Here Comes Trouble

2

Chapter 2

The flour bombing on the queen had caused a worldwide uproar.

Any threat to the royal family was taken with the utmost seriousness by the Royal Guard. As expected, the palace was swarming with security everywhere. I wasn't even allowed to leave my room.

My hand shook as I held the silver picture frame in my hand, staring at the adoring look in my mum's face as she held me in her arms as an infant.

That moment at the shop when my mother's eyes filled with love as they met mine, and then just a few minutes later, that love had turned into pure hatred, left a heaviness in my heart.

Gifs and memes of my mum's humiliation were already spreading online like wildfire.

News on the telly reported that the flour thrower was a rogue animal activist who had a history of psychotic episodes. No one knew how the rogue got inside the shop or passed the rigorous security checks.

My mum blamed me.

The offending fur jacket, white flour still clinging to it, lay on my carpet, where my mum had flung it in anger just before she left my room a few minutes ago.

"You had Annabelle send me this fur jacket to wear at your opening. You planned all of this. I must say, daughter, that you are a very successful manipulative bitch," she had lashed out, her blue eyes spitting fire. "I should be proud of you. At least there's something you are good at other than being useless."

Her hurtful words had cut like deep slashes on the wrists.

I had tried to explain to her that I had nothing to do with any of it, but she wouldn't listen. She didn't believe me. She never did.

I had never asked Annabelle or anyone to give my mum that fur jacket. In fact, I specifically told Annabelle before we even signed the partnership for the clothing line that I did not want to sell fur in our store.

Breathing heavily from the pent-up frustration I was trying to keep inside, I dialed Annabelle's number.

"Princess Eleanor, hello. How's your mum? That fur jacket looked fabulous on her, didn't it?"

When I heard the malicious glee in her tone, I knew. "What have you done? I never asked you to send her anything."

"Darling, it was me who sent it." Her laughter was spiteful and grated in my ears. "Haven't you figured it out yet? I planned everything."

"Why? But... you're my friend."

"Friend?" she mocked. "With someone like you whose goal in life was the Top Whore award?"

I froze.

"Did you really think," she continued, her voice taunting and cruel, "that I would willingly seek out a clueless child for a business proposition? My dear, you were merely a pawn to your mother's humiliation."

"Why?"

Her tone hardened as she spat, "Your whore of a mother slept with my husband. At least you know where your talent came from. Now she and I are even."

With that, she hung up.

I was tired; tired of the hurt, the deception, the chains and expectations, and even the rebellion I adamantly kept up.

It would be freeing if I ended all of this right now.

Carefully, I placed the picture frame back to its place and took another long swig from the bottle of wine in my hand. I needed to feel numb. Molly would do the job.