Driving You Insane: How To Become Famous

DENOVA'S POV

"Look at them," I said to my best friend, Cameron as she munched away on a bag of Cheetos while I glared spitefully at my ex boss and his band of uncultured misfits. "Just sitting there, laughing and getting ready for the shoot. I should be in there right now!"

Cameron chewed loudly which agitated me even more, and I turned to pass my hard glare to her. She squirmed, getting the memo, and stopped chewing immediately.

"You said you didn't care about the shoot but here we are playing 'spy kids' on Chad and his poorly selected models. Which is it?"

"You think they were poorly selected too, right?" I asked, ignoring her question and dwelling on the fact that she also thought those girls in there were not worthy as well.

She sighed and kept the almost empty bag of Cheetos on the floor beside her.

"What are we really doing here?"

By here, she meant the front of Claireline Studio inside CBC department store, the biggest, luxurious and most expensive department store there ever was.

There was supposed to be a photoshoot for a new face cream that was produced by Clenton, a small cosmetics company that relied on how beautiful their models were for pushing sales instead of the contents of their products. I was supposed to be one of the models, but, the person in charge refused to let me be a part of it for petty reasons and my stupid agent agreed to it!

"I don't know, okay? I'm mad and I'm angry and I feel violated. He molested me and kicked me off the team because I wouldn't comply and now he's in there, surrounded by pretty girls and having a good time while I'm out here, jobless and slowly losing my mind because of how hurt and angry I feel, knowing that I can't do anything about it!"

Tears began to well up in my eyes and I blinked them away. Oh, the audacity of Chadwick to support Mr. Dinero after what he did to me! If I had the money, I'd sue them both.

Cameron's lips began to quiver, and she pulled me in and hugged me tight.

"Sweetie, I am so sorry that you went through that..."

"I want revenge," I said, interrupting what I'm sure would have been a heartfelt speech, suddenly feeling the need to pay Mr. Dinero back. Cameron backed away from our hug and stared at me like I had finally lost it.

"By revenge, you mean justice, right? As in going to the police and reporting this case so that he can be dealt with according to the law?"

I shook my head. "No. I mean mess him up real bad. Take matters into our own hands. Do something that he'll regret for the rest of his life."

"Denova..." she started in a warning tone but I cut her off sharply when I witnessed something unholy happening in the studio through the wall length glass window.

"OMG! Look at that. Just take a look at that, Cammie. He's at it again."

Inside the studio sat Dinero and a beautiful blond girl of about twenty on a two-sitter couch. She was clad in black leather pants, boots to match and a white tank top. Deniro's slimy hands were all over her, and, even though she clearly didn't like the contact made obvious by her constantly shrugging him off, his stupid asshole brain didn't register that and kept doing what he wanted. Disgusting pig!

"This is what I mean. The law wouldn't make him pay; they'll just ask him to pay a fine."

"Payment is still being made regardless," she responded ignorantly. I gave her a deadpan look.

"Don't be ridiculous Cameron. Just...don't."

Sighing, she bent to pick up her snack and continued her annoying munching noises.

"What do you want to do to him? Smash his head in? I was only joking Denova, jeez," she added when she saw the smile of approval on my face after she made that suggestion.

"I have a better idea. Follow me." And without warning I grabbed her by the wrist and hurled her over to the elevator that took us down to the basement parking lot.

"Mr. Dinero just got himself a brand new Rolls Royce. On installment."

Adrenaline coursed through my whole body as I eagerly searched for his Rolls Royce. I didn't know the plate number, but I knew it was bright red and that he parked it in the VIP spot even though he wasn't one.

"Denova, I don't think this is a good idea." There was panic and apprehension in her voice as she followed me reluctantly.

"You don't even know what I want to do," I replied while checking the logo on each of the vehicles parked in the VIP section. No Rolls Royce yet.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you want to do. Expensive car + penchant for revenge = serious trouble that you will get into if you don't stop this madness now."

"Too late. Already found it." I drummed my fingers triumphantly on the hood of the car while Cameron muttered profanities.

"Great. You found it, now let's go!" She was still holding the bag of Cheetos and I snatched it from her. Too bad it was empty.

"You can't do that," she complained as I tossed the empty bag on the floor. "That's littering."

While she was bending to pick up my trash, I was taking off my earrings and getting it ready to be used as a writing tool.

