Your father was a filthy rich businessman, always absent. Not being able to do so himself, he hired a bodyguard to keep you in check. Abby did more than that.

"I shouldn't have let you leave the damn house." Abby hissed, pulling you aside from the bar, too drunk to deny the glass of water she handed you.

"Drink up." She'd demand, still keeping a firm grip on the fat of your arm as her piercing, judgemental gaze scanned your skimpy choice of clothing barely covering your figure.