Slowly but surely

| Three |

I made my way into my room, pulling out a plain white t-shirt from my closet. 

Before I could change, my phone buzzed, drawing my attention. An email notification lit up the screen. 

Curious, I sat down on the edge of my bed and opened it, seeing a message from a brand asking for my rates for a promotion.

Managing my own social media was something I'd taken on myself. With nothing else to do and a lot of time on my hands, it kept me busy. 

My parents had offered to hire someone to handle it all, but I refused. I liked being in control, having the final say on everything I posted. Plus, it gave me some purpose.

I glanced through the email—it was from a company that sold "health" supplements claiming to give people "fitter bodies." I frowned. 

After a quick search online, I decided to decline the offer. 

I didn't promote anything I didn't personally believe in, especially when it came to health products. 

With so many younger followers, I couldn't risk endorsing something that I didn't fully trust.

Just as I hit "send" on my reply, there was a knock on my door. 

I looked up, surprised to see my dad walking in, his presence filling the room like it always did.

"Ice cream?" he asked, holding up two fingers like he was suggesting something secretive. 

I nodded, a little hesitant. When he offered ice cream, it usually meant there was something on his mind, and I suspected I might be in trouble.

Before I could leave, he stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. "Is that blood on your jumper?"

"Oh, yeah, I cut myself in the kitchen," I explained quickly, hoping to avoid one of his over-the-top reactions. 

Despite not always being around, my dad was ridiculously protective. 

He and my mom were constantly cautious with me, aware that my dad's enemies would see me as an easy target if they ever wanted to get to him.

Friends, boyfriends—everyone in my life was carefully screened by my parents. And that screening process wasn't exactly subtle.

"I'll change and meet you by the car," I said, grabbing the t-shirt I had pulled out earlier.

Once he left, I quickly swapped out my jumper, added a little lip gloss, and headed down to the basement where the cars were kept.

"Where's Happy?" I asked when I noticed our usual driver was nowhere in sight.

"I'm driving," he said, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Oh god," I muttered under my breath as I climbed into the front passenger seat, already bracing myself for the inevitable speed-demon ride. 

My dad had many talents, but driving safely wasn't one of them.

Sure enough, we got to the ice cream shop in record time—half the time it would've taken Happy. 

I stepped out of the car with my hair windblown and feeling slightly queasy from the ride, but I pushed through it. 

Joanne, the older lady who ran the place, greeted us warmly.

"Just the usuals, please," I said with a smile before my dad and I slid into one of the booths at the back.

"So, what's this all about?" I asked once we were settled, knowing he hadn't dragged me out here just for the ice cream.