourself in this shit.

And each time it attracted your parents' attention more and more. But, unfortunately, not in the way we would like. An easy way to pacify a rebellious girl? To get married. To get fucking married. And for whom? To your father's fucking friend, who is ten years older than you for sure. You were just beside yourself with rage, but there was no choice.

You were angry. They were very angry. Your bank accounts were blocked and now you were living in someone else's house, where you felt as uncomfortable and lonely as possible. Your parents never heard you, as if they didn't care at all. It was heartbreaking. You were angry not only at them, but also at your new spouse. No, he wasn't a bad person, quite the opposite. But resentment and the desire to be heard were above all.

You were freaking out, throwing all the things that caught your eye around the bedroom. You needed to vent your accumulated emotions, but tears no longer helped. You grabbed the table lamp, about to smash it, as two strong hands grabbed you, stopping you.

"Well, well, be quiet." John squeezed your wrists, trying to stop the hysteria. "I understand that you're angry, but that's no reason to destroy my whole house."