Chapter 4 BEAUTIFUL PRISON

{STEPHANIE}

The banging on the door violently yanked me out of that unawareness. I opened my eyes slowly and regretted it in an instance.

My head throbbed. It felt like it was about to explode. Or maybe it had already exploded and I had just yet to acknowledge the fact that I was dying. It certainly felt like I was about to die from that freaking headache.

This was my price to pay for moving around from club to club with Becky and her gang of cheeky divas. Now someone was subjecting me to extra torture, denying me of my much needed sleep.

"Ms. Stephanie!" the raspy voice of one of the male servants boomed. "Master told us to wake you. The reporters are on their way and will soon be here."

I pulled the pillow over my head, covering my ears, trying unsuccessfully to block out his voice. I hoped he would leave it he didn't get any response from me.

But he didn't.

He rapped on the door again, loudly.

"Ms. Stephanie!"

I groaned out loud so he would know I was up and get the fuck away.

"Master said to get up. I'm not leaving unless you're up," he told me.

"Alright, you son of a bitch," I muttered under my breath and called out for him to hear me. "I'm up!"

He still didn't leave.

I groaned out loud again as I crawled out from under the warm duvet and staggered my way to the door. The sound of the bastard's fists banging on the door matched perfectly in catastrophic symphony with the pounding inside my head.

With the way my head was heavy, I was sure I wouldn't mind having a plate of aspirin for breakfast.

"I'm up," I growled, glowering through heavy, shadowy eyes at the two sons of bitches who stood in the corridor.

My room had no lock – courtesy of Becky McMahon – and a maid could have been sent to get me instead of this scumbags who chose the aggressive way to wake me.

"I suggest you take a shower, Miss," one of them said. "Mr McMahon wouldn't like you reeking like toilet."

I sighed tiredly.

Nothing was like an insult for greeting. But I had spent two weeks in this house and I was now used to it.

"Thank you for reminding me, Joe," I said with a cold voice that dripped sarcasm. "What would I do without you?"

Then I bowed my head in a mock courtesy and it cost me another headache.

Joe wanted to say something spiteful but the other servant took control of the situation right on time. With orders from my rich father.

"When the reporters arrive, they'll interview you first. Mr McMahon wants you to say a few good words about the company. He says you should behave and not blow this up," the servant said.

"Then the family photograph will follow," Joe chimed in. "Mr McMahon wants a happy family photo."

I nodded my acknowledgement and having delivered their message, the minions walked away, leaving me to process everything they had said.

Happy family my ass.

Everyone knew this was only for the publicity. Father's damn company was in a crisis. A bunch of kids were playing with a toy robot – the new company product which the company had recently launched into the market– and things had headed south.

I don't know all of the details, but something had happened and they had to be admitted into specialist hospitals. Dad also had to pay for the surgery of three of the kids and a huge sum as compensation.

But the public outrage remained.

Someone advised that presenting his family might help the case in the eyes of the public and the fact that I, his daughter, was slowly gaining popularity as a pop artiste made me the best remedy for the crisis.

He needed me and I needed his money. So I had agreed to smile in front of reporters and tell lies in his favor.

I had done three interviews already. I should have known he would want more...

"Keep it up. A few more interviews like this and I will clear your mom's bills," he had said after the first.

And when we took the photographs, he'd say under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, "Smile for the camera, Steph. That's what I paid you for."

The bastard. He had yet to pay a single cent but he knew I would do whatever he wanted. I would do anything to save my mother, really.

.........

The events of the morning drained the last of my energy. I couldn't wait to get back to my room and crawl under the comforter and place my throbbing head on a pillow, and kept praying for everything to end quickly.

It all ended and I walked away, my head pounding fiercely. With the vicious throb in my head, I wondered how I had survived the ordeal. I survived and even my tyrant of a father had seemed pleased.

I was only a few feet from my room when Becky suddenly stepped in front of me, her arms folded.

I shot her a sour glare that could curdle milk.

"You're not allowed to leave your room today," she said.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Drake and his family will be here in an hour. I don't want you any where near him," she said nonchalantly and could as well have stuck out her tongue to my face.

