Material Girl

London

"Rhaenyra, I am entirely at a loss for what to do with you," her father shouted, tossing the paper into her lap. "You are meant to one day step up and run a multi-billion pound family business yet the only thing you can seem to do is..." he gestured toward the photo on page six, a blurry picture taken with a long lens of her, topless on a yacht, sprawled out over someone she could not make out, and could not particularly remember.

Débutante Débuts Ds read the headline. Rather unoriginal, also untrue, since she was barely a C cup. If they were going to air out her business in the society pages they could at least get some of the facts right.

"Father, everyone parties, it is not a big deal," she said, flipping through the content. Had she snogged so many people in one night? Each section of the oversized page was littered with several photographs of her locked in an embrace with a man or woman– she was not very particular about who she kissed, especially when intoxicated. But, thankfully, what she had done later that night was not pictured. Her father would likely drop dead on the spot if he knew.

"It is a big deal, Rhaenyra, and the fact that you don't realize it is beyond alarming. It took years to convince the board of directors and our investors to accept that I chose a woman to run the business when I step down and they will continue having an extremely difficult time accepting you if you spend your days shoving your tongue down people's throats!"

"I am not old enough yet to worry about these things," she scoffed. "It will be many years before I am required to step into your shoes."

"You are twenty-one, Rhaenyra. If you do not start to step up, then my brother will once again try to throw himself into the mix, and God knows the investors want him even less. And your brother-"

"Half." Her father rolled his eyes at her, though he was so frustrated that the act seemed to nearly require use of his entire body.

"Your half -brother," he continued with a sigh, "is an imbecile. Terrible marks in his classes, uproarious behavior. I know he is only twelve but I hardly see any chance that he will improve."

"You speak of Daemon as if he is not extremely successful in his own right," Rhaenyra replied defensively, closing the paper and tossing it back onto her father's desk. He scoffed, shaking his head.

"Ah yes, with his nightclubs and strippers and bars. His business operations are a smear on the prestigious institution our family has built. That is why he has no place in my dealings any longer," he replied with a sneer. Her father picked up the paper again, holding it up in front of Rhaenyra's face. "You will be disgraced and disinherited as well if you continue with this. You cannot go gallivanting about in such a manner. My brother will descend upon the first sign of weakness."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, delicately crossing her legs and giving her father a look that signaled she was bored of their conversation.

"Our family has built generations of wealth and garnered respect for years. I will not have you throw it all away for-" he squinted at the picture. "What was this even for?"

"It was an after party. In Monaco. Everyone goes to them after the Grand Prix." Her father's brow furrowed. "You know, Formula One."

"Do you hear yourself?" her father asked incredulously, letting out a huff. "You are so spoiled. I should never have let it go this far," he muttered, shaking his head. "Flying all over the world, partying in every city, lounging about practically nude on random yachts." He squinted again at the picture and Rhaenyra stiffened when she saw realization dawn on his features. "Dark Sister?"

"I borrowed it," Rhaenyra said, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

"How, exactly, does one borrow a yacht from someone they are not supposed to contact under any circumstances?" Her father was turning red, his breaths becoming labored as his rage grew.