"Hugo, do you have the recent sales reports ready for me yet?" It was only one in the afternoon and my ankles were already killing me. I knew better than to use sky high stilettos with absolutely no support in the shank, but I did it anyway. Why? Because I was getting photographed right and left by the paparazzi, and who was I to step out looking anything less than exceptional? The media had been branding me as mentally unstable and unfit to hold an executive position for my job. Some people were even demanding—not asking, demanding—that I be re-institutionalised until professionals deemed me fit to be in society.
The worst part? People were even beginning to speculate that because I was 'mentally unstable' the entire scandal had been orchestrated by me. Once again, my entire life was falling apart and I couldn't do anything about it.
