
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Most of the people in this house look at my curled chestnut hair and oversized emerald eyes, and they see a sweet little thing. But the truth is, I like breaking rules. Especially Daddy’s rules. Especially because Daddy thinks he’s a warden in a very expensive, marble floored detention center. He keeps me locked in ivory towers (aka my room, when I’ve been naughty), dresses me in cashmere, and expects me to speak in a soft, polite whisper. But I’m fundamentally and deliciously rotten.
Right now, I’m sitting on the Persian rug in the center of the study. My knees are smeared with garden mud, and are red from where I scraped myself while climbing the forbidden ivy trellis in the yard. I hear heavy footsteps echo in the hall. Suddenly, the door flies open and there’s Daddy. He doesn’t shout, though. Daddy never shouts. That’s his favorite trick. He just looks at me.










