My name is Emma Hart. I am twenty three year old. And this is my story.
I am a fashion supermodel. I live in New York. Born and raised in California.
My parents – well, like most other parents are divorced. My mum just got married to her third husband six months ago. And my dad is surprisingly sticking on his fourth wife for about a year and half.
Strange? No. Humiliating? Sure.
My parents were childhood sweethearts. Lived across the street from each other. Love at the very first sight. Known each other for as long as they can remember. My father was the Captain of the football team and my mother was the Captain of the cheerleading squad. Divorced when I was eighteen.
Typical? Definitely. Surprising? Certainly not.
My mum is the most prestigious fashion designer in New York City. A workaholic. Currently enjoying vacation with the third husband.
My dad is the CEO and founder of Hart Enterprises in New York City. One of the leading business companies in the world. A workaholic too.
They live their life on their own.
I have a brother. His name is Alex Hart. A workaholic as well. The heir of the Hart Enterprises.
But my brother is the only person in the entire world that I turn up to when shit gets hard. I love him fiercely. And though he never misses a chance to tease me, I know he loves me too.
I live in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. In a penthouse. I am proud to say that I bought this house on my own.
My apartment is classy and luxurious. It has five bedrooms and one king size bedroom. I had floor to ceiling glass windows and the view from them is gorgeous. I have a clear view of Central Park from my living room. I had a huge walk in closet in my king size bedroom. And a huge heart shaped tub in my bathroom.
I am completely committed to my job. Might as well an workaholic too.
My brother and I have Sunday brunches with my mum and dinners with my dad once in two weeks which are mandatory no matter how far you are for work.
And my brother and I have our own thing for Saturday nights which our parents don’t know. Rather don’t care. We meet for dinner and drinks and talk about our respective weeks.
He is the only person I am comfortable with sharing my problems.
Yes, you have guessed right. Emma Hart do not have any friends in New York City. It’s not like she can’t make one, it’s more like she don’t trust one. Not anymore.
I go on random dates and have meaningless sex. Life was going pretty good. Until I got the invitation to one of my school friend’s wedding in three weeks.
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