"The thing is, dear best friend, I am so out of it right now that I don't even care about the rules. Heck, I don't even care about the rules of grammar!"

An ear piercing shriek escaped from Cameron's throat, and while she was screaming her head off with her blue eyes getting bigger each time her pitch rose, I was busy laughing at the master piece in front of me.

I had clumsily carved out the words 'Deniro is a ashule' on the side of his car. I even added a smiley face emoji that somehow ended up looking like a smiley devil emoji.

"We are so dead. We are so dead, Denova. We are going to jail. I am going to get fired and we are going to jail!" She kept repeating "we are so dead" pacing up and down the empty lot like a mad woman. Then she suddenly stopped her mad walk and pointed at the writing on the car door.

"You even spelt his name wrong!" Cameron scratched at the misspelled name as if that was going to magically erase it, and when it didn't work, groaned loudly and tapped it vigorously. "It's 'Dinero' not 'Deniro'! How do you not know how to spell your boss' name?"

I shrugged my shoulders and ignored her, because it really didn't matter to me.

Let's see how you'll get rid of this one now, you piece of sh-

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

My thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice from behind. I spun around swiftly and was met with a hard face and a cold glare of a suited man.

Shit!

His eyes shifted to the inscription on the car and then back at me, colder and harsher.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked again. Cameron and I exchanged worried glances, but I could tell she was more worried than I was.

Without waiting for a response from either of us, he took out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"I'm sorry sir, but there seems to be a problem with your car..."

Cameron tugged at my sleeve while the other man relayed the issue to who seemed to be the owner of the car on the other end of the line.

"What is it?" I hissed at her when her tugging became too much. Slowly and with a shaky finger, she pointed at a car parked next to the one I drew on. My face turned white.

Shit!

Parked right next to the red Rolls Royce that I inscribed on was another red Rolls Royce sitting prim and proper. With the luck I had, I had a strong feeling that car belonged to Dinero.

Why the hell didn't I notice that before? How did I miss it?

"What's going on?"

Deep, sexy and scary, that's how the owner's voice sounded. Cameron was the first to look at him. I prayed silently for the ground to open up and swallow me.

I saw his shoes when he walked passed me to take a good look at the mess I made. It was one of Bentorhys-Ciaga's new releases.

"You spelt 'asshole' wrong." That was when I looked up at him.

Dark hair that was combed back, beautiful brown eyes, thick sculpted brows, a finely chiseled jaw and lips that just drew you in; the man before me was no man at all; he was a demigod!

"And you wrote 'a' instead of 'an'. And your handwriting's terrible. I can't even find a reason to not be mad right now."

"Mr. Sir, I...I..."

In all my 19 years on earth, I have never been at a loss for words. This was most definitely going down in history as one of the most embarrassing things that ever happened to me.

"Miguel?" he called to the man we met earlier. "Call my lawyer. They can be sued for property damages right?"

Cameron choked and probably died and came back while I looked like a fish out of water.

"Wait a minute sir!" I screeched and grabbed on to his arm. He stared at my hand on his arm like he intended to laser it off. I quickly pulled away.

"There seems to be a big misunderstanding." He raised a perfectly sculpted brow at me questioningly, probing me to rectify the mistake.

"I thought this," I pointed at his car, "belonged to someone who deserved to have their car scratched, but clearly I was wrong. I meant you or your car no harm."

"And yet here we are." I almost melted at the sound of his voice. Damn it was sexy.

"I just got this car yesterday Miss. Not even up to 24hrs and it looks like something that belongs in a junkyard." Then he turned to Miguel and added, "Call my lawyer."

I was shaking like a leaf in autumn. Cameron was trying hard to not cry and pass out in that moment. Mr. Rolls Royce was standing like a perfect statue, glaring hard at the inscription on his car. I bet he wanted to inscribe something on me just like I did to his car!

With the three of us occupied by our own thoughts, no one noticed the car that was heading towards Miguel from the opposite direction until it was too late.

The sound of him being crashed into, flying over the hood of the black truck that hit him, and then rolling down the parking lot floors sent us all into overdrive.

Mr. Rolls Royce yelled out profanities as he rushed to his driver's side and I quickly pulled out my phone to call 911. Cammie was busy muttering nonsense to herself which had me convinced that she had completely lost it.

