She had to be doing this on purpose.
She knew Mirabelle and Joanna didn’t get along, and that’s exactly why she’d shown
up at Mirabelle’s studio, pretending to be some sort of design consultant.
What a schemer.
Joanna’s assistant, standing nearby, was so startled she didn’t even dare to breathe.
“Go get me my phone.”
Only after hearing Joanna’s icy voice did the assistant dare to move.
After the red–carpet dress fiasco came to an end, the tide online shifted dramatically.
Mirabelle’s fans, who had been silenced for so long, finally found the courage to fight back.
Meanwhile, Joanna’s followers clung desperately to the narrative that Lance had never acknowledged the dress as his own design, and their idol was entirely in the
dark.
The argument between both camps dragged on, with everyone waiting for the results of tonight’s awards ceremony.
Backstage, after the red carpet, Lance was seething.
He never imagined Mirabelle would actually dare to embarrass him like this, right out in the open.
His gaze locked onto Celestine’s figure.
So, she was Chester’s wife.
He had to admit, he’d once been grateful this woman ended up in Chester’s bed. Joanna deserved better–far better than being reduced to someone’s stepmother, or worse, a mistress.
But in this mess, what part had Celestine played?
He’d seen the look Celestine had picked out for Mirabelle; it was flashy, clearly meant to steal attention.
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As for making a name for herself in the design world? She was dreaming.
Celestine must have sensed his glare. She turned, meeting Lance’s eyes, which held a curious, probing look.
She offered him a calm nod, then walked away.
So that was Lance–the young prodigy who owned Zephyrus Atelier. The designer with all those tangled connections to Joanna.
He was the only one among Chester and Joanna’s circle whom Celestine had never met.
To boost Joanna’s profile, he’d orchestrated an online smear campaign against Mirabelle without batting an eye.
His actual design talent was debatable, but his tactics were slick and ruthless.
Too bad this time, luck wasn’t on his side.
It looked like Celestine would be crossing paths with plenty more conniving opponents like him in the future.
But Mirabelle had finally scored a much–needed comeback tonight–and that was enough for now.
After the red carpet, there was still a break before the formal awards ceremony, giving the stars time to freshen up and get ready for the evening gala.
Celestine waited as Mirabelle changed into her last look of the night–a flowing gown–and was about to slip away quietly.
“Oh no! I think I left my gold hairpin in the car when we got out!”
The stylists were running around in a panic, pressed for time.
“I’ll go get it,” Celestine volunteered.
The car was parked in the theater’s underground lot.
Following the instructions the staff had given her, she found the hairpin quickly and let out a sigh of relief.
Just as she was about to get out, a sudden flash of red light shot through the window–so bright it made her instinctively squeeze her eyes shut.
In the back seat of a nearby car, Celia’s hand froze midair, still holding the tiny laser pointer.
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Chapter 10
Through the window, she spotted Celestine outside, looking almost ethereal in her gown. Uncertain, she turned to the man beside her. “Daddy, is that Mom?”
Chester glanced up from his papers and saw her too.
Celestine looked even more delicate than usual in that pale, champagne–colored dress. The soft fabric hugged her slender frame, the skirt brushing just above her knees, revealing legs as pale as lilies–a vision that brought back far more intimate memories.
Chester’s gaze darkened. What was she doing here?
“That’s your mom,” he answered quietly.
A thought struck Celia, and she shoved the laser pointer into her pocket, then
scrambled out of the car.
“Mom! Can you please stop following Dad and me? You know, it’s really rude to act like this!”
She ran right up to Celestine, tilting her chin up to scold her.
Celestine noticed the laser pointer still in her daughter’s hand and gave her a gentle, knowing smile before glancing at the man behind her. “And here I was wondering which family raised a child with such poor manners–pointing a laser at people is hardly polite, is it?”
