Ivy had never been one to splurge on brunches and dinners to butter up her social circle. The distrust served her right, some would mutter under their breaths.
At the end of the day, it was her lack of social grace that set her apart from the high-society wives – the basic etiquette she lacked. How could she possibly stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of the Balfours?
The more indifferent Ivy appeared, the more pitiful Giselle seemed with her tear-stained cheeks and quivering lips, which only riled Ivy further. Yet, everyone else seemed to fall for Giselle's lies.
"If you're all hell-bent on pinning this on me, then there's nothing more I can say. I don't owe an explanation to those who don't trust me! When Colton arrives with the updates, the truth will out," Ivy declared with a defiant tilt of her chin, which only made her colleagues loathe her more.
What was she so smug about?
The surveillance footage was clear as day. Who else wore the same outfit as she did that day?
"Ivy, give it a rest. The footage is crystal clear. We're not idiots," someone said, trying to reason with her. "Just admit it was an accident, apologize to everyone, and maybe take a bouquet to Diana to make amends. If you can get Diana's forgiveness, you might still have a shot in this circle. Otherwise, not even I can save you. Ivy, don't be so stubborn. Admitting you're wrong is the first step."
A bespectacled woman stepped in to stop Giselle, "Why bother defending someone so heartless? It's pointless! Her heart's as black as coal. You can't reason with her. If you keep her as a friend, you might just be the next one to get hurt."
"Yeah, Giselle, keep your distance from her. We all want to keep seeing you on the silver screen. People like Ivy come and go. If she vanishes, she vanishes."
Giselle hung her head, the picture of helplessness.
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