After I hung up, I joined Mr. Rolls Royce by Miguel's side, assisting him in stopping the blood that was gushing out of Miguel's skull. While he looked pale and lifeless, his boss looked quite the opposite. I had never seen eyes that angry and thirsty for blood.

Mr. Rolls Royce looked like he knew who did this to his driver and he had every intention of paying them back a hundred folds.

DENOVA'S POV

Staring at my reflection at the hospital's restroom mirror, I realized just how little I knew about myself. If someone had told me that I would be able to witness another gruesome car accident without breaking down or losing my shit, I would have assumed they were mocking me and they would have been in my black list. Today, however, proved me wrong.

I was as calm as calm could be despite having just seen someone's bone stick out of their leg. My heart wasn't racing, and I wasn't reeling over. I even felt hungry.

You are capable of murder, Denova, I told myself as I left the restroom to join Cameron and Mr. Rolls Royce in the waiting room. I really admired him for waiting; I mean how many bosses waited for their employee to get out of surgery when they could be anywhere but?

Cameron's face was white as chalk when I met up with her again. She was sitting on one of the chairs there just staring out into space. I really felt bad for her; Cameron does not do well with blood.

"Are you okay Cammie?" At the sound of my voice, Mr. Rolls Royce turned to look at the both of us. He gave me a look that implied he wanted to say "She wasn't the one hit by a goddamn truck so why the hell wouldn't she be okay?"

I scowled at him and turned my eyes back to my best friend who seemed to have noticed the very much unappreciated look from Boss Man.

"I'm fine Denova. I think I just need to lie down for a minute." She stood up from the chair and held my hand tight. "I'll just go home now. I'll call you later."

Mr. Rolls Royce looked like he was going to stop her from leaving, but I came between them both, making sure he knew just how little I cared about where he wanted my best friend to be.

A call came in, breaking the cold silence that filled the waiting room after Cameron left. Mr. Rolls Royce was very reluctant to answer it; he wanted to keep glaring daggers at me, but the incessant ringing of the phone made him give up and answer it with as much venom as one could utter.

"What?" he spat. "Right now?...I'm kind of in the middle of something..." He took a quick glance at me before sighing and ending the call.

"Follow me," he said and started marching out of the hospital. Obviously no longer in control of my own limbs, I did as he instructed and hurried behind him, trying hard to keep up with his long strides.

"Do you know how to drive?" he asked once we got to the curb. I stared at him, mostly bewildered, because of how magical his voice sounded when he said 'drive.'

Sweet baby Jesus!

Even while covered in blood, his dark blue Bentorhys-Ciaga suit stained beyond repair, he still managed to look just as beautiful as when I first saw him. Even slightly messed up hair looked good on him.

"I can-"

"Go back to the scene of the crime and get my car. Bring it to BC headquarters," he said and tossed me the key.

"Excuse me?"

Who the hell did he think he was?

"You are excused," he responded coyly. "You do know where BC headquarters is right?"

"I have never driven a Rolls Royce before. I don't know if I'll be able to handle it," I said, ignoring his question.

"Well, miss..." he stalled, waiting for me to casually drop my name to fill in the blank. I did not. "I, too, have never had my brand new Rolls Royce inscribed on until this morning. I believe there's a first time for everything. Don't you?"

Without waiting for a response from me, he hopped into the taxi that just came up the curb. I watched as he left, utterly dazed, confused and mesmerized by the man who just left me, a complete stranger, and one who seemed to have a knack for destroying things, the key to his expensive ass car!

When I got to the underground parking lot of CBC department store, there were a few people gathered there with a couple of police officers. A yellow tape was strewn around there where the accident took place, indicating that people should not cross there.

Gingerly, I got in the car and sank in the gloriousness and lushness of the leather chair. Sweet mother of God, it felt amazing!

I can't believe that stupid Dinero gets to have that ass of his enjoy such luxury. The nerve! Evil people really don't suffer in this world.

I looked for the key hole in the ignition and found a button instead.

Of course it's a button and not a key, Denova. Jeez.

Carefully, I drove out of the parking lot and got on the main road. Luxury cars sure did have a different feel when driving than regular cars.

It took me about twenty minutes to get to the headquarters. I've always seen it in passing, but never this up close.

Covering at least 470,000 square feet, the enormous building stood five stories tall with panels of copper mesh sandwiched between glass panels to catch and reflect sunlight. Each panel was distinct in tone and color and this material produced a variety of chromatic effects in response to the natural light.