A weak, dry laugh left my mouth. "And why the hell would I want to be with Drake or his family?"

She sighed dramatically. "Stop pretending, Steph. You know that you are jealous. He told me how you begged him to stay. And I know that you can't stand the fact that he chose me over you."

My blood boiled with fury.

I had never begged Drake to stay. I only hadn't be fast enough to realize that dickhead didn't deserve me.

I took a deep breath and spread my lips into a thin smile. "Rest assured, sister," I said. "You won't see me near your fiance or his family."

She curled her lips and rolled her eyes up.

I shrugged nonchalantly too, sidestepped her and started walking towards my room, but she grabbed my wrist, pulling me to a halt.

"Don't you dare go near him!" she snarled. "I'm warning you."

I jerked my hand, freeing myself. Then I stepped back and gave a mocking bow.

"As you wish, princess Becky," I said. "He is all yours. Besides, I think you both are a perfect match."

I turned around and continued for my room.

"Stay away from him or I'll tell dad not to pay you a cent!" she yelled.

I shook my head and muttered to myself.

She obviously didn't seem to realize how ridiculous her threats were. I didn't reply her or as much as glance over my shoulder. I just entered my room and shut the door behind me.

............

Two hours later, someone came to deliver a package from Becky – a black dress cover with my bridesmaid gown inside it.

I drew a deep breath, placed it on the bed and unzipped it, revealing the delicate fabric.

Pink.

No surprise there. I didn't have anything against the colour. It was the perfect colour for a bridesmaid dress. But there were others. Fuchsia, velvet–

The cut of the dress was the real bother.

The top was a heart-shaped bustier enforced by an underwire. And the skirt was nothing more than several layers of see-through materials with slits exposing bare legs with each turn.

As I looked over the gown I found another problem: The size.

The gown would so comfortably and easily accommodate Becky's nearly flat chest. But it would be an herculean task shoving my breasts into the bustier.

Muttering cuss words, I pulled off my t-shirt, peeled off my jeans. Then I pulled off my sports bra and picked the gown.

It took me ten minutes to put it on and tie the bustier without anyone's help.

I stood in front of the mirror and let out a groan.

This was a disaster.

The gown was almost choking me and my boobs under the bustier was so tight they looked like they would pop out at any time.

The rest of the dress also left very little, almost nothing at all, to imagination.

"You look hot."

Gasping, I turned around and saw Drake McConnor.

My crazy ex-boyfriend was leaning lazily against the door frame, his glacial blue eyes was fixed on me, taking in every inch of my body.

He looked the same as he was six months ago when we were still dating.

Like always, his light brown hair was slightly ruffled and he wore a half-buttoned black shirt and blue jeans–nothing to indicate the millions of dollars lazing around in his bank account.

"What are you doing here?" I gasped, grabbing a shirt and using it to cover my exposed breasts.

"Anything wrong in visiting your soon-to-be sister-in-law?"

"Its weird and wrong to just walk into any ones room without knocking," I said furiously. "I was getting dressed and you might have seen me naked–"

He let out a dark chuckle. "I've seen you naked before, remember," he reminded me.

My lips shaped a silent retort and my heart flew into my mouth as he stepped fully into the room, walking with so much pomp and confidence like he owned it. S smug smile appeared on his lips and he prowled

"I'd say you still look as hot as you used to be when we were, you know," he said and demonstrated with his fingers, the act of making love. He ran his tongue over his lips and hummed. "I wonder how you managed to stay so trim without my usual weekend banging."

"What do you want, Craig?" I demanded sourly.

"What do I want?" he repeated, his eyes roving all over my body, settling on my naked thighs exposed by the slit of the skirt. "What do you think I want?"

"How should I know?" I hissed exasperatedly.

He inched closer, still feeding his eyes with every inch of my supple body. "You. You, Tracy. I want you and I know you want me too."

Those icy blue eyes darkened and his expression turned feral.

"You living here in this mansion, it's like fate bringing us back together. Now, I can make you mine again."