She hated nothing more in the world than her father’s fortune. Little reminders of each dollar earned and spent had her thinking of all the lost memories. She didn’t even know who her father was, not really. Yes, he was the man downstairs, sitting at the end of a long table and attending his stuffy dinner party with members of the board, but she rarely spoke to her father. They had nothing to say and no interests in common; it had been that way since her mom died, though deep down she wished things were different. That was why she resented hiding in a bathroom that was larger than most people’s bedrooms, glaring at the bidet as if all her disappointments came from that one fixture. She turned her head toward the open window and exhaled heavily. While sitting on a marble countertop, she leaned back against the wall and brought her feet up to cross her legs in a very unladylike manor, but she ignored her appearance because she was alone. She didn’t know why she went to such great lengths to conceal her habit.
