Layla Zhao always thought she was untouchable.She leaned back in the plush leather seat of her pink-wrapped Mercedes, scrolling through her phone, red nails tapping on the screen. Her lips were painted a bright cherry gloss that shimmered under the early afternoon sun, and the faint scent of her expensive vanilla perfume filled the car.She scrolled past clips of Sarah’s meltdown at the panel, scoffing. “She deserves it,” Layla muttered, tossing her hair. She still remembered the days she and Sarah would sit at expensive rooftop bars, laughing while Brent—back then, “the coffee boy”—tripped over himself carrying their shopping bags.“Hey, worthless, don’t scratch the bags.”They would giggle, sipping mimosas, while Brent quietly bowed his head, swallowing every insult.Layla smirked. “Life is fair.”Today, she was headed to the launch of her “skincare brand,” which was actually drop-shipped cheap cream she rebranded with a gold