The Devil Wears Prada : Blood on the Runway

The heavy mahogany doors of the Priestly estate didn’t creak; they glided with the same silent intimidation as their late owner. Miranda Priestly had died as she lived: flawlessly, leaving the fashion world in a state of catatonic grief. But the real shock came during the reading of the will.

"To Andrea Sachs," the lawyer had intoned, "I leave my Manhattan townhouse, the estate in France, and the controlling interest in the Elias-Clarke empire."

Emily Charlton had waited for her name. She had waited for the "And to my loyal assistant..." that never came. Instead, Miranda had left Emily a vintage Chanel suit and a firm "good luck."

For three weeks, Emily simmered in a cocktail of Gin and pure, unadulterated vitriol. She had spent years fetching lattes and dodging stilettos, while "Six," the girl who didn't know how to spell Gabbana, was now the most powerful woman in New York.

Emily tried the legal route first. She filed injunctions claiming Miranda was of unsound mind, but Andrea, now draped in Celine and looking hauntingly like her mentor, had the best lawyers Miranda’s money could buy. Every motion was dismissed.

"It’s not yours, Andy!" Emily screamed over the phone. "You were a blip! I was the legacy!"

The gala celebrating the new "Sachs Foundation" was held at the townhouse. Emily slipped through the service entrance, a silver letter opener tucked into her clutch. She found Andrea in Miranda’s old office, staring out at the skyline.

"You don't deserve her life," Emily hissed, her voice cracking. "You didn't even want it."

Andrea turned, her expression cool and heartbreakingly disappointed. "I didn't ask for this, Emily. But I’m not giving it up."

Emily lunged, the silver blade gleaming. But she was frantic, fueled by months of starvation and rage. Andrea stepped aside—a move she’d learned from watching Miranda dodge social climbers and Emily tumbled into the desk.

Before Emily could right herself, two security guards were on her. They had been standing in the shadows of the hallway the entire time.

"I called them when you entered the building, Emily," Andrea said softly, adjusted her cuff. "Miranda taught me to always see the threat before it enters the room."

As the police led a sobbing Emily away, Andrea picked up a stray Hermes scarf. "That's all," she whispered to the empty room.