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)
Soon, in a moment of silence between songs, I could hear the people outside yelling or screaming, trying to get the pieces of fabric that I had thrown out the window.
I slashed through a few Birkin bags and threw them out the window when I heard a woman scream.
I peeked out and saw her grabbing the bag, clutching the torn leather. She was actually quite pretty in a pale pink dress. However, unlike mine, hers was not designer, and it was not made to fit her body.
“Hold on,” I yelled down and went back to the wardrobe.
I grabbed a pale pink Kelly bag in ostrich leather and a Birkin that was in pale green alligator leather. My mother had simply loved the alligator leather and that pale green, saying that it would go with everything. But it went with absolutely nothing that I wanted to wear.
It was the epitome of the old Stella, but I recognized it was a piece of art. I would not be carrying this pretentious bag, but maybe the woman downstairs could get joy from it. Or sell it and buy a new wardrobe. I didn’t care.
“Hey, up here,” I called down to the girl and tossed both of the bags to her. Then I went back on my rampage. As soon as I had destroyed every piece of clothing that was some muted color, I also took care of every bag and even several pairs of shoes in pale pink and pastel blues, leaving only the blacks, browns, and a few vivid colors I genuinely loved.
My closet was practically empty.
In a closet the size of a studio apartment, which had been absolutely stuffed with bags, shoes, and clothes, what was left, what I considered acceptable, fit in one foot of hanger space.
I had four pairs of shoes left and only a single bag—an Alexander McQueen hobo bag that I had gotten as a door prize at someone’s party some years ago. I loved the structure and the brass knuckles at the top with jeweled skulls.
This was the vibe of the new Stella.
The clothes were an issue, but one that I could wait out if I had to. Or I could call Charlotte and have her get me in touch with her goth cellist friend, who might like to take another former rich girl turned punk rock shopping.
Once I was finished with the clothing, I turned to the rest of the room. Technically, this room wasn’t mine. I was expecting to stay with Lucian.
The question was, how much damage could I do before he kicked me out and demanded I sleep in a different room?
Hopefully, a lot.
I slashed the bed sheets, cutting through the expensive satin and the Egyptian cotton of the duvet, and even throwing around the pillows until they burst and feathers filled the entire room.
The matching antique Tiffany lamps, with their broken bulbs and shades, were tossed aside. I was even about to turn on his wardrobe when a loud thud came from the door.
Over and over it sounded, but I didn’t care.
The playlist began again, and I screamed along with the rage-filled lyrics.
“I don’t give a damn about my—”
Before the word reputation exited my mouth, Lucian broke down the door.
He stared at me and the destruction around.
This was it. This was my moment to prove to myself that I had what it took to see this through.
With my chin held high, I stared him down. “What do you want?”
CHAPTER 30
LUCIAN
Slowly, keeping my rage tightly under control, I walked into the bedroom to survey the damage.
Stella had been home for an hour and a half, according to Hamilton.
In that time, she had managed to destroy everything in the room.
“Get out!” I yelled, staring at Stella.
She made a move like she was going to go around me, and I stopped her. “Not you. You stay exactly where you are.”
I turned behind me and saw the rest of the staff still at what remained of the doorway. “I said get out.”
Immediately they all left, except for Hamilton. He stood there, giving Stella a smug smirk. He and I would have a conversation about that later.
“Now,” I repeated, and it took Hamilton a good moment to realize that I was speaking to him. His face paled as he straightened, turned on his heel, and left.
If there were still a door there, I’d close it to keep him from eavesdropping.
But Stella had made that impossible.
I turned to face her and the absolute destruction of the room, as well as her new pink haircut and the addition of a diamond-encrusted hoop in her nose.
“Would you like to explain what happened here?”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think I increased your pocket money, and instead of being grateful, you threw a fit like a twelve-year-old, dying your hair, getting your nose pierced, and then destroying everything.”