"Angela, sweetie, this is Zayden Michele, your new personal bodyguard." Angela rolled her eyes at her father, Henry's words.
She had literally met her bodyguard in a not-so-normal way before her father introduced him to her. It was a good thing she had learned his name because she didn't think she would ever ask him. "I practically met my bodyguard before you introduced him, Father," Angela said, crossing her legs over one another on the cream couch she sat on, placing both hands on her lap. Zayden stood behind the opposite study chair in her father's study.
"Of course. Mr. Zayden was nice enough to show himself to you. Get acquainted; he might be your bodyguard forever. Jane recommended him, and Jane's sense of intuition never lies." Angela scoffed at his statement. Jane was her stepmother.
"Please…" She scoffed again. "Jane's intuition also brought those other bodyguards, and they fled before their contracts expired. He won't be any different." Angela looked at Zayden, who kept staring at her father unblinkingly, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of Henry's face. Zayden turned to look at her, and her heart jumped before she focused back on her father. "Where did you even find an elf?" She looked down at her pretty pink fingers.
"Sweetheart, you do forget we're living in a world where not only humans exist. Other creatures do too." Henry sighed. "If only you'd stop your rebellious attitude and get married." Angela raised her head to look at her father.
"I'm nineteen years old. Nineteen." She stressed the last word before continuing, "Zara is twenty-two and she's not married, Father. Do you want me to get married before her?" Angela asked, narrowing her eyes at her father.
If it were possible and not utterly disrespectful, Zayden would have opened the study door, left, and slammed it behind him. He wasn't in for some stupid father-daughter argument.
"Zara is different. I'm looking for a perfect match for her." Henry's voice hardened.
"And not for me? I don't deserve a perfect match too?" She scoffed and shook her head.
"I bring perfect suitors for you, Angela. You reject them all. And Zara is my first daughter; she deserves everything good!"
"You call those men perfect suitors?" She gestured with her right hand as she spoke. "I am your daughter too, but you don't treat me like one. You give Zara almost everything she needs; you give me little. You're waiting for Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet and kiss the ground she walks on, while you bring uncouth men to me. Men with no future, men who have no manners and are untrained. You have no value for me as a daughter, and that's why I try every day and night to leave this place and find my mother!" Tears welled in her eyes as she gasped for breath. The father-daughter pair had completely forgotten about the purple-eyed man who stood between them, moving his neck back and forth.
"Your mother is dead!"
"She's not!!" Angela yelled back, watching her father's face turn red with anger. She stood up from the couch as her coat slipped off her shoulder. "My mother is alive, and I will find her!" she declared as she walked to the door, stopping to send Zayden a piece of her anger—a glare—before she stormed out.
Henry rubbed his face and sighed, turning to face Zayden. "Sorry about that. She must be on her period, I'm sure." Zayden gave a curt smile. "Don't mind her; she's just a child. Do your best to protect her while you are here, Zayden. Remember, that's your job." Henry sternly instructed him.
"Of course, Mr. Henry." Zayden widened his grin at the man.
***
Angela fanned herself with both hands as she stood on the balcony, her face reddened. She was replaying what she had just done in her father's study.
Oh, God! A man was there, for goodness' sake, and she had even sent him a glare! For what?
Angela buried her face in her palms, wishing she could disappear. She hadn't seen her sister around; Zara had gone out earlier that morning, and Angela thought she should be back by now, but she shrugged it off. They didn't converse much, as they shared different mothers.
Angela's father, Henry, had married Jane as his first wife, then Cecilia as the second, a year apart. Jane had birthed Zach first — who died a year ago — then Zara, while Angela's mother had not. They kept trying—Cecilia and Henry—until she finally conceived when Zara was three years old. Jane hated Angela's mother and always bullied her. Of course, Angela was little and couldn't do much to help, except report to her father, who always termed it a "women's problem." It went on until she was eight when her father came home one night and told her that her mother had died. She didn't believe it; she never had. There was never even a burial, and as much as she knew, her father, Henry, didn't hate the woman enough to kill her or to deny her a proper burial if she had really died.
She knew her father was lying. She knew her mother was alive somewhere, but she didn't know where or how to find her. She was going to need help, and as that thought came, the image of black hair and purple eyes joined it.