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One

Not all prisons are made of steel and concrete

Soany

I sat in front of the mirror at my vanity, in a bedrooe and far too s of confinement

The door wasn’t locked

There were no chains around my ankles

Yet I was a prisoner as surely as if there had been

I bit irl with delicate features and pale blonde hair in the mirror bit her lip too She looked wan and exhausted, with circles under her eyes from too little sleep and too much stress

She looked… hopeless

It was easier for irl in the mirror if I pretended she wasn’t me If I pretended this wasn’t reed to or asked for It was the life being thrust upon me by my parents—by my father

I had spent weeks, et hiains with people I wasn’t quite sure I should trust in le objective And I’d been certain that if iven a second chance, a new lease on life, he would make different decisions Better ones That he would run his business empire with more care and honor, and that he would consider how his actions affected others That he would strive to use his vast fortune and resources for good

But I rong

That may have been the worst error I’ve ever made in my seventeen years, and I honestly don’t knohat hurts worse—the fact that I’ve finally learned the true depths of hureed, or the fact that my father was the one to teach me that lesson