It was a cold night - the kind of cold that seemed distinct for Manhattan's nights, chilling your bones as well as your heart. Not that Aimée felt it. That was just one perk of being dead, but even if she were alive she wouldn't bother with the cold. She concentrated on driving her Mini, her knuckles all white because how hard she held the steering wheel.
The guy next to her - What was his name again? Rian? - kept talking about the gallery they've just visited. His gallery. How successful it was.
She tried not to listen, as it would make her more angry than she was anyway, but she failed. "Do you know how many visitors you had tonight?" Her voice sounded suppressed, lest she screamed at his stupid head. "Oh, it must have been around 70. Anyway, did you see who-" "No, but I saw who wasn't there and I know how many people went to that other bitch's exibition." Rebecca's protégé, of course. "Hey, babe we don't have to be number one; I'm already happy with what happened since I met you: I'm really making money with my art. You know, my mother used to say.."

But she wasn't listening anymore. At some point he - Brian? - laughed and Aimée felt the anger and disgust swelling up again. It's true, she took him under her wings, back when he seemed to have real potential. His work was so alive and breathtaking and his first exibition was a real success. For the first time she seemed to be better than her sire. But then his work became so repetetive, boring...
Aimée snapped out of her train of thought as the arrived at his appartment. He - she was almost sure his name was Jake - just wanted to bid farewell, as Aimée killed the engine off and got out herself. "We have to talk." So she followed him upstairs.
It took merely seconds after he unlocked his door that he was trying to kiss her. The beast now screamed inside her head and she hit him. His eyes widened in shock, but this stupid look on his face made her even more mad, almost raging. He didn't understand.
"Babe, I thought-" another hit broke off the sentence. Aimée hit him again. Again. Again. Because. He. Simply. Didn't. Understand. At some point his neck broke, but she continued. It wasn't about the fulfillment of his fucking dream, it was about what the people thought of her and having a boring and incompetent protégé was about the worst publicity to have. She hoped her prestige didn't suffer too much while she was caring about this cretin.
After a few minutes she stopped. She would've been exhausted, were she stil alive, but she only felt something in her die. She didn't regret killing him - he fully deserved it.

His face was nothing more but a bloody bulk, but it had its own special beauty. As she looked at her own piece of art she remembered.
His name was Hugh..probably.