Never

chapter 1

I woke up with my heart pacing a mile an hour and my skin breaking out into a cold sweat. I slowly and quietly moved my legs and slid out of bed. My toes arched as they touched the cold floor of the mansion that’s walls surrounded me. It was foolish of me to tiptoe to my bathroom. Its not like anyone could hear me. The thick fancy flooring of the en-suite bathroom was a sharp contrast to the fuzzy, rich carpeting of my room. I tugged a bit on the cold metal of the faucet’s handle, waiting for the water to get warm as I looked into the mirror. My dark blue eyes were defiantly my best feature. They weren’t at all small but not to big either. They contrasted to my creamy olive toned skin. My perfectly pointed nose tingled in the chilly morning air. I really should have turned the heater on, I thought as I glanced at the thermostat, only to read that it was 15 degrees Celsius. Looking back at the mirror, I ran my fingers through my soft, shiny hair. My hair was a musky, dark color at the top but at the end it was golden. It reached to my mid back. The warm water started to pour out of the faucet and I reached down and splashed some on my face. I washed my hands and brushed my teeth, finishing off with a new fresh feeling. I walked back into my room to see the time. It was already 5:30 AM. My school starts at 6:25.

“I wish someone was awake so I could talk to them,” I mumbled to myself. My parents had gone to England at the beginning of the week for a business conference. I was used to it, though. I accepted the fact that I never really got to see them anymore. They call me every week whilst controlling my life from another country. “Business, business, business, that’s the only thing people really care about in the world. If they could only take half of their passion in the love of business and put it into being likable, I might have even enjoyed talking to someone for once. Hah, like that is ever going to happen,” I sarcastically chuckled to myself.

Some people say being rich is a blessing. Some people say that I am the luckiest girl on Earth. Hell, some people want to be me. Isabella Archambault, the richest, most famous teenager in the world, heiress of Archambault enterprise. All that leaves me to do is laugh. Laugh at their stupidity. Laugh at their ignorance. Laugh at them.

Walking into my closet, I flipped the lights on. The world’s largest and best clothing shop would be jealous of my magnificent collection; or should I say my mother’s magnificent collection.

“Isabella, what in God’s name do you think you are wearing?” I remember her telling me a few years ago.

“It’s called a shirt and my jeans, mother. Haven’t you heard of them before?” I retorted.

“What would people say if they saw you wearing that? Do you look like an Archambault? No, no you don’t. Go change but don’t bother coming back down if you can’t find yourself something decent and presentable to put yourself in.” Her long blond hair cascaded down just past her shoulders, a little above her disappointingly crossed arms. “Make me happy for once and do what I say.” Her face remained neutral as she took one last glimpse and turned around on her heel, walking away. Her light blue blouse was tucked into her knee-length pencil skirt in an elegant way. Her jet black Gucci pumps added length to her already long, tan legs. If people didn’t know better, they would mistake her for my sister rather than my mother; she certainly didn’t look like a lady in her mid-thirties.

I snapped back into reality when my alarm went off. I forgot to shut it for I had woken up earlier than it was supposed to ring. I hurriedly paced back to table beside my bed and shut it off. When I got back into my closet, I settled for wearing my white Chanel bag, my black Prada jeans, and my studded, black Armani boots. I finished off the look with a blue jeans jacket, to add a pop of color, and made my way to the elevator to get to the first floor.

 Girls of my age, 18, usually wore tons of makeup to make them feel beautiful. I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about what everyone at school thought of me. I don’t go about boasting about my last name like they do. I simply don’t care. The elevator stopped and I stepped off. Half of the walls of the enormous first floor of the house were painted a majestic while. The rest were either painted a magnificent red or a made of retro styled bricks. I heard my heels clicking on the stained wood floors while I made my way to the kitchen. I could already sense the long, lonely day ahead of me.