His Drama Queen

　　Nicole Vargas's POV

　　"That's a lot of money, Nicole!" My dad looked displeased at me as he opened his bank account and saw how much money I had spent. "For all I know, you have everything you need. Why do you need to keep on buying stuff?!"

　　"Papa, I don't!" I muttered looking down at my perfectly polished toes. "It's only sixty-five thousand real."

　　"Only sixty-five thousand! Are you out of your mind?! That's a lot of money!" he seethed angrily. "Give me your credit card. You will not buy anything for the next two weeks!"

　　"But dad..." I whined, tears brimming in my eyes. This can't be happening right now. Not when the big ball approaches. "I need to buy a dress for the elite ball next week. And shoes. And makeup!"

　　"You have a whole store with shoes, clothes, and makeup in your room. You even have three walk-in closets. Choose something you already have."

　　"But it will be so out of style, Dad. Please let me use it for this once. I promise I will not spend that much anymore." I pleaded.

　　He shook his head. "You already said that the last time. And all the other five times. You're twenty-three and graduated, how can you still be so irresponsible?"

　　"I'm not irresponsible. I can't help that everything I see is so alluring. It basically calls me to buy it. You know it's hard for me to say no."

　　"Well, you need to learn to say no to all the alluring stuff. Only buy what you need. Now, you are dismissed, I have work to do. You don't get your card back."

　　"But Papa..." I cried out.

　　"No arguments Nicole. I already made my decision. You don't know how to spend money, you don't get your credit card back." he said sternly and pointed his finger at the door. "Now, get out of my office, because I need to earn that sixty-five thousand real back."

　　I grunted angrily and stomped out of his office. I was so mad at him. He earns that money every fifteen minutes, I don't see what's the big deal. Next week there's going to be a big ball where all the billionaires and their families are going to be. It's a really fancy and elite ball and now I don't have anything to wear.

　　I walked into my bedroom and angrily started to turn on my music, the volume all the way up. Look what you made me do of Taylor Swift blasted in my room and probably through the whole penthouse.

　　"What is wrong with you, Nicole?" My mom yelled above the music as she barged into my room. "Why are you throwing another tantrum?"

　　I turned the volume down and huffed. "Dad took away my credit card."

　　"You spent so much money in three days. What did you expect?" She placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow.

　　"Don't take his side."

　　"Of course, I will. You graduated Bachelor of Arts in Fashion Design. Do something with that degree and earn your own money."

　　I rolled my eyes and plopped down on my king-sized bed. I love Fashion and I loved the field I majored in, but I wasn't feel to work in Brazil anymore. Everyone knows me, since my dad is the CEO of Brazil's most popular hotel and casino chains. The Vargas.

　　They would only give me the job because I was his daughter and not because of my degree. My dad also asked me a million times why I didn't want to have my own boutique, he had the connections to make it a reality.

　　How much I really wanted it, I didn't want to achieve my success through my parents. I wanted to do my own thing and be successful on my own. But If I stay longer in Brazil, I can't achieve my dreams and my dad wasn't ready to let me go yet.

　　How much I really annoy him and scare the living hell out of him when he sees the amount of money I spent on my shopping trips, he still loved me unconditionally.

　　"I already told you mam?e, I don't want to open my business here." I sighed, covering my face with my hands. "You know the reason already."

　　"If it's because of Papa then it's a really dumb reason. He can't help that he's so well known. Brazil is also a really good place to start your business. You're familiar with the place." Mom reasoned.

　　"It's not only papai. It's also you, you're a popular artist. Your work is displayed in all art museums." I got up from my bed and faced my mom. "And by the way, I want a challenge."

　　My mom shook her head disapprovingly. "Dad will not allow you to go out of the country."

　　"But why?" I just can't understand why he wouldn't let me go. "I'm not a teenager anymore!"

　　"Good Luck explaining that to him." With that, my mom turned around and walked out of my room. I let out an angry growl and threw my pillows on the ground. I was so frustrated and annoyed. My parents treated me like I was a porcelain doll, that needs to be protected every single minute because she was so fragile.

　　But I'm not. I'm not a porcelain doll nor am I twelve. I don't know at what age they will stop treating me like I'm a child. Even when I go for a run, I have to take a bodyguard with me. The place where we live is a highly secured neighborhood and you can't enter it without permission. I am their only child and I knew that they wanted the best for me, but this is just too overdone.

　　I twisted and turned on my bed thinking of ways how to convince my dad that I'm a grown-up woman. While the argument between me and my dad played in my head, I fell asleep.

　　I don't know for how long I slept, but when I woke up it was already dawn. I yawned and stretched out before jumping out of bed. It was already seven pm and dinner would start soon. During day time my parents were rarely home. My dad was at his office and my mom was either working on her painting in the east wing of the penthouse or she was at the museum. The maids and I were the only ones at home. Most of the time I went shopping, golfing, or swimming. But when it was dinnertime we would all be around the table.

　　No excuses.

　　Dinner time was family time. If my dad had a meeting during dinner time, he had to cancel that. Family comes first.

　　I closed the curtains of my window and walked downstairs. The smell of Feijoada entered my nostrils. "Mmmmh." I hummed as I entered the kitchen. Feijoada was my mom's specialty. It was warm rice with a stew of beans beef and pork. It's commonly prepared in Macau, the place where my mom grew up.

　　My dad was already seated at the dinner table waiting for his food to be served. Even though we were elites, my dad always preferred a meal prepared by his wife. Even for lunch, he brought food from home that my mom prepared.

　　"Hey Papa," I seated next to him on the round dining table. "I'm sorry about earlier."

　　He just nodded. "Good, you're realizing your mistakes."

　　I smiled stiffly. "So, hmm..." Even though I have asked him this a million times and I know what his answer is going to be, I still keep on asking him. "Can I move to New York, to start my career as a fashion designer?"

　　"No!" was his firm answer. "I already told you. I'll not let you out of this country. We don't have anyone in New York who can watch over you."

　　"I don't need anyone to watch over me. I'm twenty-three, not twelve."

　　My mom placed the plates with food on the table and my dad reached over to her and planted a kiss on her cheeks. "It smells delicious, querida. You never fail to amaze me with your cooking." My mom blushed at his compliment.

　　I sighed and started to eat. The food was delicious as always. My mom was good at everything. Painting, cooking, decorating, fashion, and so much more. She was from everything a little bit. Probably that's why my dad fell in love with her. I, on the other hand, was the total opposite of her. The only thing I'm good at is spending money and eating non-stop.

　　"Can I have my credit card back papai," I asked in a small voice. Maybe he realized how important a dress for the ball is and---

　　"No!" My dad stated. "I have already told you that. Let's not argue about it anymore."

　　"Why are you doing this to me?!" My voice raised an octave. "I'm not twelve, I'm twenty-three for god sake!"

　　"Nicole!" My mom warned sternly.

　　"Then act like you're twenty-three. You are throwing tantrums like a three-year-old." My dad said calmly.

　　I hated when he was acting calm. It made me even more furious.

　　"That's why you should learn to let me go!" I yelled out and stomped out of the room.

　　I was so mad. They are treating me like a child and I can't stand it anymore. I needed freedom.

　　I groaned and kicked my bedroom door shut. What should I do for them to let me go?