It was magnificent.

The parking lot was underground and so I drove there. It was only after I killed the engine did I realize I had no means of communicating with the owner of the car to let him know I had done what he asked. I thought of leaving it there, but I figured if something happened again then I'd be blamed for it.

I waited for him for hours, mad at him for wasting so much time and even more mad at myself for giving him so much of my time. There really was no need for me to wait that long for him, especially since he didn't ask me to, but I did, and it was frustrating as hell.

Finally, Mr. Rolls Royce showed up, looking dapper in a new suit, a lighter shade of blue than the former one. His dark hair was back to it's sleek glory and his eyes shone brighter than before. He looked almost...happy.

If a gourmet meal was a man...

"I'm glad you had the good sense to wait. Get in, we have somewhere to go."

He made to open the back door, letting me know instantly that he intended for me to drive him to wherever he wanted to go, and I stopped him, wanting him to know that none of that was happening.

"Mr. Rolls Royce sir-"

"Rhys," he said, interrupting me. He looked a little amused by the name I called him and I almost swooned.

"Mr. Reese, sir," I said, taking note of the correction. "I have somewhere else to be right now. If you could just take your car key back..."

"Really?" he said, snatching his hand away from my grasp as I attempted to return his key to him, and looked at his luxury brand watch on his left wrist. "I guess the jail cells will be open by this time of the day."

"I'm sorry, what?" At the mention of 'jail cells' I retracted my hand and held the key tightly.

"I mean, you did damage my property, and I can sue you for that. I believe if you have somewhere to be right now, it's there, unless you're free now and you can drive me to where I want to go."

He had on this devilish smile that irked me and intrigued me at the same time. I hated how distracted I was by his physical features. They were lost on a man like him.

"Where are we going sir?" I asked, flashing him my million-dollar smile.

You're such a suck up, Denova. I'm embarrassed for you

"The police station," he replied and got in the car.

"But you said-" I started protesting, following in his footsteps and settling in on the driver's seat.

"Not for you, Miss. You're not the only person that has wronged me you see." That last part was said with a bitterness that made me shudder. The smile he was harboring earlier was gone, and was replaced with a nasty scowl that made him look like a completely different person.

I drove him to the precinct, praying seriously that I wasn't taking myself to my own grave.

True to his words, he was there for a different reason.

I was asked to wait outside while he spoke to the commissioner, but I could still hear all that was said through the closed door of the commissioner's office.

"...this time around my friend was attacked," I heard Rhys say. "I was going to leave it, really, I was, cause I thought they were just playing around. It didn't seem quite important when all they did was send ridiculous notes and weak ambushes, but they crossed the line this time around.

"Miguel is in the hospital and he has a broken femur. He wouldn't be able to walk for a couple of months and breathing is going to be hard for him without a tube. His skull was cracked in and he has a concussion. Whoever did this has to pay."

That sounded like a revenge kind of 'pay' to me. I didn't think it was smart to tell a police officer that but I guess he didn't mind. Whoever this Reese guy was, it seemed he had friends in high places.

"I will get my best team on it sir, you don't have to worry about that," the commissioner assured him. I couldn't hear what they talked about after that since they decided to whisper about it. My guess is it was something not ethical especially for an officer of the law to be discussing with a civilian. I did however get the last part of Reese's statement:

"When you find them, bring them directly to me. I need to talk to them first before the law handles them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

If my understanding was correct, he wanted to take matters into his own hands. That, I understood completely. Sometimes, dealing with stuff like this yourself was way better and much more gratifying than going about it the right way. Something Cammie never understood.

Outside, Reese stopped to answer another phone call.

"Why on earth is it that every time I step out of the office for just a second, you guys find a way to mess things up, huh?"

He was grinding his teeth and his fist was clenched. Today was obviously not a good day for him.

"...so what now? Who's going to replace her?" he listened to what the person on the other end of the line had to say. "Call our lawyers and have her sued for breach of contract..."

What is with this man and suing everyone? Somehow though, I envied him. If only I had as much money as he did, I'd have sued Chadwick and Mr. Dinero as well.

"...I want them to squeeze out every last penny from her little bank account and when that's done, call every media outlet we have at our finger tips and make them air a story. I want her so done, she wouldn't be able to step foot in another fashion house again, do you understand me?"

