Vivian
"Useless!" I hurled my phone across the penthouse. It bounced off an imported Italian sofa, probably leaving a mark that would cost thousands to repair. The cleaning staff would fret, the decorator would despair, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows showed perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect everything - except for the fury I couldn't quite hide. The city sprawled below like a carpet of jewels, as cold and distant as my chances of regaining control of this situation.
The fashion blogs all carried the same headlines, each one a fresh slap in the face:
"Rising Star Emma Bennett Triumphs at Laurent Competition"
"New Designer Cleared of Plagiarism Claims"
"Laurent Studio Welcomes Fresh Talent"
And worst of all: "A Modern Fairy Tale:
