It's hard not to turn around and glare at Zander for completely abandoning me with his intimidating father. But it feels like there are multiple eyes on me so I keep my expression schooled and head held high, even though inside I'm panicking. 

We walk past one of the side doors, the glistening lights above us held together by porcelain cherubs. Once the crowd has thinned, I subtly shrug out of Mr Wyatt's hold, half of me wanting to turn around and run back to the hall. 

There are a few guests sauntering around us and I catch a couple heading towards the small warehouse just beyond the topiary garden. That must be where the auction pieces are being kept. 

"How long have you known my son?" Mr Wyatt asks when we are fairly alone, without any prying eyes or ears nearby. 

"Not too long," I answer, not wanting to divulge in this sudden interrogation. Should have known this was coming. 

He grunts at my response and leads me past two stone gargoyle statues, through the winding cement pathway. Thankfully, the ground is smooth or I would have tripped over in the heels I'm wearing. 

There are a few guests who fall in line behind us. I can hear their chatter close by. It must be why he doesn't say more until we walk into the air conditioned warehouse. I catch paintings perched on every wall and some statues I don't recognise. 

It briefly registers that these priceless art pieces already belong to some of the families donating tonight. Just one painting costs more than my entire house, more than my family's net worth, not that we had much to begin with. 

My father flushed all our savings down the drain with one of his many 'business ideas' that never took off and then he blamed us for not having more to support him. 

We stop in front of the beautiful image of a pond. A small bridge perched over water covered with soft pink lilies. Imagine what one painting like this could do for my family. It could cover my entire tuition without the scholarship, my mother and I could move out, get a place far, far away from my abusive father. 

"It was one of his last paintings. A favoured series." Mr Wyatt murmurs from my side, his gaze fixed on the art piece before us as well. "Do you know much about art?"

Again there's that condescension in his tone that's hard to miss. Like how would someone like me have a taste in the arts of all things. I guess he's right in a way. In my current situation I would never ever think of buying anything like this ever. Artworks like these don't belong to my social strata. 

I don't know why the thought makes me sad. To never be able to picture having anything luxurious in my life when there are people here trading them like cattle. 

"It's a Monet," I say, surprising him. We studied art in school and one of my projects were Claude Monet inspired. His are the only works I ended up liking, which is why I was drawn to this one the moment we walked in. 

"I take it this is yours?" I ask him and his smile is so smug, it makes me regret asking. 

"Yes," He nods but then his gaze turns solemn. "I hunted high and low for this piece. Kept it proudly for years. But our children at the John's Hopkins are more important than any painting in the world. Anything for my county and its people."

Sounds like something the president would say. 

"That's very...honourable," I say and then turn my attention back to the painting because it's honestly better than looking at his face. 

"I invited you tonight for a reason." He then mentions. 

Of course he did. 

"You see, my son is in a very precarious position. He's doing well in football and I want him to graduate with honours in Political Science. It looks to be achievable at the rate he's going. And of course you know the media attention he gets because of me." 

I nod slowly, wondering when he's going to cut to the chase and tell me to stop seeing his son. 

"And the thing with relationships is that it complicates things. Feelings get involved and that is absolutely the last thing I want for him. He has a bright future, possibly brighter than mine at the rate he's going." 

"Mr Wyatt, I'm going to stop you there. Zander and I are not dating, we're not girlfriend and boyfriend or anything of the sort so you don't have to worry about anything." 

The lights above us are dimmed over the painting and it casts a haunting shadow of Mr Wyatt's face, making him look possessed. I unconsciously take a step back. 

"Then why pray tell, would he give you flowers on live television?" He gives me a pointed look. 

"Shouldn't you be asking your son that?" I shrug and the anger on his face grows. 

"My son has been abiding by the rules since he started college. Date secretly, break up before both sides get attached, three months is all it takes before the same woman grows boring." He winks at me and it's hard to hide the disgust on my face. 

"I don't expect you to understand how we Wyatt's operate. We are cut from a different cloth. I have your background on file after all." His lips form a thin line and it's hard to tell if he's refraining from a smile. 

"What is it you want Mr Wyatt?" I ask him, wanting to cut to the chase and end this conversation. Now I know where Zander gets his unbearable-ness from, only this man is so much worse. 

"What I want, Ms Nio is for you to leave my son alone. Stop this Indonesian voodoo you've put on him and go back to your slum life on the other side of the park. My son is not a stepping stone to becoming rich and famous. He will never end up with someone like you." 

I blink a few times, wondering if he made a joke but no the man is serious. He really thinks I bewitched his son, the idea is so preposterous that I bend over and laugh. 

Mr Wyatt steps back, looking afraid of me and that only makes me laugh harder. 

"Mr Wyatt if politics don't work out, you should definitely try comedy." I say between fits of laughter and his eyebrows strain to lift against the botox. 

