Summer Love (Complete)

The Devil Who Wears Prada

Karla's POV

Chanel's cotton canvas white as my top.

Chanel's gold metal and cystal belt perfect for my black chanel jumpsuit.

Hermes blue convoyeur mini bag.

A pair of prada's maquillage sunglasses to protect my beautiful brown eyes.

A pair of Gucci's screener sneaker with cystal.

Burberry's her blossom for the day's perfume.

I parked my Bugatti La Voiture Noire in front of the Starbucks, completely ignoring the traffic officer who kept blowing his whistle. He kept giving me a signal to park my car to the right place, so I look around hoping to find a single ounce of care to what he's telling me. Sadly I didn't.

Who cares about the rules when you belong to the most wealthiest family in the world? Rules are rules for poor people of course. But for us? Rules are nothing when you have a good credit. Unfair, isn't it? Well, welcome to the harsh reality.

A long line of ugly ass people welcomed me as soon as I step inside the starbucks. I looked at Brooke, giving her a signal to clear the path that I'm about to walk in.

God! I fucking hate waiting! A bitch like me wasn't born in this world to patient. No one was even worthy of my patience, not even a bit!

"Out of the way, please!" Brooke exclaimed as her and my entire security team cleared the pathway for me.

I smirk while watching their poor asses giving a way for their highness. Obedient dogs, I love it!

I let my brown silky hair dance in the mid air as I started to walk, flaunting my signature clothes and bag. I can feel all their insecure jealous eyes landed on me with their jaw dropped on the floor.

Easily understandable when good looking of a woman like me walks in front of you. I mean??? We don't really have to debate on it.

And I don't need no introduction because my last name speaks for itself— Estrabao; the heiress to the most successful record label company, Bell Curve, lead vocalist of the top selling band Synethesia, a walking signature brand from head to toe and a living goddess.

I finally ordered the usual frappe that I always drink. And for the love of god, it took five bloody hell minutes before she hand it over to me.

"Thank you for waiting, here's your frappe." She smiled, handing over a piece of napkin and a straw.

"Why is this simple looking frappe took five long minutes?!" I practically yelled at her.

"I-I'm sorry Ms, but the proc—"

I raised my right eyebrow making her stop from talking, "Stop giving me your lame excuses!"

She nod her head immediately without meeting my gaze.