Out of Time

chapter 4 - venom

Mingling with the guests is mentally exhausting. As one of the few girls that aren't concerned about gossip and can converse freely with people about commerce, I am a hot commodity. I am currently discussing startup ideas with a small streaming service CEO. To put it bluntly, he is tiresome.

His monotonous voice and demeanour make me want to fall asleep, and what he's talking about bores me even further. "The basic framework has been completed for months, but no one seems to be interested in-"

He is interrupted by me falling on him. The glass of champagne (that's mainly a prop for me to fiddle with) flies out of my hands. The light-gold sparkling wine splatters onto the poor guy's shirt. I stand, shocked, before quickly spinning around to confront the person who pushed me.

A brunette man - no, boy - stands with a scowl. "Watch where you are going, girl," he spits.

Who the hell is this.

Impulsively, I slap him. Resounding gasps fill the air, and almost like a vacuum, silence encircles The Garden. There is a monumental difference between being mistreated by my people and being disrespected by outsiders. I refuse to be degraded by some boy I don't even know.

I see both my father and Jesse scurry over to our conversation. The former runs over for damage limitation, whilst the other comes for support. Thankfully, Jesse arrives first and places a reassuring hand on my waist. "Who do you think you are?" I raged.

He scoffs. "I think the question should be who are you?"

My father opens his mouth, but I beat him to whatever he's going to say.

"Lara fucking Ashwood." Venom drips off my words as I scan him up and down. His shirt is untucked, slightly wrinkled and crooked, and his twisted bow tie is narrowly loose. His dishevelled appearance does little to distract the fact that he is indeed well put together.

The constant rearrangement of his shirt under his blazer and his perfectly manicured beard suggests he cares thoroughly about his image. His nervousness about this event is masked by a misleading pretence that he doesn't care. Although, to anyone with any sagaciousness, he is completely transparent.

His face slightly pales, maybe because my father is behind me or possibly due to the power of my surname. I guess it doesn't really matter. My father yanks my arm and guides me to the opposite side of the deck. I groan in pain as the wound reopens for the second time. Hopefully, the bandage does its job.

"What are you doing?" he chastises. Heart in throat, I glower back at him.

"Making sure that your name isn't dragged through the mud. Despite what you want to think, I am an Ashwood. Maybe not to you, but to everyone else: I am."

We speak in hush whispers. We both glare at nosey onlookers trying to pry into our exchange. "Now, I think you much rather have a daughter that stands up for themselves and their name than one that is used as a doormat by strangers."

His face contorts into shock. "I know what I am doing in these events. I've attended them many times. Yes, I may have acted impulsively, but I still would've cursed him out or shouted at him. Plus, he was scared shitless."

His grip on my arm tightens. "This is why we hate you. You always get into these situations where we have to get you out."

Now it's my turn to scoff at his poison. "You are the ones that put me into these situations. You made me learn all of the stupid business terms for this exact reason." I take a step closer to him with each word

"I have to keep appearances up for you. I have to make sure that I don't embarrass myself for you. I have to seem intelligent because your other daughter is physically incapable of it. Not for me, but for you." I take deep breaths as I attempt to calm down.