The Rebel's Tamer

CHAPTER 2

As idiotic as she was in deciding to drive drunk, her father isn't very different from being foolish, confiscating her phone not thinking it wasn't the only gadget she could use to communicate.

She rolled her eyes as she took her laptop out from the drawer, and checked her social media accounts. Her friend, Agatha is spamming her with messages saying things about last night's incident, and how much it affected her father's image to the public.

"Well, that's the plan," she murmured to herself.

These days, nothing satisfies her the most than seeing her greedy father slowly breaking apart. She thinks he deserves it, for cheating on her Mom on her deathbed, for acting like a perfect father all those years, and for disappointing her…for taking away all the respect left she has for him.

Chanelle used to look up to him.

She clicks on a live streaming event, the campaign rally of her father. People really believe in this? She wondered.

The orange parade now looks like desperate oranges, fallen from the tree, waiting to be picked.

"I am for the people, and I promise to serve everyone, even the marginalized, the abused, the overexploited, the poor, and every sector of our country. I will give my all—"

She can't bear watching it. It was so fake.

Chanelle spent an hour planning, thinking of ways she can escape their house, but she can't focus because maids are knocking on her door every ten minutes to check if she is still there.

"Try to knock again after ten minutes, and I'll break your neck."

The maid was shaken, frozen in fear. At this point, they wouldn't ignore her threats, she is serious, and she's been keeping her reputation bad for everyone to be afraid of.

In the end, she stayed indoors, writing a scandalous article. Nothing can stop a ticking bomb.

Running for a seat is described as a responsibility, but to some, it is a chore, a relentless climb toward their desired position. Yet, can we truly call it a climb when one senatorial candidate bypasses the struggle, using privilege to soar above the rest? Corruption. Deception. Connection. Greed. These insidious forces taint the very essence of the democratic process, allowing those with power to fly while others arduously ascend, weighed down by integrity and effort.

When will people see the cruel intentions behind a sour promise?

And she posted it accompanied by scandalous pictures; a picture of her father with a famous actress, a gold-digger w***e; a vote-buying photo, and other evidence she gathered herself.

All written anonymously, on her subjective blog page where she spent most of her adulthood to build, widen her reach, got sponsored by ads.

All for a single goal, to ruin her father.

She waited the whole day, and she rejoiced hearing her shouting father downstairs, enraged by the sudden issue.

"Who is the person behind the post? Find the rat before I end all of you!"

She can't help but dance, crazily, with her father's voice as the music, brutally threatening his men to find her, not knowing the snake is living under the same roof.

"S-Sir…we suspect it is a propaganda made by the opposing party, the blogger is surely paid, if we can't track him all this time, he's protected by them. The party is supported by an underground organization, led by the famous name Roswell—"

"I'm not asking for theories! Give me the name, or you'll never see your families," a deep raging voice echoed, followed by silence and footsteps.

She paused, sighing, laughing. "Ugh, when can I leave this place?"

Now.

She opened her door only to find nobody, everyone must be too afraid to be seen by her father, and to her advantage, she can leave the place without being seen. It's night, and she waited for a good time to leave after preparing.

Or so she thought.

"Where are you going?" her good brother stopped her from walking.

She raised her brow. "Outside, obviously, where else?" she said, dressed up in a tight red dress, letting her straight long and layered-cut black hair down, all groomed with red fiery lipstick.

He looked at her, mocking. "You're confident, but dumb. I don't know if you're hiding or you seek attention, you're older than me, yes, but I'm obviously no dumber than you. Chanelle, don't push Dad to his limits if you want to age well," he casually said and left her dumbfounded.

She watches her tall brother walk away, as she reminisces how she used to admire how her brother is so much of a copy of her father's everything, from wit to features.

She smirked. "No longer a baby brother huh? I'm not proud I'm associated with your growth, you didn't age as well as you thought!" she clapped back, and turned her back from him, feeling bad and sorrowed, he's still her brother.

She arrived at the private bar owned by an acquaintance, without anyone but herself. Agatha was being careful, warned by her loving family to keep out of the controversies, as their family is planning to open a business branch.

All for f*****g business, power, and money. Everyone is willing to step on their family.

"Hi, are you alone?" a guy approached her.

"Obviously—" She was rolling her eyes but paused because he felt different.

She gazed at the man and surveyed his looks, he isn't familiar but he is not bad, maybe a good 8/10 to be fair.

The guy chuckled sexily, drank his liquor and smirked at her. "Did I pass your initial judgement? I'll assume since you didn't shoo me away like the men from last time," he said.

This person beside her is tall, she figured. With luminous deep green eyes, and well groomed hair, she thinks he looks like a model. Her gaze accidentally went down and was surprised by his robust biceps and thick thighs, quite masculine, wearing an expensive watch, looks older by three to five years if she's not mistaken. He looks mature and professional.

"I-I wasn't in a good mood," she explained and returned her eyes to her drink.

She's replying because she's just bored, she thought. But the man recognized her from last time, perhaps he knows her from all the scandal? After all, if he's here, that means they are surviving on the same platform.

The man leaned, looking interested to which she was taken aback by. What is he doing?

"I noticed. Is brokenhearted an excuse?"

She nodded.

His baritone voice isn't intimidating, it's captivating to ears that one would answer all the questions spoken using that voice.

She can sense him smirking, and god, she swore she isn't drunk but he's getting hotter as the time goes by.

"You're interesting."

A good talker too.

She tasted the bitterness of her drink. "Yeah, I heard. A politician's daughter, graduated with latin honors, turned out to be the blacksheep, I'm interesting, yes." Now she wants to skip the talking, if only the man will initiate a kiss, she's curious what other things his lips can do.

"That's not what I'm seeing, I see a lady seeking justice. A revengeful young eyes, and a mischievous grin, you're sad." A conclusion she never thought she'd hear from others, especially from a hot stranger.

She's shocked…and a little afraid with the thought that he could see right through her, she glances at him, digging her memory if she knew him.

She failed.

She rose up to leave but the man held her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Chanelle wasn't offended, but the guy apologized for no reason, for talking too much? That's shallow. She needs apologies from people who've done more than simply analyzing her emotions.

"Who are you?" she blurted out a question from her head.

"Ethan," he said and let go of her hand.

Somehow, his name rings a bell, but she cannot pinpoint where she heard it. The name isn't very unique, so she thought she's just overthinking.

"Nice to meet you, Chanelle."

She didn't remember introducing her name, he knew her.

She left the place not hooking up with anyone, her mind was occupied with the guy's face, not knowing he was related to a person she'll be entangled with later on.