Kiss me. Burn me.

Kiss Me.

-it's always you, in all ways. it was you who taught me how to reignite the flames of love in my heart when I thought it had turned to ashes, lighting up every corner with your presence it's you who shows me that loving is easy, that I don't need to sacrifice myself to receive the same love I give, for love should be equal.-

《CHAPTER 1》

My father is an absolutely horrible man. He wasn't always bad. When I was younger, he adored and loved me. I could even make him attend my tea parties and eat my pretend food. He even braided my dolls' hair with me, saying that he already knew how to braid because of me.

Because my father is a criminal lawyer, he meets horrible people all the time. Sometimes, he defends them, sometimes against the criminals. Either way, he knows all about crime. How to do it under the radar and how to get away with it. Even how to frame someone and set up the perfect crime scene.

As if that wasn't bad enough, my father is best friends with the president. Other presidents are old and friendless, but ours is relatively younger than most, only 46 - the same age as my father. This means that my father only defends big criminals or helps anyone, including the president, get away with a crime. The only reason I know this is because I walked in on my father asking a woman who'd been attacked in the house of the minister he worked for to sign an NDA. They paid her well, as long as she didn't tell anyone that they had done this to her. He wasn't happy explaining to me why he was helping them clean up rather than face the consequences. He'd rather they left than bother him and end up hurting him and his family.

The money just wasn't enough for my father. He had to open his own law practice and apartment complex. Now he's gunning for a hotel and casino.

My father is an absolutely terrifying man because he doesn't allow for mistakes. He says mistakes are how criminals get caught. He fires everyone in our line of domestic workers if they make the slightest mistake. He demands perfection, which is why he almost fired my personal cleaner for dropping my laundry basket when she underestimated how heavy it would be. She's chewing on the inside of her cheek, her lips quivering with her heavy breathing.

At least she hasn't cried yet. If she does, he might lose it even more.

"Ava, my darling, are you sure you don't want her gone?" He finally turns to me, having spent the last twenty minutes or so talking about how he demands perfection and hard work in his house.

"No, Father, she's the only one who understands exactly how I want my clothes washed." My smile can't falter or he won't believe me and he'll fire her.

"This is your last warning. You're excused." She scurries off after thanking us for keeping her job. I'll talk to her later. To apologise.

"Sorry, my daughter. These workers have to be thorough. Their mistakes could become ours," he sips his whisky. "How were the lessons today?"

"Fine. My project is coming along nicely. I'm using the references you gave me, me and my partner are going to nail it." I have to keep my posture straight at all times. Especially around him.

"That's wonderful. What time is your first lesson tomorrow?" He takes out another whisky glass. He forbids me to drink in his presence, but he pours me a shot of whisky when he wants to persuade me to do something I don't like

"2 p.m." I don't ask him why. I've learned better than to question him. He smiles at my answer and pours whisky for both of us. I don't like whisky, but it's the only thing he wants to share with me.

He gets up and walks over to the new painting hanging behind his office chair. "I was given this painting recently. Not many paintings fascinate me, but this one did. My friend has very good taste."

"It's wonderful, Father." He smiles broadly.

"My friend wants to be an investor in my new hotel and casino. He's being difficult, though. He has often expressed an interest in you -"

"You want me to go out with him?"

"What did I say about interrupting me?" He doesn't mean to shout, but he does. "His son. He wants his son to start dating and hopefully settle down. I want you to go after his son. Do it as if you're interested."

I am tired of the blind dates he keeps setting up for me. Some I know about, some I don't. He has terrible taste. The only thing to check on his list is if you're the child of someone important. Someone whose business or money he could use.

It doesn't help that I get photographed every time I go on these dates. The whole city thinks I'm a whore trying to acquire a rich boy to expand my father's empire. My picture is in every magazine, website and newspaper every week. My father says people talk badly about me because they envy me.

Dylan, my childhood best friend, also goes on blind dates. Courtesy of his parents as well. But his picture doesn't trend as much as mine. He doesn't get called horrible names like I do. Even though he's had scandals with actual proof of him hooking up with multiple girls. But I'm the bad guy for going on dates.

Before Hunter, I didn't mind the articles about me. They were all wrong. But since we kissed, I hate those articles. My heart belongs to one person. How does he feel knowing the whole city adores and envies his girlfriend? That they wish her the worst because she is forced to go on dates?

Even so, I don't have the power to say no.

The low hum of the restaurant was in stark contrast to the muffled conversation. I glanced at my watch, my impatience growing with each ticking second. Chris rambled on about his job and hobbies, his voice a monotonous hum in the background. I tried to feign interest, but my mind drifted to Hunter.

I thought of his infectious laugh, his kind eyes, his adorable cheek dimples. A warm feeling spread through me as I replayed our stolen moments in my mind. I couldn't keep this a secret any longer. I had to tell Dad, no matter what the consequences. How much can Hunter really understand? What if his patience runs out and he leaves me?

I excused myself to the restroom, determined to confront him. I'd tell him everything, even if it meant facing his wrath.

I storm into the house, slamming the door behind me. Father paces the living room, his face a mask of fury. "Where have you been?" he demands. "You can't just walk out on a date like that. It's disrespectful."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "I'm sorry, Father," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I need to tell you something. I have a boyfriend."

Father's eyes widen in disbelief. He's speechless for a moment, then his anger flares up again. "And who might this young man be?" he demands.

Just then, Dylan walks in, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Hey, Mr Mitchell," he greets cheerfully. "I just..."

Father cuts him off. "Dylan, we'll talk later. Ava, who is this boy?" he demands.

My heart pounds. This is going to be a long night. I look at Dylan, his face a mixture of confusion and concern.

In a desperate move, I pull Dylan into a passionate kiss. As our lips meet, I feel a surge of defiance. I'm tired of living in fear of my father's wrath. I'm ready to take control of my life.