"Your best isn't good enough, try harder."

"You'll never be the son I wanted."

"Seventeen years old and the only thing you know how to do is disappoint me."

"Your mother is dead because of you. You killed her. Even as a baby, you were a failure. Not even a day old and you managed to murder your own mother."

I used to call it tough love. But silly me, that phrase has the word love in it. In my entire seventeen years of living, never had I once felt that my father truly loved me. Had he fed me, given me an unlimited amount of booze, girls, and wealth? Well, sure. But never once in my life had he given me the one thing I always craved from a father -- affection.

As a child growing up, my nanny, Nora, was the closest thing to family I had received. She acted as a mother, the mother I never had. Because I killed her, as my father liked to remind me. My nanny was the house maid even before I was born, she tells me he wasn't always like this, and he was a good man before his beloved Rosalie, my mother, died giving birth to me.

It's unfortunate how I've never met that man.

Everything I do, is never good enough. Every test I had aced, every football game I had won, he didn't care. Although, he did care when I had gotten less than a 100% on my report card. He'd care when I lost a game, he'd care every time I did something wrong. I strove for perfection, and perfection only, just so I wouldn't disappoint him. But that's all I'd seem to do -- disappoint.

Everyone has their breaking point, right? Well, mine came on a dreary October day. I was clad in my freshest, perfectly tailored Armani suit, hair quiffed to perfection, and a briefcase organized as neatly as could be. I had finally wanted to impress my father just once, by using my trust fund to invest in a bar that I thought was worth while.

Long story short, he was infuriated that I had wasted his time on a 'rundown piece of shit joint' and I left with a busted lip and a shattered heart.

Moments after storming out of his building, I whipped my phone out furiously, dialing a number I knew all too well.

I waited for her to pick up. One ring, two rings, three-

"-Well, hello Styles," her soft voice spoke through the phone. Even her voice sounds menacing. "What do you want?"

I angrily licked over my wound, the metallic taste of blood making me fume in anger. "I have a proposal."

I could practically hear her smirk over the phone. "And what's that?"

Swiping my tongue over my lip once last time, I smirked. "Well.. how do you feel about making a deal with the devil?"

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