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⎯ fashion killa
The Lyon Dynasty offices were buzzing with energy, phones ringing off the hook, music blasting faintly from the studio down the hall. But all that background noise was nothing compared to Y/N Lyon's voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. The unmistakable sound of high heels clicking against the tiled floor echoed through the hallway, sharp and deliberate, matching the storm cloud brewing on her face.
Y/N threw the door to the meeting room open, the bang reverberating off the walls. "You got me fucked up!" she shouted, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at no one in particular. Her gold hoops swayed with every dramatic move, and her glossy curls bounced around her shoulders, still picture-perfect despite the heat radiating off her. "Tell me why I'm out here wasting my time with that no-talent heffa who had the audacity to come at me sideways?!"
She stomped inside, the faint scent of vanilla and cocoa butter following her, her lavender nails tapping furiously against her phone screen as she texted someone in all caps. Her skin glistened faintly under the overhead lights, not from sweat but pure fury. She wore high-waisted jeans that hugged her curves and a cropped pink hoodie with "Lyon Dynasty" bedazzled across the front—because, if nothing else, Y/N always represented.
"Ma," she called out, throwing her hands in the air like she was pleading with the heavens. "Ma, I'm not playin'. Next time I see her, I'm snatching her wig off! And that's on me."
Cookie, sitting cool as ever at the head of the table, didn't even flinch. She was leaning back in her chair, her legs crossed, tapping her long red nails against the table like she was waiting for a show to start. Dressed in a sleek leopard-print blazer and tight black pants, Cookie looked like she was ready to shut down the whole building if necessary. Her signature Chanel perfume filled the room, mixing with the scent of Y/N's rising anger.
"Girl, calm your ass down," Cookie finally said, barely hiding the smirk tugging at her lips. "You out here hollerin' like you at somebody's barbecue. What happened now?"
Y/N whipped around to face her mother, her hands on her hips. "What happened?" she repeated, her voice dripping with incredulity. "Ma, that girl had the nerve to call me 'second-rate.' Like I ain't been holding it down for this group since day one!"
Cookie raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. "Second-rate? And what did you say back?"
Y/N scoffed, tossing her curls over her shoulder. "I told her she's lucky I didn't take off my hoops and handle her right there in the studio."