With his breathing raged and fists clenching and unclenching, Reese looked about ready to give someone a good beating.

"CBC department store," he ordered and opened the back door.

Even though common sense asked that I kept my mouth shut and obey, my stubborn nature refused to be ordered around by a seething mad man. Plus, I needed to change my clothes and shower. Why does he have that choice and I don't?

"Mr. Reese sir, with all due respect, I am not your driver. I cannot drive you anywhere you want just because -"

He had the rudest ways of interrupting someone when they were speaking.

Slamming the door shut, he turned his now black eyes at me, with a perfect brow raised, daring me to repeat the nonsense I just uttered. I gulped

"My driver is in the goddamn hospital right now with a broken femur, a concussion, multiple fractures and 6 broken ribs. He is no condition to take me anywhere."

"I understand that very much sir, but you're making it seem like it's my fault, and while it was indeed a tragic accident, I did not cause it."

Foolish boldness, where on earth do I get you from?

"You didn't ?" he asked, his eyes incredulous, probably surprised by my audacity. I was surprised by it too. "Have you ever heard of cause and effect, Miss? You see, let me lay it out for you: if you hadn't scratched my car, my driver wouldn't have had to stick around that parking lot any longer than two minutes and he wouldn't have been in this situation he's in. Do you understand that?"

I felt my eyes water, and my heart ache. His words hurt, a lot. To think that my actions put someone else in danger scared me to my bones. Cameron always told me that my impulsiveness would land me in trouble one day; I guess that day was today.

I was brash and reckless and unthinking, and because of that someone got hurt. Again.

It's like you were made to cause others harm, Denova. Jeez.

"You have thousands of dollars to pay for the damages you caused and I'm very sure you can't afford it. I'm in need of a driver pronto. The way I see it, we can help each other out."

My tears were falling freely now, but they were angry tears. I hated how he just concluded that I couldn't afford to fix his car. I hated how he accused me of causing his driver's accident and how I didn't say anything but accept it. I hated how his eyes stared into mine, daring me to just counter him and do what my impulsive side was suggesting. But for once in my 19 years on earth, I decided to be rational.

I couldn't afford to fix his car like he said, and this really was an easy way out.

Just until his driver was well again.

With a fake smile that I willed myself to display, loathing myself even more for being such a suck up, I gripped the key with all the anger I was feeling, hoping that it'll disseminate into the key and I'll be fine again, and said:

"Well, then, you don't want to be late now, do you?"

RHYS' POV

My blood had boiled over and was now spilling by the time my new driver got to CBC department store. The phone call I received earlier pissed me off so bad that I ended up yelling at her, even though I didn't want to. Not that I said anything untrue though; cause and effect and everything.

All through the ride my new driver kept her face crumpled up in a scowl, which honestly didn't do her pretty face any justice. Her red hair was really messy and there was even a blood smear on her cheek. Safe to say her anger was justified; she looked terrible and she knew it.

She kept sighing and rolling her eyes every now and then and it irritated me. I'm sure all those negative pent up feelings were directed towards me even though she didn't say so.

As expected, the store was a mess. Reporters were gathered outside trying to pry their way in, asking unsuspecting customers ridiculous questions while taking shots of those that tried their best to leave the store unscathed.

I got in the elevator from the underground parking lot and went straight up to the eighth floor to meet the bastard who caused my mood swing this morning. He was sitting in his office wearing a grey three-piece Armani suit, a pair of LV shoes with his hair styled backwards and a Rolex on his wrist. Not a single item from our company. Damn traitor!

"You had a problem in the area you're handling and you decided you wouldn't suffer alone so you pulled that stunt you did with Candice, didn't you?"

The huge grin on his face that appeared when he saw me nearly tipped me over the edge. I wanted to punch him so badly.

"Now, now, Christian, what's the point of only sharing in each other's joys when sorrow is also part of life?" he said, not even trying to deny it.

I hated it when he called me Christian even though that was my name. It made him feel like he was superior to me, calling me by the name only my father called me, and that irked me.

"Do you know what kind of trouble you've caused for Bentorhys-Ciaga?" I asked, clenching and unclenching my fists.

"Enlighten me, Christian, are you referring to yourself or your father or the company when you say Bentorhys-Ciaga? You all kind of have the same name."

"Is this funny to you?"

I tried really hard to remember the words my mother used to say to me: 'Only uneducated people engage in fistfights.'

