Driven To You

*Sophia's POV* I had it all. Or at least, that’s what everyone else thought. Being the only daughter of Charles and Rosalind Everly, I was born into the lap of luxury, and wealth and class were my birthrights. One that was more easy to bear than the diamonds on my neck. Comforts surrounded me all my life. My father’s empire had paved a way for me into plush designer outfits, lavish holidays and fame that only a few people ever get. I was indulged, cossetted, and most importantly, I was above it all, everything. And I had every right for it. No one else could be compared to me. My world was designed to center on my wishes and that is how it pleased me. Since the time I could raise my finger for something, that something was in my possession. A case in point? The massive walk-in wardrobe that seemed to go on for a good three kilometers. It was packed with wardrobes, ostentatiously priced shoes that were more than most people’s house rent, and handbags that could buy a small car. I stood in front of a mirror, caressing with my fingers the silk surface of a dress I had no intention of wearing today but could easily put on any time. I possessed everything, and everything was for me. I was the empress of this confined sphere, and no one was brave enough to oppose me. Neither my parents. Nor the household utensils. Nor the stream of admirers whose interest was locked on the riches of my family more than on me. I was always told how lucky they were to be in my presence, how fortunate they were to have the chance to be my suitors. As if I was a rare treasure locked in a glass box. It was funny. Today was no different from the rest. I could already sense the same dreadful discomfort rising in my chest. Another one of those ‘important’ meetings that father was so adamant about – introducing me to the right sort of men.Men who, based on social status, should have been my equals – to whom I honestly never saw myself as their peer. They existed for a single purpose only: to carve a niche for themselves in the empire built by my father. Not one of them was about me. They were about the power I am. So it was with Alexander. Well built, I cannot contest that. He had polish and charm and just the necessary degree of pretentiousness that made me feel that he had a claim over me. Even now, his pricey perfume, which lingered somewhere in the back of my mind, mingled with the smell of the fresh roses I placed in the foyer. He was everything my father anticipated. Whom I probably would have ignored under different circumstances. For the time being at least. I sighed, stepping away from the mirror and slipping into a pair of black stiletto-heeled shoes. The type that was the most ideal for casual days like this—tall enough to be trendy yet easy to get through the day. Everything in my world was designed to be just how I wanted it. There was no such thing as give and take, and there was certainly no place for those who could not appreciate that. "Don’t let him wait for long, honey," rang my mother’s voice from below the staircase. The very Rosalind Everly, the woman who trained me in all ways about fulfilling one’s desires within the society. She had a pretty face, but I had an understanding. That kind of smile was a disguise; she hid a cruel and shrewd woman who viewed everything as a deal behind it. “Not a chance,” I said shortly, rudely, and descended the last steps from the grand staircase. The house, like every other thing in my world, was up to the mark, Doyen of the feminine genteel who has an aura of superiority about herself even while seated. The marble floors were polished, and in them reflected crystal chandeliers that made a home in the ceiling above. There was no need to enjoy it. I merely was aware that it belonged to me, and that sufficed. At the bottom of those stairs, I met her looking me over entirely. “Wow, sweetheart, you look fantastic. Just make sure that you keep his attention this time.” The sharpness of her statement strained me a bit. I raised an eyebrow. And my mother rather insisted on how people looked, what people thought–that was tiring. “Don’t be concerned, I will,” I answered in a bored tone. There was no need to put in any effort. There never was. Men, they were, in and out at the right times, yet each one of them posed no significance. Too many have come, yet none have ever stirred emotions within me; all were like stale air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waiting sleek black vehicle, and before walking into the car, I turned my head back to the House. This was my domain. No one could ever reach me. Offering a casual nod to Michael, who drove the vehicle, I settled in the rear seat of the car. He was always there, always punctual, not saying a word unless he was asked, and it was always like that. For as long as I can remember, it has always been this way. He was an addition to my life, no different from the house help or the garden men—white noise really. But there was something about him that set him apart from the men employed to entertain me. He didn’t behave like all those other men who clung to me. He did not splash expensive perfume trying to charm me or utter sweet nothings. It was just a matter of driving, staring straight ahead, and keeping a blank face. I had little patience for him. Why should I harbor any congenial feelings toward someone who was entirely indifferent to me? And there was something else, something that I could feel constructed a stubborn knot within my chest. There were other things that everyone in the staff possessed, but he was different. Still, I did not ponder over him too much. He existed in my vicinity was all and was nothing I was required to bother with. That was at least what I attempted to convince myself. The journey to reach the location of the event was filled with silence and I began to ponder about Alexander, most likely about the false promises he would make today. The kind of engagement my father wished for the families that would be advantageous to both and their monetary policy. It all felt safe. I wasn’t concerned about any of it anyway. I did not care what sort of figure Alexander was, or what he meant. But I had very well known that pretending was the easiest way to put up with the infuriating expectation that one would have, which was an endless queue of them. When the car finally reached its destination at the venue, I stepped out of the vehicle without sparing a glance towards Michael. The occasion was precisely as I had imagined it to be—with an ever-increasing number of dignitaries, men striving to win over my father, and women who all wished to be me. It was overwhelming but I handled it as I always do. With elegance. With control. Yet, as I made my way through the gathering, I could not help feeling a strange, almost invisible tug – an intrigue, something that made the surface of my skin quiver ever so slightly. This, I could not fathom. Perhaps it was how Michael’s eyes moved when he was waiting at the car for me. He never had that look that almost all men had – that of desire or admiration. His was just… plain. It annoyed me though. Like a nail being driven into an already imperfection-less world I live in, that is how it looked to me. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Still, for now, I buried it deep in my thoughts, understanding that a chauffeur was not worth anything significant. There were more pressing matters. For instance, faking interest in the man who was designated as my fiance by my father.