Leah & Daphne
It’s been less than twelve hours since Wendy fired her. The heat has cooled. What’s left behind isn’t defeat, or even humiliation. It’s quieter. More focused. And far more dangerous.
Wendy thought she’d landed the final blow. That she’d won. That she’d clung to power. Leah almost wants to laugh. Let her believe it. She swirls the wine in her glass, slower than necessary, watching it catch the light.
“She always needed someone to blame,” she says, lounging back on the velvet couch like it’s her throne, eyes on Daphne across the room. “You know she actually called me the c-word?”
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“Cunt?” Daphne lifts a brow, smirking into the vanity mirror. “God, I love that word.”
“Well, she’s the cunt.”
“But you were part of it, weren’t you? Be honest, babes.”
“Maybe,” Leah says with a shrug. “Maybe I forgot to forward that email from The Ankler. Let them assume Wendy didn’t bother to comment. Maybe I hinted her leadership style was… aggressive.”
“So, what now?”
“Wendy thinks she won. But she has no idea who she’s dealing with.”
“Maybe she’ll find out tonight?”
“Maybe she will.”
Daphne grins, cuts a clean line across the vanity, then leans in and inhales. A breath, then she slips into her Saint Laurents, snatches her Fendi, and tosses a glance over her shoulder.
“Well, then. Let’s make it a night she won’t forget.”