Elena's world was a maelstrom of flashing lights and digital venom. Every notification pinged like a bullet, driving her deeper into a pit of sheer terror and pure rage. Her manicured nails dug crescent shapes into her palms as she glared at the spike of online activity, the humiliating, inescapable truth of her father's treachery now a feast for the netizens.
The Vaughn name, once synonymous with impeccable grace, was being dragged through the mud. Her carefully constructed image the A-list model, the future wife of Damian Thorn was disintegrating before her eyes.
"What's the situation outside?!" she roared, the sound echoing in the one of the opulent Soléne Couture offices, making her manager, a woman usually unfazed, physically shake.
Outside, the situation was chaos. Paparazzi, a ravenous hoard, were besieging the building, their lenses pointed like weapons, their shouts muffled only slightly by the desperate efforts of the security team.
