Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
When my hair was all said and done, it looked fantastic.
And just for a nice little perk, some kid going through the hardest battle that they would ever face was going to get a wig with some very long, expensive hair.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and I loved the hair.
I even loved how it made my cheekbones seem sharper, but it still wasn’t right. The hair was perfect, but I looked like the backup dancer for a bubblegum pop band.
It wasn’t enough. I needed more.
After giving my stylist a generous tip and leaving the Upper East Side salon with its fabulous ‘70s vibe and absolutely brilliant stylist, I headed somewhere a little bit more daring: the Maria Tash Broadway flagship piercing salon. It was where I’d gone to get my ears pierced, including the three piercings in the upper part of my ear that almost gave my mother a heart attack when I was thirteen.
Now I was going back and getting something far more daring.
I walked into the upscale piercing salon, praying they had a walk-in appointment available, and just my luck, they did. Some days, it felt like the entire world was on your side, and I was going to take advantage of every second of it.
I walked out of the salon an hour later with a few more ear piercings, and more importantly, a gorgeous diamond hoop in my nose. The piercings added the edge I wanted for my look.
Now the pink bob didn’t look like bubblegum pop. It looked like punk rock fierceness.
The only thing left to do now was to destroy what was left of the old Stella.
Old Stella did what she was told.
She was a good girl who dressed in the finest clothes, had the nicest hair, and had a gorgeous face that was only ever decorated with the most natural makeup.
The new Stella had style and edge and took the entire world by the balls—or at least tried to. I might still have a lot to learn before I was the new Stella, but I knew one thing the new Stella would absolutely never do: she would never let a man dictate what she wore.
I headed back to the Manwarring estate, again ignoring the butler as he yelled about who knows what.
He was demanding that I stop, turn around, and explain myself as if I somehow owed him an explanation for my whereabouts. Apparently, I was a teenage girl whose whereabouts needed to be accounted for every single minute, not a grown woman who could do as she pleased.
The old Stella would have stopped and tried to be reasonable, but the new Stella was done with reasonableness.
“You are acting like a teenager throwing a temper tantrum,” Hamilton said as I crossed into the bedroom that I shared with Manwarring.
At that, I stopped, turned around, looked him dead in the eye, and said something that I didn’t think I had ever said to anyone before in my life.
“Go fuck yourself.” I slammed the door in his face, locking it immediately.
If he wanted a teenage tantrum, then I would happily oblige.
I grabbed my phone, pulled up Spotify, found something called a ‘Feminine Rage” playlist, and turned up my phone’s volume as high as it could go. Immediately, a screaming guitar followed by the words ‘I don’t give a damn about my reputation’ began blaring from my phone, and it was just perfect.
On the side table, under some papers, was a pair of large black scissors, and they would be perfect for what I had in mind. I went to my closet and cut through all of the bullshit that old Stella had worn because it was what was expected of her.
It was pretty and feminine and delicate and gave men like Lucian Manwarring the impression that they had a right to bully, intimidate, or even touch me without my permission. Everything that reminded me of the delicate flower that I was supposed to be got shredded and then tossed out of the window.
Several Chanel and Dior dresses floated down to the streets below in shreds. One right after the other. There were visual symphonies of pale pinks, delicate greens, and baby blues, and then an absolutely unbelievable number of white, off-white, and ivory clothes.
It was like everything I owned was already washed out.
Like my wardrobe had worked so hard to be pretty and delicate but unobtrusive in any environment. I was never meant to stand out but to blend into pale watercolor paintings.
Half of my clothes matched the goddamn walls.
Hamilton was banging on the door, and I couldn’t be bothered. I refused to stop my tirade of self-discovery and destruction for a butler with too much self-importance.
It was as if somehow licking Lucian Manwarring’s shoes made him important enough to order me around. Well, fuck him. I had licked far more interesting parts of the man, but I didn’t let that influence how I treated people.