Lily stormed into her penthouse the moment the private elevator doors sighed shut, but not before yanking the ridiculous disguise from her face with furious tugs.
The oversized sunglasses clattered to the marble floor first, lenses cracking faint against the glossy surface; next came the floppy sunhat, which she ripped off and flung like a frisbee toward the brown chaise, wide brim crumpling on impact. She tore off her mask from her face as gritted her teeth.
"Fuck! Fuck her!" All she could feel was—anger, anger, and anger.
The scarf—silk, once elegantly knotted to hide her signature waves—unravelled in a red coil at her feet as she clawed it free, leaving her orange hair tumbling wild and free. Only then did she hurl her clutch purse across the foyer, the leather missile thudding heavy against the chaise with a muffled whump.
