"Mother!," I exclaim in surprise and immediately sit up straight.

She stands firmly at the entrance with her arms crossed on her chest. As usual, she wears a dignified, cold expression, with her glossy black hair screwed into a tight bun and an extravagant cream-colored dress clings to her body. She always looks likes she's going to a wedding, but today her dress looks even higher class than usual. Her high cheekbones and unsmiling face make her look even more unapproachable. I'm glad that I've got her thick, beautiful black hair, slender nose, slim face, and creamy chocolate skin, but the comparisons just about stop there. Personality wise, I'm nothing like her.

"Didn't Mary tell you to come down for dinner?," she asks sharply.

I lie. "Yes, I was on my way."

She glances at my clothes and her nose wrinkles in distaste.

"What on Earth are you wearing?!"

Um, sweatpants and a t-shirt, obviously. That's what I want to say but don't. It's better not to talk back with my parents. Instead, I just sit and wait for her to continue talking.

"We have special guests over today, and here you are dressed as you live on the streets! Hurry up and get proper- wear one of the nice ones in the side closet- and fix your hair. It looks like you've been in a car wreck."

I say monotonously, "Yes, mother."

She nods in approval. "Be downstairs in five minutes." Then she turns away and walks out of my room.

I breathe out the long breath I must've been holding in and release my phone from my tight grasp. I'd have to figure out this 'stalker' mess later. For now, I need to get ready for the special guests. I know that's just my mother's way of telling me that I have to meet another stuck-up-rich-boy from a stuck-up-rich-family. She thinks I'll get married to one of them, and have kids and create another family line of wealth and prosperity. I honestly don't care about the whole 'passing down the wealth idea' because I think living like this sucks. Because as ridiculous as this may sound, I wish I lived a normal life with a normal family. And one that cared.

I sigh and walk over to my side closet in the back of my room. There's a large variety of fancy dresses all in different colors, shapes, and sizes, but equally expensive. My eyes land on a silky, blood-red dress with thin straps. It's v-necked and cuts down a little low so it'll show off my cleavage. I'm a proud B and I have a push-up bra to do me good. The gown is barley to my knees so my thin, toned legs are on display. I know this is what my mother wants. 'Dress to impress' is what she says.

I put the dress on, feeling exposed with almost every curve and line of my body visibly outlined for display. I know I just need a minute to adjust.

   Walking over to my large full-body mirror, I yank out my messy ponytail and my hair falls down to my upper back. I grab a comb and hair conditioner. I quickly try to get out the knots and de-frizz the wild curly beast. Now, it looks presentable.

  My shoe closet is stocked with heels, flats, boots, wedges- all premium class in every assortment- and put on black heels. They're Louboutin's and extremely wrinkle-free and shiny.

   Nothing is out of place: perfect hair, dress, and everything. It's almost too perfect.

An idea sparks in my mind. I grab a shade of lime green lipstick and quickly apply a layer, then make my way downstairs, smiling.

Oh, she is going to love this.

After I reach the bottom of the gigantic, spiraling mahogany stairs which look like a bronzed, larger version of the ones in the Titanic. I imagine I'm Rose and Jack is waiting for me in the ballroom. From the bottom of the steps, I take a right into the dining room. The 20 ft high ceiling is adorned with crystal glass chandeliers illuminating a bright sun-like glow. This room honestly has the best lighting. A large, wide, oval-shaped table stands directly in the center of the room and around it sit five people, all of them looking very dignified. My footsteps echo loudly in the enormous, spacious room and everyone's eyes are trained on me: it's obvious they've been waiting.

But the only person I'm paying attention to is my mother. I smirk in satisfaction as her expressionless yet pleasant face hardens and her eyes widen and flash with anger. Normally, no one would notice these small signs (she's obsessed with being a perfect public figure), but I know her too well.

She smiles kindly at the guests across the table before saying a polite "Please excuse me for a moment", and gets up from her seat.

The guests seem slightly appalled by my unique taste of color, but their son seems like he's fighting to maintain a straight face. My father has his hands up, resting under his chin while giving me an intensely disapproving look and I know he's angry.

Meanwhile, I pretend to be unaware of the predicament as my mother continues to stride towards me, the anger on her face becomes clearer with every step closer.

   When she gets to me, I can really see her eyes burning, hotter, and deadlier than a fire from hell. She puts her arm around me wordlessly and guides me out of the room.

   I gulp.

   We are a safe distance from the audience when she releases her frustration.  I stare deep into her eyes, my rebellious mood starting to fade as I  begin regretting the neon lime green.

   "Lianna. Rose. Marie. Bourdillon." She pronounces each word like they'll be the last I ever hear. Her accent is thicker than usual and every sharp consonant, every deep "r", every single sound of every letter resonates in my mind.

She wasn't just mad. She was furious.