Rich People Problems

ii | half-naked oldies

KIMBERLY

I WOULD'VE LOVED to say that I woke up gracefully—with sunshine beaming through my white curtains—as I stretched out in a movie-like scene.

Instead, I was greeted by my screeching father while dealing with a massive hangover.

I really hated past me.

"Are you kidding me, Kimberly? You managed to come out of another club—looking like a mess—with dozens of paparazzi taking pictures of you. I begged you to lay low for a while, for goodness sake," Dad yelled out.

Even though he was in the living room of my apartment, his voice radiated louder than the bass at a club.

I lifted the duvet to cover my face, attempting to drown him out, but if there's one thing that defined the Astor family, it was our ability to make ourselves heard.

Literally.

I groaned and reached towards my nightstand to find my trusty bottle of Advil and water. Trudging out of bed, I grabbed my robe before making my way down the stairs to the living room.

"Good morning to you too," I mumbled sarcastically.

That was a big mistake on my part, I realized after looking up to see the fuming face of my father. Another characteristic of the Astor's - our seemingly supernatural hearing. I took in the room, avoiding the laser-like gaze that Dad was shooting at me.

The noon sun was shining through our floor-to-ceiling windows, almost showing the individual sunbeams as they shone on every square inch of the place. Our two-story penthouse was the epitome of luxury and class with beautiful modern, industrial hints.

It was large—more than enough for the two of us—but we did our best to make it cozy.

On the large white sectional, Vivian was clearly prepared for the argument that was about to transpire. Minding her own business while reading a book with earbuds in, she sat while our cat Momo—named after one of the best animated shows in history—rested on her lap as Vivi mindlessly stroked her.

Mom was in the kitchen, shaking her head at the lack of food choices in our fridge. She was used to my inability to cook, but she liked acting as if it surprised her.

However, in the middle of my comfort place, stood the intimidating man who I had the blessing to call my father.

"It's two in the afternoon, dammit," Dad yelled again.

I mentally groaned at Dad's inability to take a joke. But, knowing me, that wouldn't stop another sarcastic remark from slipping past my lips.

"Well, it's currently morning for me. So, please keep your voice at an acceptable level, for our neighbors' sake and mine." I added the last comment, knowing our family's image was always his top priority.

A priority that he deemed I was a threat to with my... habits.

Mom rolled her eyes half-heartedly at my comment, shaking her head. In our family, we needed her level-headedness to keep me and Dad in check.

With Dad's stubborn and dominant personality, he was always used to getting what he wanted, until I came along. Now, our family was just so lucky to have two alpha personalities who never seemed to get along.

I guess it was revenge on him for being obnoxiously hard-headed.

"You live in a penthouse. You don't have neighbors," Dad gritted through his teeth.

I gave him a sickeningly sweet smile that I knew would irritate the shit out of him. "I know, I was talking about the people on the floors beneath us. You're not exactly quiet, Dad. You're practically shaking up this building with your complaints."