Only after meeting Mr Avery did Saoirse realise she was in the presence of fashion royalty. Mr Francis Avery was a world renowned dressmaker who specialised in wedding dresses or attire for the red carpet. Despite his 5'0 height, he dominated his fabulously decorated office accessorized with model-like assistants.

'Now sweetie, you need to strip.'

'S-Sorry?' Saoirse spluttered.

'Strip. Honey, I know I'm good but even I can't take your measurements when you're wearing such baggy clothes.' Saoirse grit her teeth when she felt the colour paint her cheeks.

'There's no need to be shy, believe me when I say I've seen it all…' He bustled around, taking reams of fabric from hidden cabinets and plucking two striking girls from the office to assist him. Ignoring the judgmental gazes of Mr Avery's assistants, Saoirse quickly parted ways with her comfortable clothes. Mr Avery glanced up and paused, letting out a low whistle.

'Well I must admit… I wasn't expecting that.'

'Expecting what?' Saoirse asked, feeling as if she'd grown scales all over her body. Mr Avery approached her and spread her arms out horizontally.

'Your muscle tone… it's exceptionally defined. Do you lift weights?' He asked while squeezing her bicep.

'I box.' Saoirse said shortly.

'Yes, kickboxing seems to be very popular with the ladies at the moment –'

'No, I box, like Muhammad Ali did except obviously not as well.'

'What a masculine sport for you to be attracted to.' Mr Avery said, watching carefully for her reaction.

'Well… my gym is mostly populated by men.' Saoirse said with a devilish smile.

'Oh I bet you just hate that. Now Ms Nolan, don't be offended by what I'm about to say, it is merely to preserve you from the wrath of the paparazzi.'

'I think I can handle it.' Saoirse said.

'I suggest for the next two weeks, you treat boxing like UGG boots.'

'And how should I be treating UGG Boots?'

'As if they were carcinogenic, they should be avoided at all costs.' It took a second for the metaphor to sink in.

'…I can't quite training for two weeks, that's nuts!' Saoirse scoffed.

'Well if you continue, the paparazzi will dub you 'she-hulk' when they snap a photo of you unconsciously flexing.'

'Surely I'm not that toned.'

'For a red-carpet event, you most certainly are sweetie.' Saoirse chewed her fingernails while soaking in Mr Avery's advice. Her boxing had improved mightily and she had finally won a few fights in her local gym. Yet being able to defend herself in a boxing match was not something which would be deemed 'elegant' by the paparazzi or any of the guests Mr Wayne would introduce her to. Though she hated to admit it, Mr Avery was probably right; she didn't want to scare the people she was supposed to be charming with bulging biceps.

'Point taken. Now, I thought I came here for a dress?' Saoirse asked.

'So you did. Now I received some photos of you before you arrived to get an idea of what might compliment your skin, eye and hair colour. And I thought this would suit nicely.' He clicked his fingers and one of his assistants handed him a beautiful dark green fabric. 'This is made of chiffon, a lovely light fabric which will float around your feet as you walk. Now, let's get measuring!'

It took a solid hour of poking, prodding, cutting and stitching to receive the satisfactory skeleton of Saoirse's dress. The slim sleeves rested perpendicular to her shoulders, creating an aesthetically pleasing straight line. This was dotted with hastily stitched petit green flowers. The green material spiralled around Saoirse's midriff before cinching in at the hips with another line of small green flowers. Beneath the hips, the material was allowed to fall to the floor in beautiful tresses.

'Now sweetie, it's very important which hairstyle you choose as your hair is Mother Nature's most gracious accessory. I personally believe an up-do is out of the question, with hair the colour of sunsets, you should allow it to float around these exposed shoulders of yours.' He quickly released Saoirse's pony tail, allowing the hair to messily fall around her shoulders. 'There we go… gorgeous! Why can't I work with more redheads?' He sighed wistfully while stitching one final flower to her hips. 'Well that's the idea of the dress. Now, shoes!' He clapped his hands, sending his assistants scuttling around the office, bringing back large boxes stamped with frightfully expensive brands. Saoirse must have tried on fifty shoes before finding ones she could easily walk in. Mr Avery eventually nodded in approval before accessories were sent for, tried on and chosen. 'I think that's everything… dress, shoes, earrings, bracelet, rings, necklace and clutch...'

'Perhaps a coat?'