"Seeing you so worked up? Yes, it is funny to me. You started this, you know that, right Christian?" Malcolm got up from his chair and started walking towards me. "Your driver just had to have been run over in my territory." His expression turned serious and he glared at me as he uttered: "Do you know how mad your father was when he found out this morning? I've never been yelled at by your father like that before."

"So you screwed me over just because you got yelled at? Do you finally see the reason why I tell you that you don't deserve to be the CEO of any company, not less of CBC department store? You're childish and immature."

He laughed out loud like a maniac, and drummed his fingers on his giant oak desk.

"I will not argue with you on that one, Christian. I thought to myself, 'There's no need to be the only one receiving shit from Jericho Bentorhys-Ciaga. Let his son also have a bad morning.' Would you like something to drink?"

The intercom button was pressed and he requested for two cups of tea without waiting for a response from me.

"You thought I wasn't having a bad enough morning? I saw my driver get knocked off his feet like he was some kind of bowling pin and now he's in in the goddamn hospital with a concussion and several broken ribs. Have you ever seen someone's bone stick out from their body? I don't think so Malcolm."

Slowly and predatorily, I approached him, making sure my eyes stayed firm on his. "What the hell did you tell Candice for her to back out of our contract?"

He stepped back a little and smiled sheepishly, and then rolled his eyes playfully as well, giving him the expression of a school boy in love.

"I'm flattered you think I have that kind of control over someone like Candice Cane, but you're wrong. She chose to pull out all on her own. I simply...suggested a couple of things."

Our tea arrived and it was placed on the center table surrounded by four black leather B & B Italia couches. "Please, sit Christian. Let's talk about this diplomatically."

I complied, contrary to what my body actually wanted to do, and sipped the tea that was brought for us.

Green tea. Just fantastic!

"Be honest, Christian, was it fair for Jericho to be mad at me like that? It's not like I was the one that told someone to run Miguel over, right? And I didn't even call the press. I shouldn't have to be treated like that, right?"

I hated the way he talked. He made Miguel's accident sound like a mislabeling at a library.

"There is something sincerely wrong with you. Why did Jericho choose you to be the acting CEO?"

"Because he knows just how competent I am. I'm going to fix this little mess that you created with your driver-bestie and I suggest you do the same with your company. I heard that all the top models are unavailable at the moment. You better start searching for a replacement for Candice before it's too late. I have someone in mind if you're interested."

The mischievous smile that played around his lips made me certain of who he was referring to. He noticed that I got the hint, and he released a throaty laugh.

Malcolm stood up, ending the conversation we were having, and I sat there willing myself to not use violence. It was getting harder to do so; his face looked very punchable.

"One more thing, Christian. The police asked for the security footage for the parking lot. Don't worry, I gave it to them. I do want justice for poor Miguel, you see."

I did not see. He didn't sound like he cared at all.

"Know this one thing Malcolm; you are just an acting CEO. You aren't the real deal. I'm the owner of this department store and when I'm ready for you, your ass will be shipped to Ireland."

The satisfaction in my heart when his face turned sour knew no bounds. No words came out of his mouth and I could feel his cold glare on me as I walked out of his office.

Once I was inside my car and on my way to HQ, I made a call to my lawyer to remind him of the charges we had against Candice. The person manning my car sighed exasperatedly and made a disapproving sound at the back of her throat.

"If you have something to say, just say it," I said when I could no longer bear to listen to her sigh.

"No thank you. I have a feeling I'd be sued if I said anything."

She made emphasis on 'sued' so I guess that was what she had an issue with.

"You don't like how I manage my problems? Tell me, isn't it better that destroying someone's property, especially one that I'm sure I can never afford in this life time?"

She stepped on the brakes so hard and so quickly that if I hadn't had my seatbelt on, I would have gone flying through the windshield. Through the rearview mirror I could see her angry countenance. Oh, how murderous her hazel eyes looked. Dark green and ready to kill.

Slowly, she looked behind and when her eyes finally landed on me, she offered me that fake smile that she gave earlier. "Sorry about that. I'm still not used to this car."

When she flashed me her pearly whites, she looked oddly familiar.

Exhaling sharply, as if realizing that she was in the wrong, she said calmly, "I'm very much aware that violence is never the answer, but sometimes it's the solution – at least to solving your troubled heart's problem. Sometimes, making someone who caused you pain feel what you felt can be all the justice you need." Her words sounded sad and I had a feeling it was concerning the person whose car she was aiming for this morning.

