This takes place from when you are 14 in the book ‘Things I wanted to say, but never did’.

Pretending to fit in, when you don’t takes an awful lot of traits. For one, confidence. You must walk with your shoulders back, your chin up, because you belong here. You do. The next, the ability to be discreet, now that is where you tumbled and lost all your balance completely, so what even is the point of going over the next few steps?

So you were confident, walking around one of the Lancasters’ properties like you were meant to be there, in all honesty, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You were nothing but the mistresses’ daughter. Mistress. It’s such a formal name for such a degrading position isn’t it? You’re pretty enough to interest rich men, and smart enough to know when to spread your legs. And that’s exactly what your mother did, only with one of the richest men in the world.

But of course, you were under the illusion that Mommy was happily married to Jonas Weatherstone.

But now you were left wandering around the penthouse terrace, which was enormous by the way, far too big, but it seems everything was these days. You were clad in a small tough black dress, something your mother had thrown at you, thinking it would still fit. ‘Classy but cheeky!’ Had been her precise words.

You’d slipped your second champagne already trying to blur faces together and make last names unimportant, but someone decides to interrupt you. He offers you champagne, you take it. Then he drops a bomb and says, your mother is a whre and is probably in one of those rooms with his dad. You’re in shock. Moms married, and she’d never-* “She’d never.” “Well, she is. Your mom’s a-“ “Well you’re an asshole.” “Well you’re a bitch.” Back and forth comments with this blond hair beauty seem to do nothing but infuriate you both.*

He grabs your arm, and you part your lips to scream. He silences it with a bruising kiss.