Westwood Luxury (Draft/Preview)

Preview

(A/N: This is a very basic draft of the second chapter. Please enjoy !~)

Chapter 2

"To die, to sleep -

To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,

For in this sleep of death what dreams may come..."

― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

I find my way through the apartment complex's lobby, photographers off to the side rapidly clicking their cameras. Click, click, click. My stepmother's voice echoes in my head, telling me to be graceful. Telling me to not become another disappointment to her, another obstacle in life she doesn't want to cross. I have to keep from rolling my eyes when I spot the other residents, all the girls done up with makeup for the media. 

I guessed that most of them arrived early to keep the spotlight directed on themselves. The twenty-story famed Westwood Luxury apartment complex, meant to house the twenty most wealthy and respected families, plus a lucky family who had won the lottery for the prize, was going to be my new home. Being the daughter of the most familiar and respected businessman in America who owned a huge franchise, it was no surprise I was invited.

 The weird thing, though, is that I was invited here by my dad's number one enemy. Erik Astandian. I remember long ago, when Erik was invited out of courtesy to one of my father's dinner parties. We had gathered around a large table, and I had been only five years old, yet Erik had talked to me about politics and war and death. That was a lot to take in. I started crying, and my maid was forced to comfort me and lull me out of my tears. I hadn't seen him since. The hazy memory was the only time I remembered seeing him, and I was not eager to see him again.

 I look around the pristine area, searching for an empty couch so I could rest my feet from wearing these god awful white stiletto heels. I finally find an empty couch and I smooth down by light blue, flowy dress before sitting down. I look around me, everyone a familiar face except for one family that stood out. They must be the ones who won the raffle. Everyone was in their best clothes and wearing makeup, and I recognized a few of my celebrity crushes a few years back. I smile to myself, remembering how when I was fourteen I would hang up pictures of cute celebrities on my wall. Those days were over, now.

 I look up, brushing some of my dark blonde hair out of my face to see a familiar face. "Hey, Ali." I smile warmly as my friend sits down next to me. "You look horrible with those heels on," she commented, a devious smirk playing on her face. "You look absolutely terrible." "You look worse." We both chuckled to ourselves. We've been playing this "game" ever since we met a few years ago. We would sarcastically make the other person feel bad... without making them feel bad. Her chin-length blue hair was put into perfect little waves, complimenting her yellow dress.

 "I hope I don't get interviewed. I mean, I am the best singer alive-" "Wrong," I interject, "but I have other things on my schedule, such as beating up Valeryia." I roll my eyes. I faintly smell cooking steak, which was to be given to us after the speech for dinner. I was going straight up to my room, of course. Steak would never beat microwaveable dinners. "Hey, Ali?" I ask, my eyes wandering to her green eyes. 

"What, loser?" She asks, her smirk growing. "Do you-" I start to say, but am rudely cut off by a reporter, a handsome blonde with sparkling brown eyes. I hated him already.

"Hello, misses!" He enthusiastically said, pulling out a small notepad. Ali rolled her eyes. "Hello," she responded dutifully. "Hi," I say, looking from Ali to the man. "Let me just ask you guys some questions, okay?" He smiled. I rolled my eyes, willing the night to be over.