"I'm being serious. Do not make me resort to threatening." He says in a low voice. 

"I know you are. That's why it's so funny. Do you think it's easy to perform a voodoo spell, that too all the way from Indonesia? How would I obtain such knowledge or materials?" 

"How would I know-."

"Mr Wyatt, in this short time of getting to know you I have realised you are a racist, bigot, philanderer and control freak. Also, you can count on losing the 'slum' peoples votes this season." I air quote the word slum and then proceed to turn around. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure but it was anything but. Excuse me." 

I turn around but he grabs my arm, the familiar panic shooting through me like a lightning bolt. My body tenses and my face scrunches up, expecting a slap or punch. 

"Are you breaking up with him then?" He asks stubbornly. 

"That is up to your son." I yank my hand away, trying to hide my fear but when he doesn't release me I open my mouth to scream. 

"Release my girlfriend now." Zander's voice cuts through the air sharply, making his father jump back in shock. He immediately releases me and I rub my arm, trying to wipe away any remnants of the horrid man. 

"Zander, how nice of you to join us. We were just studying this piece." Mr Wyatt's voice is silky soft, all the venom gone. 

"Save it, dad. I heard everything." Zander takes my hand gently, noticing how shaken up I am and slowly brings me to his side. "Come on Danielle, we're leaving." 

"The auction hasn't even started. You can't leave. How would it look?" His father's face goes pale and he looks at his son pleadingly. 

Zander doesn't even spare him a glance. "You should have thought about that before you threatened my girl." 

This time he tugs on my wrist and we end up leaving the warehouse in a rush. I expect us to head to the same limousine we came in but he opens the car door to another sports car I've never seen. This one is a bright red, two seater. 

"Is this yours?" I ask tentatively when we get in. Zander looks so angry, the heat radiating off him so immense and intimidating. I'm surprised smoke hasn't started coming out of his ears. It makes me quiet and unsure.  I'm used to his cheeky, flirty side, not this. 

"It's his but it doesn't matter." He shoots out of the driveway, past all the camera flashes before I can stop him. 

"You stole your father's car?" I ask bewildered. 

"More like borrowed." He gives me a half smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His gaze is focused fully on the road before us and I strap myself in because he has started to speed. 

"Where are we going?" I wonder our loud after he heads down the freeway. It doesn't look like we're heading back to Daltech. 

He doesn't answer, his eyes glazed and faraway. When he picks up speed, I put a hand on his leg, reminding him that he's not alone in the car. It is only then that he snaps out of it. 

"Let's just drive for a bit." He tells me but then he goes even faster, making my heart lurch in my chest. 

He goes down an off road that he looks familiar with and the road here is more rough, I feel the car bouncing slightly when we go over a bump. 

"He just has to ruin everything good for me. The one thing that finally gives me some excitement, something to look forward to and he wants to take it away. He always does this." He starts ranting about how his father has sabotaged his friendships before and how he tries to control every aspect of his life. 

I'm trying to concentrate but we're now driving on a rough terrain, bounded by a rocky mountain on one side and the ocean on the other. He swerves slightly and my body's wound up so tight, any wrong move and we'd both be dead. 

For some reason, the thought of death makes me think of Luke, his face lingering in my mind but suddenly Zander slows down. 

My breathing calms but then I see his hands shaking around the wheel. The car slows to a stop, right in the middle of the road. Zander's looking ahead at the empty road and he's gasping for air, body shaking softly. 

I quickly unbuckle my seatbelt and grab his arms. 

"What's wrong?" I ask him, my fingers digging into his skin. "Zander, breathe. Take one, two then three." 

I force him to look at me and mirror my breathing. After a long pause he finally does the same and then he slumps against his seat. The road is thankfully devoid of cars at this hour but I glance behind ever so often. 

"Want to talk about it?" I say quietly after he calms down. 

"She died on a road just like this." He answers after a long moment. "The memories are hazy but I remember them fighting. She had found out about his affair and they drove out to talk about it. It was the last time I ever saw my best friend." 

My chest feels heavy at his admission about his mother's death, like a physical weight has settled on it. I don't know what to say, so I reach out to hold his hand as comfort. He squeezes back tightly, almost as if he's afraid to let go. 

This makes me feel guilty. Maybe this is going too far. 

I offer to drive back but he insists on taking us home at a much slower pace. We don't talk much on the way back and I can tell he's too lost in his thoughts so I leave him be. 

When we reach campus I finally say what has been on my mind. "I'm sorry I judged you for your past relationships. After talking to your dad, I realise why you acted that way."

Zander only half smiles. "He didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do." 

Elizabeth comes to mind the moment he says those words. 

"Meaning you don't regret breaking anyone's heart?" I ask him softly. 

He looks down at his steering wheel, studying the design on the cover. "Trust me, Danielle. I don't even remember their faces."