'Don't be insane dear, how will you showcase the fabulous dress I've created?!' Saoirse decided to keep her logic about staying warm to herself. 'Right, the dress should be ready next week, I'll keep your accessories here and you can pick them up all together. Yes, that means you can change back into those hideous clothes of yours.' He said with a roll of his eyes. Finally she claimed sanctuary in the baggy clothes she came in, thanking the heavens for whoever designed comfortable flat shoes.

'Oh and you have an appointment with a personal friend of mine who'll take care of your hair and makeup.' Mr Avery added. 'He's a bit of a diva but most gifted with creativity are! Oh my dear, enjoy the night, it will be one to remember! Who knows what famous bachelor will take a shine to you…' Saoirse decided not to burst his bubble, attracting a husband was the last thing she would be doing at this party… Or so she hoped.

A second later she was out of the dressmakers, hoping she wouldn't have to attend another event like this for quite some time. She was glad to be leaving the chaotic office behind; she'd had too many shiny objects and soft materials thrown at her today.

Ten minutes later she was opening her apartment, ready to divulge the insane day to her roommate. Things had been slowly improving between them and Saoirse hoped to maintain the path of steady recovery. Maybe she could ask Lisbeth to be her plus one at this party…

'Lisbeth? You won't believe what happened today…' Saoirse went into the kitchen and made a well-deserved cup of tea. 'I'm making tea, do you want some?' Silence greeted her words. 'Lisbeth? You can't be asleep it's barely nine o'clock!'

Saoirse knocked gently on her roommate's door with a spare mug of tea in hand. To her surprise the usually locked door swung inwards, revealing a gut-wrenching sight. The bed had been stripped of its coverings and sheets, drawers lay abandoned and the wardrobe appeared vulnerable with empty hangers. Saoirse slowly stepped into the room, a small note resting on the bedside table attracting her attention. She carefully unfolded the page and began to read.

Dear Saoirse,

We've been roommates for the past two years and have created some of the best memories of my life. However, you also witnessed my most frightening and painful experience, the night I was stabbed. I know you saved my life yet every time I see you or converse with you, that night is all I can think about. My therapist suggests I leave you for a while, perhaps even permanently in order to overcome the constant anxiety which has plagued me since that event. You may read this short note and call me a coward as I have run away without saying a proper goodbye. When you think of me, I can only hope you overlook my childish escape and remember the brilliant times we had together.

I hope everything works out for you in the future Saoirse, please believe me when I say that.

Forgive me;

Lisbeth.

Saoirse quickly re-folded the sheet of paper (a tricky task with shaking hands) and slammed Lisbeth's former door shut. She grabbed the house phone and quickly called Lisbeth's mobile.

The number you are calling has been disconnected. Please enter another number.

Saoirse dropped the phone and re-entered Lisbeth's bedroom. She searched every corner, every crevice for a sign that her roommate wold be returning, but none were to be found. Giving up in the bedroom, Saoirse returned her attention to the rest of the apartment. She ran around, upending the apartment which Lisbeth had so meticulously cleaned before bailing. How nice of her. She paused and picked up the phone once more, dialling Lisbeth's parents.

'Hello?' Lisbeth's mother said.

'Beatrice! It's Saoirse, have you heard from Lis–'

'I'm sorry Saoirse, but I shouldn't be talking to you.'

'But Beatrice, wait –'

The line went dead. Saoirse stared at the phone in her hand in disbelief before she re-dialled once more.

Welcome to the voicemail of 555 437289, the person you are calling has their mobile phone powered off. Please leave a message after the tone.

Saoirse didn't know what to do next. How should she contact her? Should she contact her? Perhaps tomorrow she could launch the spyware she'd been working on and track down Lisbeth's coordinates… yet something stopped Saoirse pursuing this idea. She reluctantly re-read Lisbeth's letter and came to the conclusion that she didn't want to be found. And if she didn't want to be found… Saoirse wasn't going to look for her.

She approached the sitting room, a terrifying numbness swirling in her stomach. As she sat, she allowed the feeling to flow into her limbs, freezing her veins as it progressed through her body. Her hands stopped trembling and her ignited anger was smothered. Somewhere she realised she was defeated. Though she tried to look at the situation from a different perspective, all she could think of was how Lisbeth had abandoned her. Saoirse had saved her best friend's life and instead of the event bringing them closer, Lisbeth had allowed it to tear them apart. How could she be so selfish to allow this to happen? After the loyalty she had shown, how could Lisbeth abandon her?

When the numbness had completely engulfed her, Saoirse focused her attention on one thing: ripping Lisbeth's letter into tiny shreds.