KIMBERLY'S POV
Well, the chaotic energy coursing through my veins was well-recreated in the changing room: the models stood grouped together, laced into intricate designs I had my heart and soul set upon; there she was, my ever-efficient manager Emily, right at the center, barking instructions out with the precision of a drill sergeant.
I was out of this din, leaning at the wall, holding my phone. My thumb hovered in the air above the "post" button of the announcement I wrote a day back. Words stared back into my eyes-no remorse whatsoever in their size-ready for their effect.
It was a while I had been waiting for this very moment. Not impulsive, it wasn't; neither was this a thing done in vindictiveness; this was contrived.
For they always treated me; the Harringtons, as if
