"And we all need a shoulder to cry on..

 Once in a while."

Blackened blue eyes by The Charlatans. 

"Candice, meet Carl Evans, my father." Dylan smiles tightly, beckoning to the middle-aged man, who's dressed in a sleek, deluxe tuxedo. "Dad, this is my girlfriend Candice."

I can feel myself tensing up upon the word 'girlfriend', and the way Dylan's hand tightens on my hip, gives me the impression that he can feel my strain.

I extend my hand to the man, and he takes it, gently shaking it while he cannily examines me with his sparkly, hazel eyes. "Nice to meet you." I smile nervously, suddenly feeling dithery.

The man nods, a frown marring the place between his eyebrows as he looks at me. "Likewise." He drawls, before he casts his attention on Dylan. "Aren't you going to introduce Jennifer?"

My eyes move to the blonde woman standing next to Dylan's father. She looks like an adolescent who's aspiring to look older, but in defiance of that fact, she still looks so young to me, maybe a few years older than me. She looks voguish in the latte, sequin minidress she's wearing, the tight material hugging her figure like second skin. When I perceive her mien again, I can see that she's flushed with embarrassment.

Dylan chuckles. "Well, you just did. No need for me to do so."

"Dylan!" The man scolds, his eyes bristling, before he senses me watching him, his gaze fluttering to me, then back to his son. "We'll talk later." With that, he veers, leading the young woman–Jennifer– away with him.

"What was that about?" I ask, staring at Dylan, whose uncharitable gaze is oriented onto his father and his date.

He sighs. "Daddy issues–we all have them."

"I don't." I contend, not missing a beat.

His face whips to face mine, his eyes softening forthwith. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to sympathize, but I cut him off. "That woman looks much younger than your father. Is he like-" I lower my voice. "-cheating on your mother?"

I expect him to reproach me for my incult nosiness, but he surprises me when he throws his head back, laughing. "No, Candice." He shakes his head, his chest still convulsing with laughter, before he suddenly stops, his expression turning earnest. "My mother is no longer around."

My mouth drops open. "Uh- I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to-"

He laughs again, shaking his head. "Relax! She's not dead." He simply rectifies, before he looks away. "Can't say she's alive either."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

But he never gets to answer, before Logan horns in, looking steamed up, his hand clenched so hard around his champagne glass. He fixes his gaze on Dylan. "What the fuck is that slut doing here?" He accosts.

Whom is he talking about?

Dylan huffs, his hand abandoning my body altogether. "Ask her."

Logan's lips become a straight line. "Don't fuck with me, Evans. Why didn't anyone tell me that she's invited?"

"Because she wasn't?" Dylan shrugs. "She's only my father's date."

"What?" I break in. "Are you talking about Jennifer?"

Logan's attention moves to me, before he hums thoughtfully. "Oh, that name! It's been a while since I've called her anything but slut." He lets out a humorless laugh. "Precisely, ever since she slept with him." He motions to Dylan with his head, his face red-hot.

I gulp, realization springing sheer. "She's your ex?" I hiss, appalled by the fact that she's escorting Dylan's father after she slept with his son.

Logan merely shrugs, before he centers his attention on Dylan's father, who's conversing with a consort of peers, laughing audibly. "Lousy bastard." Logan slurs, before he aims his displeased gaze on Dylan. "Like father, like son." Just like that, he sheers, leaving me with a wide-open mouth.

I hazard a glance at Dylan's face, and as I prefigured, I find him impassive and calm, looking not at all affected by Logan's insult, but I know better. I don't know what possesses me, but then strikes an urgent need to forfend Logan's words from getting under Dylan's skin. "He's no better." I say through gritted teeth, replacing my champagne glass with a full one when a waiter passes.

I feel Dylan's probing gaze on me now, but I refuse to meet them, scanning the crowd for any distraction, and the odds don't disoblige me, portraying Claire, who's being hugged and greeted by manifold people. "Ah! The birthday girl is finally here to bestow her presence on us." I mutter, watching everyone's eyes as they rivet on her like she's some femme fatale. She sashays around, greeting the guests, her metallic, jacquard, fit and flare dress flittering like wings.

Prancing toward us, Claire sets her gaze on Dylan, grinning straightaway. "Thank God you didn't come late this time." She exhales, wrapping her arms around his neck in an embrace.

My hand grips my champagne glass tighter, and it takes every bit in my might to stand still, refraining from cutting off her arms right here and now.

He smiles, hugging her back. "Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday." I butt in, ready to wrench her hands away myself.

Her smile freezes, before it's completely wiped away when Dylan pulls away. Without even acknowledging me, she steers away to another group, like she never heard me. I can't help but laugh. "Why, ain't I opaque." I mutter, rolling my eyes.

I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, seeing all of those people coinciding here to celebrate the day she was brought to life, while I barely have people who care about my existence. I watch with resentment, the feeling of envy new to my complexion.

"Jealous?" I start when I feel Dylan's arm sneaking around my midriff once more.

I titter. "Because she hugged you? No."

He chuckles. "That's not the reason I was going to voice, but thanks for sharing." He brushes his lips against my ear, spawning a shiver to dash down my spine. "You're jealous because she has the attention of the room."

I concrete in his hold. "What?" I scoff. "Of course not! I hate attention." That's true. I do hate attention, but something has just originated inside of me; a feeling of urgency to be appreciated; to be cared about.

"You're jealous because everyone in this room is here to glorify her birth, something you've never experienced." He continues, disregarding my words.

"You're a fucking asshole." I hiss, trying in vain to free myself from his airtight hold on me.

