At twelve years old, I started questioning all the things that I have. I wondered why I was accustomed to such a lofty lifestyle. I had things that cost so much, things that were alluring to the wanting eyes; things I did not deserve.

And the more I was reminded of these possessions, the more I abhorred myself for wanting more. I dreamt of plenty more things I didn't yet have, things forbidden of me, things not destined for me.

The problem wasn't the absence of contentment, it was the presence of longing.

I constantly asked myself why the abundance of my wealth did not make me full, let alone repress the hunger. Maybe I'm searching for something that isn't visible to the naked eye; something unrecognizable from afar, but gives me a purpose to live. Maybe I'm yearning for something worth bending over backwards for, something worthy of me, something I'm born for.

"I constantly think about the woman in the cemetery, that maybe she's the key to all this emptiness inside me. She could be a pathological liar who has come to the same place and time as me, and who happens to have the exact replica of my mother's work of art in her wallet photo, or she could actually be telling the truth. But one thing's for sure, I'm going to get all the answers to my questions," I wrote in the journal Sarah had given me. Alone in my room, I heard Eric's voice from up here, disturbing the peace I've gathered with my writing. I stepped out of my room in my nightgown, paying attention through the handrails.

Eric was too tied up, glued to his cellphone. He kept barking out orders at his employees on one line and impressing a hard-earned investor on the other.

Staring at him, I don't see the childhood friend I once partnered up with at seven minutes in heaven. I don't see the person who I run to after being taught strict table etiquette, desperately in need of a playmate in the park. I don't see the boy whom I use as an excuse to go to the beach whenever Sarah visits the city.

Apparently, all I see is an arrogant, ambitious, and self-serving man who is brainwashed into pleasing the lures of his parents' hollow promises.

Threatening to fire one of the servants, I came to him, rubbing his shoulders with my thumb, trying to ease his temper. "What's the problem? Talk to me, Eric. No one's getting fired."

"You're here all day. Couldn't you at least tell Lydia not to interrupt me when in the middle of a very important call?" He said, looking intently at Lydia.

"Mr. Greddon, I'm so sorry. Please do not fire me. I have nowhere else to go," she pleaded, her head facing down, tears trickling her tired eyes.

Eric cued his security to escort Lydia out the door. Taking another phone call, he went inside his office. Kneeling on the floor, "Please, Mrs. Greddon. I have kids," she shouted, begging for mercy.

Security held her arm. "Mrs. Greddon, please! I beg of you!" She slides her knees together towards me, hands in a clasp.

"Get your hands off her this instant! I'll take care of this," I said. They let go, returned back to their posts. Lydia wailed of fear and joy. "That's enough, honey. There, there," I crouched and patted her back.

"Now, why don't you bring me a cup of coffee, and we'll chat in my room." She nodded, pulling herself together. Lydia walked towards the kitchen, ignoring the other servants who witnessed the predicament.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Avery. Mrs. Laurel has been phoning Mr. Greddon for the past hours, and he refuses to get to the phone," Lydia confessed, putting my coffee on the table.

"Did she tell you what it was about?" I asked, sipping my coffee. She remained silent, pretending not to hear me. "It's okay, Lydia. You can tell me," I said.

Reluctant to get involved, she looked behind her to check if the door was closed tight. "Miss Avery, I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I heard Mr. Greddon and his mom having a fight last night when he was on the way to your apartment to pick you up, but I didn't know what they were fighting about," she replied.

"You can go now, Lydia. Thanks for the heads up."

Eric entered the room upset, uttering profanities here and there. "I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to scream at you or to fire Lydia. Just a case of bad timing. Forgive me?" He said, attempting to kiss me. Dodging from the kiss, I answered, "You know you can't always get your way with sweet talk. Learn to control your temper."

We fell asleep. In the middle of dawn, my bladder has forced me to get up and pee, so I did. But when I looked over beside me, Eric was already gone. Again. For the second time, he sneaked out before I could wake up, being mysterious of his whereabouts.

The wondrous sun has risen, flaunting its light to the birds that chirp proudly upon its power as a sign of praise. I was sleeping soundly as a toddler, until I felt a soft, long, mushy object poking my face, sliding across my nose bridge, cheeks, and along my lips, leaving a fish-like fragrance and a hint of salty aftertaste.

Annoyed by the thing hovering my face, I grunted, waking myself up. "Rise and shine, hot stuff," spoke a raspy, deep voice.

I squealed.

"Was that your dick!"

Rubbing my eyes, the mascara smeared all around my face. "You disgusting, conceited, per—" I yelled.

