bChapter /bb184 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

“I’ll handle the makeup,” L said, stepping closer to the rolling rack with confident strides. “Nothing too heavy, but bold. Elegant Eyes that bspeak /bbefore you do.”

“And I’ll handle the silhouette,” Antonia added, already grazing her fingers across the gowns, her gaze sharp and discerning. “Sculpted,manding…

but still feminine. There’s power in grace.”

They moved with quiet authority, the way seasoned artists do before touching a canvas. I stepped back, giving them space, watching my reflection in the floor–length mirror as they debated textures and cuts. It almost felt like I was floating outside myself, observing these two women shape the image of Olivia ke that the world would see today.

ra, alwaysposed, silently brought over essories–delicate nes, earrings that sparkled under the suite’s lighting, sleek clutches, and elegant stilettos. Her timing was wless, she seemed to know what Antonia or L needed before they even voiced it.

They set a small chair before the mirror for me to sit, and within moments, the air was thick with the familiar scent of foundation, powder, and high–end perfume. Brushes, palettes, andpacts appeared as L began to work, tilting my face gently from side to side.

“Close your eyes for me,” she murmured, her voice calm and soothing. I did as she asked, trusting herpletely. My team had never failed me, and today, failure wasn’t an option.

As L worked, Antonia continued to sift through the rack, pausing asionally to hold a dress against me. She’d tilt her head, assessing how the color matched my skin, how the cut might hug my frame. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror–hair half–pinned, foundation halfway done, bare shoulders. contrasted against vibrant fabrics.

Then, almost as if the dress itself had been waiting for the right moment, Antonia’s hand paused. Her eyes lit up, a subtle spark of satisfaction crossing her face. She carefully lifted a gown from between two others, its rich, deep red fabric catching the light.

“This one,” she dered, her voice firmer now. “Open back. Sculpted waist. Diamond ents. It’s quietly screaming power.”

I turned to look properly. The gown was breathtaking: sleek yet intricate, with tiny diamonds stitched into the bodice that shimmered when the light touched them. The back dipped daringly low, a statement of confidence without being vulgar.

“How much is that dress?” I asked, curiosity and a hint of amusement mixing in my voice.

Antonia flipped through the protective stic covering, searching for the price tag. “I don’t see it… wait…” She turned it around, still no sign. “It’s not here. But the name is here–it’s simplybeled as ‘Open Back.””

hing pantinmod

“Alright,” I said, reaching for my phone. Google had be a silent assistant in moments like this. I typed “Armani Open Back dress,” letting the search load while L dusted shimmer over my eyelids.

Within seconds, the dress popped up on the screen–high–resolution photos showing models wearing it at exclusive events. But it was the price that caught my attention: ￡73,000.

I raised an eyebrow. That much for a single dress? Even for someone like me, it felt outrageous–but also perfectly in line with the statement I needed to

make.

“That’s almost a hundred thousand dors,” I murmured, half to myself.

“Bring it closer,” I said to Antonia, unable to take/my eyes off the gown as she carefully removed it from the protective bag.

She held it delicately, almost reverently, and the soft fabric draped over her arms like flowing water. I reached out, my fingers brushing over the waistline, and instantly I knew–this wasn’t just any dress. The fabric felt unreal, softer than sitk but with a subtle weight to it, like it was whispering of hidden strength.

My hand slid lower to the tiny diamond stones stitched carefully across the bodice, and they shimmered under the warm hotel lighting. They bweren’t /bshowy bor /boverdone; instead, they looked precisely ced, adding quiet power to the gown. Real diamonds, I thought. Of course, they bmust /bbe realb./b,

b54 /bSat, 12 JURN

Chapter b184 /b

b“/bSeventy–three thousand pounds?” Antonia repeated softly, her voice almost catching in surprise as she nced at bmy /bbphone /bterean

b“/bFor a dressb?/bb” /bshe added, turning briefly to look at her colleague.

b*/bbThat /bcould get me a beautiful house back in Mexico,” her second designer chimed in, half whispering, halfughing.

They were right. Rationally, it was an absurd price. In fact, it would be the single most expensive dress I’d ever bought and I’d had my bshare /bofvish

the diamonds; it was how it made me feel just by purchases over the years. But there was something about this dress. It wasn’t just the price tag looking at it. Like it carried part of my story, a story of power, survival, and rebirth.

“ra,” I called, my gaze still locked on the dr

my fingers lightly tracing its seams.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, stepping closer.

I calmly.

“Make the payment to the Armani

family.““““edi

Without hesitation, she took out her phone, her fingers dancing swiftly across the screen. I knew she was texting my ount officer, arranging beverything /bwith quiet efficiency. In moments like these, ra

Was more than an assistant–she was my anchor, helping me turn decisions into action without bpause /b

“Finish with my makeup quickly,” I said to Antonia and L, my voice steady but eager. “I want bto /btry on this dress.”

They exchanged a knowing nce, almost smiling. They’d seen me determined beforeb, /bbut rarely like this. In minutes, brushes moved across my skin, powders blended, and my reflection transformed. It wasn’t overly dramatic–just enough to highlight the sharpness of my cheekbones and the quiet confidence in my eyes.

As L dusted the final hint of color over my lips, she stepped back and whispered, “Perfectb./bb” /b

11

I nodded once, turning my gaze toward the bathroom. My heartbeat quickened–not from nerves, but from anticipation. Alright, I thought, now let’s see if this hundred–thousand–dor dress really fits like destiny.

fragile porcin. Walking into the bathroom, I slipped out of my satin sleeping wear, feeling I took the gown carefully from the hanger, almost like it was the morning chill brush over my skin. Then, slowly, I unzipped the gown and stepped into it. The fabric felt cool against my body at first, then it seemed to warm, as if it was shaping itself around me. Even the faint scent of it–freshb, /bclean, and slightly floral–felt luxurious.

I avoided the mirror deliberately. If I stared at my reflection now, I’d start picking it apart, overthinking every fold and every curve. Instead, I trusted them. Trusted the looks that would meet me when I walked back into the room.

bAD /b