*The song for this chapter is Hotel Andrea - Blackbear.*

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*TRIGGER WARNING: This part mentions blood & drug use. If any of these themes trigger you, then please skip this part & stay safe!*

Celeste

"Am I supposed to be impressed with your attitude last night, Celeste Andrea Delgado?"

I rolled my eyes into the back of my skull as I sat opposite Papa in his home office, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger as he stood towering above me from behind his desk.

He looked like he was about to burst out of his tightly fitted tailored suit; his hand was grasping his glass of bourbon so tightly I thought the glass was in danger of shattering in his grasp. I knew Papa would never lose his temper with me, but that wasn't to say he wouldn't give me a hard time for my attitude.

That didn't mean I was going to back down and not stand my fucking ground, though.

"I'm unsure, Papa. Am I supposed to be impressed that you show up a day early from your trip with plans to meet new clients in my club without informing me first?" I snapped back, averting my gaze from my strand of hair to his face.

He brought his spare hand up to the bridge of his nose where he pinched the skin harshly to refrain from losing his temper. I knew all of Papa's buttons, and I was excellent at pushing all of them.

"For the last time, Celeste. I apologise for not updating the itinerary, it was a last-minute decision to finish the trip early. Your behaviour in front of Mr. Styles is something that I never want to encounter again. When you're in that club you represent our family name, do you understand?"

Papa walked over to the table when he was delivering his speech, sitting down in his chair and placing his bourbon glass on the table. He never broke eye contact with me as he delivered his speech, making my blood boil and curdle at the mention of our family name.

I was so fucking sick of hearing about our 'family name.'

"You know what's really funny to me, Papa?" I began, standing up from my chair and walking over to his liquor table on the other side of the room where I poured myself a glass of his most expensive bourbon on the rocks before continuing with, "All I fucking hear every day is about our family name and why it's imperative that I do my absolute best to maintain it. I grant you, Papa, you have done nothing but provide me with the best life you possibly could. You gifted me Haze, you trust me to run it, you got Luca to train me. Yet, you question how I carry myself. You question my motives. Tell me, Papa, have I ever given you a reason to think I am not upholding my Delgado name?"

I observed Papa's face drain of colour at my statement and question, his gaze averted from me at the bar to his drink on the table as he picked it up and downed the remainder of his bourbon. He shifted in his seat slightly as he loosened his tie around his neck, leaning forward in his chair as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"No, Celeste. You have never given me a reason to doubt that you're not upholding our name, but you're impulsive. You don't think logically; you act on emotion. You can't possess those qualities in this world, you know that. You do a terrific job at managing Haze; that's why I didn't hesitate to hand you the position. I keep you informed in matters that you require information about but my personal interactions with the likes of Mr. Styles are matters that you need not know about," he responded to me, ensuring his voice was calm and level as if he was scared of my response.

He should be.

I felt the rage build up inside of me once again, feeling it rise up from the pit of my stomach to my chest as I bit the inside of my cheek in pure anger. Before I could contain myself I gripped onto the glass that harshly that it shattered in my grip, the glass shards falling onto the ground as I stared at Papa directly in the eyes.

"Let me get this fucking straight. You gifted me your fucking club because you knew that my skill set would make your club a fucking success? I'm impulsive and I act on emotion, yet I'm valuable to you because I do a 'terrific job' at managing your club for your shitty clientele but I'm not put together enough to be informed of your fucking business meetings? The situation with Mr. Styles could have gone a completely different route last night because I wasn't informed that he was there for you!"

This exchange wasn't a whispered exchange, to say the least; I was stood in the middle of Papa's office with blood dripping from my hand from the glass onto the marble flooring. Papa sat in his chair as composed as ever until his eyes narrowed at my final sentence.

"What do you mean the situation with Mr. Styles could have gone a different route?" he questioned, his eyes never leaving mine as I stood there realising that I had royally dropped myself in the shit.

I didn't miss a beat delivering my quick response of, "I mean, I could have found him in the VIP section and have assumed he wasn't on the list and had him forcibly removed by security. This is what I mean when I highlight the imperativeness of you telling me when you're having clients in my club!"

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for blessing me with terrific acting skills and a quick brain.

Papa ate up my lie as quick as I delivered it, pinching his eyes shut as he leaned back into his chair and exhaled a large breath.

"We're going around in circles here, Celeste. I promise I'll update the itinerary from now on and share it with you whenever it changes. Now, please go and clean yourself up. You're dripping blood on my newly cleaned marble flooring."

I sigh and throw my head back in defeat, knowing that Papa didn't take what I was saying seriously. I heard him ring his bell to signal the maid to come and clean up the floor as I made my way out of his office, ensuring to slam the door behind me forcefully.

I ran the hand not covered in blood through my hair as I marched my way into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I walked into my bathroom, turning on the cold water faucet as I placed my hand under the stream of water watching it turn red beneath me. I winced slightly at the feeling of the wound under the coolness of the water, lifting my head up to look in the mirror above my sink. The underneath of my eyes was slightly darkened by the lack of sleep I'd been having recently. From getting dragged to Sinners with Lana, to the argument with Luca, to the altercation with Papa and Harry Styles, I'd barely managed to get more than a few hours of sleep in total. I let out an exasperated sigh as I turned off the faucet and reached into the cabinet to pull out my first aid box.

I poured a small amount of alcohol onto the wound, biting my lip to prevent myself from audibly making noise at the burning sensation, then proceeded to bandage it up. I'd had plenty of practice bandaging up wounds in my time; I could have done this with my eyes closed.

When I'd finished cleaning myself up, I walked into my bedroom and reached into my bedside table to pull out a medium-sized, painted red box. I sat crossed-legged on my bed as I pulled out everything I needed to roll a joint. Lana and I used to steal Papa's weed supply when we were teenagers and sneak out on my balcony to smoke it. Granted, the joints we rolled were absolutely horrendous at the time and Papa found out and hid his stash better, but it was a habit that stuck with me. Lana never smoked again after we got caught, unless it was at a party and she was plastered, but I loved the light feeling that took over my body as soon as I took a hit. It was as if every muscle in my body relaxed instantly and all my thoughts drifted away with the release.

When I'd rolled my joint, I walked into the kitchen with it in between my lips as I poured myself my usual double vodka and lemonade. It was a red hot day in Los Angeles, so I'd changed into my matching red bikini with my black Black Sabbath oversized shirt on top. My black sunglasses were on top of my head as I made my way out of the lounge doors to the pool. I could hear Papa talking from his office as I made my way down the stairs, grateful that I would be far enough away from the house to not hear his persistent chatting. Reaching the sun loungers, I placed my drink on the table and settled myself down on the lounger flicking my glasses down so they shielded me from the sun.

Letting out a deep exhale, I settled myself back on the lounger relishing in the feeling of the sunbeams hitting my body. Placing the joint from in between my lips to on my thigh, I took a drink from my glass trying my hardest not to moan in bliss at the feeling of the cold liquor traveling down my throat. Everything felt so much more heightened as I reveled in the blissful feeling of having time to myself to relax.

Placing the joint between my lips, I fumbled around trying to find the lighter that I was positive I'd brought outside with me. I lifted my ass up off the sun lounger to see if it had fallen in between my thighs as I sat down; it hadn't.

Surely not?

As I glanced around in a confused manner trying to see where my lighter was, I was met with a flame being held in front of the joint hanging out of my lips.

"Need a light, angel?"