"Easy, Ursula. It's nothing you haven't seen before," he said, pulling up his pants.

"...Or touched."

"...Or sucked."

He laughed at his own comedy stunt, making jokes at my reaction. Storming with anger, I threw pillows at him. He covered his face in defense, warning me to stop. "You also have lunch at the Greddon's. You don't wanna be late," said Nate, raising his brows.

Leaping to the sink, I cleansed my mouth with cold, running water thoroughly. "How do you know that?" I asked, grimacing.

"I have a bad habit of reading journals. And you, my lady, need to learn the difference between a journal and a planner," he replied, walking down the stairs. His voice began to faint as he went farther.

"How many times have I told you not to —" I growled, following him. "That's it! I'm calling security," I shouted.

"I'm just cooking some pancakes. I'm basically harmless." He flipped the flat cake of batter on the greased pan, imitating the extraordinary culinary talent of Gordon Ramsay.

"Lydia!"

"Watch him like a hawk. Don't let him out of your sight," I shouted, glaring at Nathan.

Remembering to meet my family for lunch, I climbed back to my room and dolled myself hurriedly. While combing my hair, my phone kept ringing.

"Avery! My parents and yours have been looking for you. Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, Eric. I'm not ready yet," I replied, zipping my dress.

"Forget it." The call ended.

Nathan entered the room. "Awww, you disappointed your husband again?" He said, leaning by the door with arms crossed.

"Why don't you eat with me? Come on. You're already late. You can't fight with your husband on an empty stomach. Otherwise, you couldn't execute your seduction tactics at him as well as you do to me," he added, winking at me.

With not much of a choice, I followed him to the kitchen.

"So, I gotta go now." Nathan swallowed his last pancake. He wiped the maple syrup off the corner of his lips then stood up.

"So soon?"

"I still hate you, Avery Carter. You're just a pity party." He picked up his leather jacket and left.

Well, I'm pretty much all dressed. I might as well head over to the mall and buy a few things.

"Lydia! Tell the driver to start the car, please."

After an hour or two, I've arrived at the mall with a thought of baking my own blueberry pie.
It was the specific pastry my taste buds were craving for, probably because I used to eat it all the time whenever I visit the pastry shop right across my apartment.

Seeing the long line at the supermarket, I hastened to the baking essentials aisle. As I walked briskly, out of nowhere, I bumped at a woman whom I've met before, not long ago.

"Fate has led our paths again. I bet it's really trying to send a message," I said, delighted to see her.

"Get out of my way. I'm getting that last pair of Louboutins on sale," she replied.

"I'm not interested in shoes right now."

"Then move, princess," she grunted, pushing me to the corner.

She tried to walk past me amidst my desire to talk. "Alright, I'll give you any pair of sandals you want. I can contact Christian Louboutin, himself, if you want," I blocked her every attempt of escaping. "Or — or... I'll get you a round trip ticket to Paris tomorrow so you can shop till you drop."

Persuaded, she finally stopped walking. "I just want to talk. Please."

Finally, she stood still and gave her full attention.

"Why don't we pick up where we left off?" I smiled, taking a deep breath. "Uh, what's your name?"

"Audrey."

"Hi, Audrey. I'm Avery." I shook her hand. "Are you really my sister?"

"Yes, I am. Prettier, hotter, the one and only, Audrey Prawes."

"Prawes? I'm a van Carter, not a Prawes," I replied.

"So? We both saw the light of day as soon as we got out of our mother's vagina, no one else's."

"Then how come —"

"That's because our mother is a self-absorbed leech, preying on divorced business tycoons and sucking off their riches for botox, a bigger pair of boobs, and a sexier ass," she stated, removing her sunglasses.

"Are you saying our mother is a trophy wife?"

"Not exactly. When you were born, our family had a crisis: a financial one. Elizabeth wasn't working at that time, and dad, well you know, dad."

"There isn't a single casino he's never been in. Running short of money has never stopped him before. He sure had his ways. A sly, dedicated fox, our dad."

"I mean, my dad," she said.

"Wait, so if your dad isn't my dad then —"

"I'm sure our mother's redeeming qualities are still buried deep down those breast implants; sitting idly just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect time to clear things out and to finally tell the truth about your whole existence, Avery. I'm not an all-knowing deity, okay? Stop with the questions."

"Your dad...is he, uh, dead?" I couldn't help but ask.

"On the contrary, he's more alive than ever."

"Then how about —"

"That's all you need to know for now," she interrupted.

"Now where's the pair of Louboutins you promised me? Are you gonna tell me where daddy hides his luxury card?"