KITTEN HEELS (Yandere Rival x Club-Owner Reader)

1. Inheritance

"Congratulations on your acceptance to Kansai University," Y/N leaned over the small kitchen table as she read the heading of a letter she had just received, printed on expensive cream paper in neat handwriting, along with the usual advertisements and bills. "Huh, I thought he was still pretending I didn't exist." She chuckled, recognizing the penmanship and pompous way of writing as belonging to her estranged uncle's secretary almost at once.

"Oh you know how he is, how he's always been." Minori responded, square skillet in one hand and some trashy novel in the other. Perhaps it was a skill developed over many years of practice, she couldn't even imagine the coordination it took to read and cook simultaneously. "Acknowledging your achievements, only to say how much better that spoiled brat of his is, ALL because we weren't married when you were born, shameful." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, patting her salt and pepper hair in rollers and tightening her silk robe. She didn't talk about her relationship with Y/N's mom much, but when she did it was usually because her uncle was doing something backhanded or demining.

"Well let's see what else my self-aggrandizing uncle has to say," She said, taking a moment to mentally prepare before fully unfolding the letter. She began to read in a monotone voice, glossing over all the filler and pointless pleasantries, "so proud of you -blah blah blah finally got accepted to college, after two years- just had to throw that in, didn't he? Gifting you part of your mother's estate- I'll send a car to take you to my attorney's office on the 15th- THAT'S TODAY." Her eyes, which had grown wider and wider, nearly eclipsed her entire face by the time she reached the bottom of the paper.

The air in the kitchen was oppressively silent, neither Y/N or Minori moved, the only sound that dared penetrate the atmosphere was the sizzling of the eggs in the skillet, left to cook on one side for too long by the middle aged women who was suddenly not able to focus on either her book or her cooking.

Then the doorbell rang.

Y/N jumped out of her seat so fast she nearly tripped over her feet and fell head first down the stairs. She managed to regain her balance, inhaling a calming breath.

Minori's book hit the linoleum with a thud, as she cursed under her breath, "Oh that's just like him, I bet he timed the mail for that letter so you wouldn't have any time to prepare." She puttered around the kitchen, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets taking out emergency stashes of makeup and jewelry with practiced hands. She started applying everything in dizzying speeds, an undeniable practiced hand. Meanwhile the eggs sat on the stovetop, completely forgotten. "I'll keep the driver busy, I have some Vivian Westwood in my closet you can borrow. I will not have him thinking we're poor." She finished off the speed makeup makeover with mascara before setting her tools aside and adjusting the gap in her robe around her non-existent cleavage.

"What I'm wearing is fine," Y/N stopped her from going down the stairs to the narrow entrance hall, running down them in her stead. "I have classes today-and I won't have time to change." She said, not even bothering to mention that the Vivian Westwood dress would be much too long for her. She may not have been wearing designer clothes, but she still prided herself on dressing well. She was wearing a coral blazer, silk blouse, and long black pencil skirt. It was something that was appropriate for school and an attorney's office.

"Still-" Minori protested from the top of the stairs, her eyes drifting towards her bedroom door, where a boundless treasure of exquisite fashion lay.

The doorbell rang again, longer this time.

She slipped into a pair of black and gold kitten heels, the lowest and most perfesional pair she owned, while placing her phone in her purse, double checking that she had her ID, Bank Card, and other important identification and documentation an attorney would need. "I'm wearing Saint Laurent," Y/N stopped her protests, gesturing to the heels on her feet that elevated the entire outfit. "That's more than enough. I couldn't give a damn about looking poor, I'm fabulous, and I already know what he thinks of me."