She continued driving at a gentle pace. Her face was back to being normal which made her beauty seep through. Even though it was just her hazel eyes I could see through the mirror clearly, I knew she was still so beautiful.

All the pretty girls are insane.

She looked like she was still in high school, probably a senior. As she drove she kept tucking her hair behind her ear. The blood that was on her cheek was no longer there. I guess she wiped it away while I was inside with Malcolm.

It occurred to me then that I didn't know her name.

"What's your name?"

She looked at me briefly through the rearview mirror before responding: "Denova. Denova Michaelson."

Her name sounded very familiar. I was sure we had met somewhere.

"Have we met before Denova?"

Her brows were furrowed and her lips were curved in distaste. "Is that supposed to be a pick up line?"

I knew she regretted it the moment she spoke the words. I smiled.

"I don't need words to pick you up, Denova."

"Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?" she asked, clearly confused.

"What do you think?" There was a long silence after that. My bet was she was trying to figure out if it was indeed an insult or a compliment.

We arrived at my office and she slowed down when she pulled up to the drive way.

"I can assure you that we have never met sir. I'd have remembered you if we had; I have an eidetic memory you see, and I never forget a face."

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I decided to let Denova off early today since she clearly needed to shower and eat. I had to drive myself home after searching for a replacement for Candice with the rest of the PR team while also trying so hard to calm my father down and convince him to not return home. I wasn't really in the mood to see him. It was hard enough having to see my brother everyday. With him back, my 12,000 square feet gated mansion would seem like a tiny jail cell.

I punched in the passcode to my front door and opened it. The lights automatically came on, revealing the grand hallway that led straight to my living room. Of course, with the kind of luck I had, my step brother just happened to be passed out on my expensive white couch from B & B Italia, drooling on it with a half empty bottle of beer in his hand, while my living room looked like the inside of a cheap club on a Saturday morning.

He had another party, and this time around he invited more friends. Oh, the temptation to strangle him in his sleep!

"What did I say about throwing parties inside my house, Russell?" I asked him after I had managed to wake him up. His eyes were out of focus, and it took him a while to settle them on me."Hey, look, it's you," he slurred. "You're back so soon. I thought something bad happened to you. I heard the news from Mira."

I had no idea who Mira was and I didn't care. My house was a mess and my cleaners were away.

He tried to stand up, and fell back on the couch, groaning loudly as he did so.

"I have asked you multiple times to keep the social pariahs you call friends out of my living space. What the hell happened to the pool house, or the guest quarters or even the freaking sun room that you couldn't gather them there, huh?"

"You are so annoying, Rhys, you nag a lot."

"Russell, if you keep this up..." He rudely interrupted me by slamming the bottle of beer he was holding hard on my Venetian center table.

"You're what? Going to send me to Ireland?" He scoffed. "Dad wouldn't let you "

"Believe me when I tell you that dad doesn't give two shits about you," was what I wanted to say, but I opted for: "There are worse places than Ireland Russell. Don't tempt me."

He could see how dark my eyes became, how pissed I was through the huge veins that were popping out of my forehead. I wasn't a sadist or anything, but I always liked when he squirmed each time he saw my face. He needed a reminder that he wasn't all that he claimed to be when he was with his good for nothing friends.

"I didn't ask to be here Rhys!" he yelled.

Here we go again.

Sensing the direction in which this was headed, I chose to ignore him and make my to my bedroom upstairs.

"Neither did I. Stop making it sound like I'm making your life miserable Russell. You live under my roof, spend my money, and talk to me however way you want. All I ask in return is that you do not live like an animal in my domain. Don't invite your friends over if you guys can't have a decent gathering like proper human beings. I know you grew up in the rough part of town, but don't make that an excuse to act uncivilized. I hate filth; don't become what I hate Russell."

Oh, how much he hated me! I could practically feel the heat emanating from his whole body as he glared daggers at me while I ascended the stairs. I had to call the cleaning service that night to clean up. There was no way I was going to sleep properly knowing what was below me.

Not that I slept properly to begin with.

Russell yelled some words that I was just too uninterested in paying attention to, and a few seconds later I heard the front door close. I hoped while I took off my clothes that he wouldn't be back.

At least not until I felt like having a brother again.