*¡CURRENTLY EDITING!*
☆☆☆☆
"So, Tyson, do you just lurk around waiting to interrupt people or is that a special service you offer?"
He leaned against the table, his gaze locking with mine. "I'd say it's a special service, but only for certain people...
As I stepped into the dining room, I spotted my stepmother seated at the table, scrolling through her phone.
My biological mother passed away when I was a child, leaving my twin brother Justin, my father and me. When I was ten, my dad met this woman and after two years, they tied the knot, making her my stepmother.
"Ashley, please join me for breakfast." She called out, acknowledging my presence and I took my seat at the table.
I served myself some food on a plate and began eating in silence, lost in my own thoughts.
Then, she brought up yesterday's situation. "Ashley, who was the boy who dropped you home yesterday?"
I feigned ignorance, poking at my food with my fork. "Which boy are you talking about?"
"Don't act clueless. I saw you arriving on his motorcycle through the outdoor cameras." She insisted, her gaze piercing.
I met her gaze defiantly. "The driver never showed up, so he offered me a ride home."
"I don't want you associating with those types of people." She cautioned, her brown eyes locking onto mine as she smoothed out her hair.
"He's not a criminal." I retorted, feeling a surge of irritation, even though I couldn't quite understand why I was defending Tyson.
"You're here for a fresh start, Ashley. Don't ruin it." She warned, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.
I rolled my eyes at her words.
Just then, my father entered the room, wearing a suit and tie. "The driver is currently unavailable, so I will have to hire a new chauffeur." He explained as he took his seat at the table.
I seized the opportunity. "So, does that mean I can have access to my car and bike keys?" I asked, eager to regain my freedom of mobility, since the personal driver was unavailable.
"No, I don't want you roaming the streets of this city." My father objected, shaking his head as he began to serve himself breakfast.
I scoffed, but before I could voice my thoughts, my stepmother chimed in. "What are you wearing?"
"Are you blind? It's clothes," I replied; I was wearing (A/n - Picture below).
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"Don't talk to your mother like that." My dad's voice boomed, causing me to push back my chair at the dining table in frustration.
I stormed away without uttering another word, his words echoing in my mind. "He speaks as if she's my real mother." I grumbled to myself.
