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Ha. Ha. Ha. Look at this mistake. You see? This is what a human shouldn’t be.

It wassuperempowering.

“How is everything tasting?” Asher reappeared at our table, breaking me from my depressing reverie. His eyes flickered briefly over the other occupants before coming to rest on me. He offered me a crooked smile.

“It’s delicious, thank you,” I responded, chasing down a bite of my alfredo with a cup of water.

“It’s acceptable. The meat’s a little dry, however. I would like to speak to the cook about that.” D.O.D.’s eyes narrowed. Of course, my dad couldn’t go one freaking minute without acting like a complete asshole. And you wonder why I have no friends?

Asher visibly stiffened, but he managed another serene smile.

“Of course. I’ll go get him for you right away.”

I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that I understood the restaurant was packed and taking away the head chef in the middle of the dinner-rush was beyond idiotic, but I kept my mouth shut. I tried to convey with my eyes how sorry I was for, well, everything.

Something in my expression must’ve distracted him, because one second he was staring at me, and the next he was lurching forward. The plate of food he was carrying shattered on the floor, food flying through the air to land in Buttlicker’s lap. Dickhead immediately jumped to his feet, surveying Asher as if he was a potential threat.

I felt my body grow cold.

It was obviously an accident, but I knew my father and the people he surrounded himself with. The best-case scenario would be the waiter getting a good old firing. The worst…

Thinking quickly, I threw back my head and let out a lilting laugh. Every eye at the table immediately turned to stare at me. The usual chatter in the restaurant diminished around us until all I could hear was Asher’s pounding heart as he picked himself up behind me.

D.O.D. pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

I smoothed my expression into one of icy impassiveness. I called it my bitch face, one that I reserved only for meetings like these. It was a part that I had long since perfected. Bitch me was almost like an extension of my hand.

“I didn’t appreciate the way the waiter was ogling me,” I said flippantly, scowling at Asher. He blinked at me, momentarily speechless. “So, I taught him a little lesson about respect.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder for effect. I had seen girls do it in movies, so I figured why the hell not?

You got this, Adelaide. You’re a bad bitch.

D.O.D.’s hands tightened around his cup until I could see his blue veins protruding from his alabaster skin.

“You tripped him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I just wanted to teach him some respect, daddy dearest. Isn’t that what you always told me?” Yeah, so maybe now I was being a sarcastic bitch instead of just a mean bitch, but I couldn’t help it. He always seemed to bring out the worst in me. Maybe I just figured that whatever punishment he dished out wouldn’t change no matter how bad I was. I could murder someone, and it would be just as bad as if I were to cuss at the dinner table.

Not as if I had ever murdered someone before, mind you.

For a moment I thought he was going to yell at me in front of the entire restaurant. I even feared that he would throw his cup at me. Glass was a pain to get out of my skin and hair. After what felt like an eternity, he released a breath while simultaneously releasing the cup. I felt like I could breathe again.

“We will discuss this tonight,” he said stoutly, turning back towards his meal. His eyes promised pain. Lots and lots of pain. Buttlicker, beside me, grinned like the deviant I knew him to be.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, but I would be more than willing help you administer punishment.”

My fork clattered against my plate, and my mouth dropped open.

God no. Please no. Not again. No. No. No.

“I believe we could come to an agreement,” D.O.D. said with a tiny smile. “If you, of course, agree to my original proposition.”

Once again, the conversation turned back towards buildings and real-estate and all that other fun stuff. I, however, felt as if I couldn’t breathe. My body felt cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over my head. It was a numb type of cold. Painful, almost, but dulling as the seconds dragged on.

I noticed that Asher hadn’t moved from where he stood behind me, food covering his white shirt. Nobody paid him any mind as the conversation veered towards contracts – not even my mother was staring at him any longer – but I could feel his eyes caressing my back. I tried my hardest to ignore him, tried my hardest to face forward, but the urge to turn around was almost unbearable. Finally, I couldn’t resist any longer.

His eyes were anguished when they met mine. His thick, ebony lashes feathered against his cheekbones. Just as suddenly, the expression was swept away by a tidal wave of anger. His gaze turned towards my father, who seemed utterly oblivious to the penetrating gaze searing his skin.

I recognized that look. It was the same look I have both given and received. That look promised pain and revenge.

It was also a look that made me, almost innately, hopeful.

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