Gianna stood before the mirror, looking her best, or at least the best of what she could manage after the disaster of last night. She hadn't been able to sleep, despite taking her drugs, nor had she been able to accept Chelsea's diagnosis that she stay at home today.
She turned to her side, inhaling deeply, staring at herself, at the faint lines around her eyes despite the makeup she had done to cover the dark circles there.
Her reflection stared back at her, dressed in a fastidious, clean, carefully coordinated outfit—an ivory button-up shirt tucked neatly into high-waisted black palazzos that draped fluidly around her legs, sharp enough to be official yet soft enough to feel like armor.
The shirt's crisp collar framed her face, while her makeup—warm-toned foundation, a subtle contour, lashes brushed upward, and a muted rose lip—accentuated her features just enough to hide the storm brewing beneath her skin.