His lips move down, all the way to my neck. "Would it make you feel better to know that I never celebrate my birthdays?" He asks. "To know that I'm just as lonely as you?"

"Oh really?" I splutter. "You have a lot of friends."

He emits a cold laugh. "No friends are made of paper."

I frown. "What?"

He doesn't respond, uncaging me from his hold, before he takes my hand. "Come with me." He ushers me to a group of guests, where his father is standing.

"I don't want to chat with them!" I whine. "I feel so small in this place."

He doesn't listen to me, still guiding me to them. "Mrs. Rogers." Dylan smiles at a tall, middle-aged woman with short, blonde hair, who's arrayed in a V-neck spaghetti-strap dress.

Her gaze shifts to Dylan, smiling, before she perceives me, or rather the arm he has on me, her smile faltering. "Dylan honey." She gives him a quick hug, before she pulls back, fastening her attention on me. "Date?"

He shakes his head. "This is Candice Woods, my girlfriend." He corrects, causing her mouth to drop open, incredulity written all over her face.

Why does he keep lying?

"Candice Woods?" She asks. "Are you-"

"Jeffrey Woods' daughter." Dylan finishes, and just like that, the group's attention concentrates on me, as if I were a unique, flamboyant gem.

"Really?" Another woman exclaims, looking at with a surprised countenance.

"Unquestionably." Dylan confirms, and before I even realize what's happening, Claire's mother pulls me in a tight hug.

"Oh, dear! Your father and grandfather were great men!" She pulls back, her smile so sweet, that I feel sick. "How's your grandma's treatment going?"

And after that, they all start hammering me with a myriad of questions, and instead of stopping at that, they convoke some of the guests to meet me.

I become the cynosure of the attention. Everyone comes to greet me. Everyone speaks about the eminence of my father and family.

Everyone addresses me like the only Woods heir I am.

And I'm not sure whether I enjoy it.

Dylan extricates me from the quandary he put me into in the first place, leading me further into the mansion to a place where the guests are dancing to Florence Welch's soothing voice, before he positions one hand on my waist, taking the other one in his hand.

"You did that on purpose." I say.

He prompts me to move with him. "And now you're the focus of their obsession." He states, staring at me with marvel, his hazel eyes twinkling like a pair of bijoux. "So eye-catching."

I attempt to dance according to his moves. "Eye-catching because I'm Jeffrey Woods' daughter."

He spins me, before he surprises me with a dip, causing my hard to drop to my feet. "They may be enthralled by you just because you're Jeffrey Woods' daughter," He responds, pulling me up against him once more. "But I'm enthralled by my Candy; the petite, short lass who barely reaches my shoulder, yet dares to drive me crazy." He chuckles. "Are you aware that you've stepped onto my feet multiple times now?"

I look away, beaming. "I like that side of you more; the playful one."

"Are you sure?" He asks, leaning to whisper in my ear. "And here I thought you liked the vulgar side of me more, the side that makes you writhe under me with pleasure."

I suppress a shiver. "I like that one too."

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing that side when we leave this party. Punishment awaits you." His flashy eyes dim with arrant lust.

"Spanking, again?" I ask, my eyes shining with hope, and my core coveting his carnal touches, soft and rough.

He makes a tsking sound. "You really liked it, huh?" He queries. "Tonight I won't do that, though. Tonight I'll tie you up and feast on that sexy body of yours. I'll make you fucking come so many times you'll pass out."

His words shoot straight to my core. "I'm looking forward to that."

"Weren't we among these gentlemen, I wouldn't have hesitated to hike that dress up and feel whether you lied to me earlier or not." He promises, nibbling on my ear. "Tell me, Candy, if I sneak my hand under that dress, would I feel your bare pussy? Were you telling the truth earlier?"

I bite my lip, refraining from pressing myself up against him, and just before I get to say something back, Dylan's father interposes. "May I cut in?" He extends his hand to me.

I give Dylan a funny glance, scarified that I'm about to make a fool out of myself by dancing with someone else. "Uh- sure!"

I watch the movements of the other dancing guests, staring heedfully down at my feet as I move, and thankfully, my shambling movements don't embarrass me that much. One dance leads to another with someone else, and just like that, I find myself stuck again, their rapt attention overwhelming me. Incidentally, my eyes catch Claire's a few feet away, who's watching me with such scorching fire that is capable of deflagrating me and my surname. I can't help the smirk that takes over my face, never realizing that it would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

I watch her as she attempts to dump her empty glass onto the tray of a passing waiter, before the glass plummets onto the ground with an audible crashing noise, drawing the attention of everyone. She doesn't stop, making her way to me with wobbly feet.

She's drunk.

"Are you happy now?" She snaps, her voice high-pitched enough to make me want to block my ears.

"Claire?" Mrs. Rogers approaches, touching Claire's elbow.

"Answer me!" Claire yells, ignoring her mother. "Are you happy now that you stole everyone and everything I own? Even my birthday party!"

I shouldn't be taken aback by her sudden belligerence, but I am, regarding her face as it distorts with hatred.

"Claire, you're drunk." Claire's mother chastises through gnashed teeth. "Let's go upstairs." She tries to haul her away.

Claire doesn't budge, wringing her arm away. "No, Mom. Not before I reveal what kind of a whore she is!" She spouts, turning to Dylan. "I wonder what is it with men being into little whores like her! Is she really that good?" She conveys her enraged gaze to me once more. "Or is it something that she inherited from her mother? After all, she was nothing but a low-end prostitute."