❝all that is gold does not glitter,
not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither,
deep roots are not reached by the frost❞
- j.r. tolkien
in which she has problems money could never fix.
[crazy rich asians 2018]
[nov 30...
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──── ❝ chapter xiv ❞ ────
❝ our present ❞
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WHEN I VISITED ITALY DURING a trip my sophomore year, I had an outfit perfectly tailored for a fine dining date with Joey. Most kids used their parents' spending money on Murano glass and Burano lace, but even the richest kids- next to me, of course- didn't have the money nor connections to get a new, designer outfit without setting up appointments weeks in advance.
Most rich kids aren't Diana fucking Young, though.
A white v-neck tucked into high-waisted white pants, designed with gold embellishments and a white leather belt to cinch the midsection. A matching white blazer with a "D" emblazoned on the pure white lapel. White pumps to add height. Curled hair at the edges to enhance the sharp lines of the shoulder pads. Red lips to add a splash of color to the ensemble. Confidence because, as said before, you are Diana fucking Young.
As I stormed through the front doors of the Kim estate, some of the staff were giving me looks of surprise. Last time I'd come through here, I was a mess. Scared and angry. I was angry now, but here with a mission that only I could do.
"Miss Young, Mr. Kim isn't-"
"Shut it." I growled while walking past him.
My muscles knew what to do before my brain even did. Motivated and pissed the fuck off, I slammed his door open. In seeing his frantic eyes but inability to vocally acknowledge me due to his speaking on his landline phone, I tore the plug out of the wall, not giving two fucks about the papers and knick-knacks that fell to the floor around me.
"What the fuck, Diana?" Asher snapped. "I was in the middle of a call!"
I opened my gold handbag and threw a manila folder onto his desk. Said folder was overflowing with papers , photos, and sticky-notes with scribbles of words that filled the entirety of the neon-colored paper.
"What's this?"
"Transcribed testimonies of several of your ex-employees, ex-classmates, and ex-girlfriends, all regarding the sexual harassment and abuse they experienced while in the presence of a one Asher Kim. 27 testimonies to be exact." I informed.
I'd read every single one. Some had decided to remain anonymous, something I could understand with some of the stories I had read in there. Many, though, came forward, names, photos, evidence and all. The details each woman had been paid to keep to themselves, the crimes against them that would've never seen the light of day if not for a single moment.
