Chapter 8

Alison instantly caught Maura’s hint, chiming in smoothly, “Oh, you’re absolutely right. I just noticed Miss Newton is also wearing Thom & Gottex, but it’s nowhere near as creative as Miss Aurora Crawford’s look.”

Kamara, already simmering from Aurora’s attention, practically exploded. She marched over, bristling with indignation. “Every brand has its identity. Altering the design disrespects the brand’s culture. You have no business wearing Thom & Gottex.”

The Crawford and Lloyd families were not on the same social level as the Newtons, a fact known to all. Though many silently disagreed, none dared to speak against Kamara.

Aurora coolly released Maura’s hand. “Fashion is subjective, and so is style,” she said with a casual shrug. “Personally, I’m not a fan of your necklace, Miss Newton. It doesn’t do much for your look.”

Samara’s face flushed. A nobody like her, daring to insult me? she fumed inwardly. She clenched her fists and scoffed, “Do you have any idea who designed this necklace? How dare you criticize it!”

Her glare flicked to Aurora’s tiara. “And that tiara—it’s not from any brand I know. Looks like cheap trash. Pairing it with Thom & Gottex? Now that’s a real insult to the brand.”

Aurora faltered. The tiara’s origin was a mystery to her; she hadn’t even chosen it. Just half an hour ago, Harry had stopped her at the mansion door, saying Daxon wanted to see her. She knew the reason for the meeting and followed him. Afterward, noticing her lack of accessories, Daxon casually handed her the tiara as a down payment.

Maura quickly interjected, offering Samara a glass of juice. “Don’t be mad, Samara. Aurora just got back; she doesn’t know much about these things.”

She then turned to Aurora, feigning concern. “Samara is one of Thom & Gottex’s brand ambassadors. She’s invited to all their new collection launches and has first pick on the haute couture. Thom & Gottex even said on their official blog that Samara’s the best at styling their designs.”

Maura shot Aurora a conflicted look. “So, if Samara says your look isn’t appropriate, she’s probably right.” Damon, ever the gentleman, offered a solution with a polite smile. “We have backup gowns ready, Miss Aurora Crawford. Perhaps you’d like to change?” Everyone knew Aurora’s dress was stunning, but they also knew better than to upset Samara.

“Backup gowns?” Aurora’s thoughts churned. “They’re probably last-season, bargain-bin disasters.”

Samara looked at Aurora with disdain, expecting her to cave. She figured no one would dare defy her. But Aurora merely smiled. Instead of backing down, she met Samara’s gaze head-on. “So, you’re a brand ambassador? I thought I was speaking to the designer. Even if I was, once the dress is made, it’s up to the wearer how to style it. Maybe stick to your own wardrobe, Miss Newton, instead of policing mine.”

The final words were slow and deliberate, each syllable dripping with cool defiance.

Samara’s face turned beet red. “No one’s ever dared to speak to me like this!” she seethed internally.

Without another word, Samara lifted her glass of juice, aiming to drench Aurora…

But before she could, Aurora swiftly pulled Maura in front of her. The juice splashed all over Maura’s pristine white dress, leaving a glaring, sticky stain. Maura stood frozen in shock. Even trying to distance herself, she’d been pulled back into the fray.

“You… you actually dodged!” Samara stammered, trembling in disbelief.

Aurora raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk curling her lips. “Did you think I’m stupid, Miss Newton?”

The insult hung in the air, and Samara’s anger boiled over. She’d been pampered and praised her entire life, even feared. In Mereida, she could walk all over anyone.

But now Aurora, a country bumpkin in Samara’s eyes, was treating her like a joke. Samara’s knuckles whitened as she prepared for her next tantrum, silently vowing revenge.

Chapter 9

Beatrix Newton arrived, flanked by a group of high-society women. Dressed in a chic Chanel suit, she exuded old money. The diamond bracelet on her wrist easily cost tens of millions of dollars, and her perfectly maintained face showed not a single wrinkle. But her sharp, no-nonsense expression gave her an aura of authority.

“Mom!” Samara ran over, clinging to Beatrix’s arm. “This Aurora’s a bully!”

Maura, nearby, head lowered and face pale, chimed in shakily, “Mrs. Newton…”

Samara wasted no time twisting the narrative. “You have no idea, Mom. Aurora’s been awful. Look at this dress. It costs more than $300,000. And poor Maura’s dress is just a measly $70,000! I was trying to get Aurora to change into something more appropriate, so the Crawfords wouldn’t get a reputation for playing favorites. But instead, she wrecked Maura’s dress and had the nerve to insult me!”

Aurora stood her ground, watching the theatrics unfold.

Beatrix didn’t bother fact-checking, not even glancing at Aurora. Her cold gaze shifted to Stacy as she questioned in an icy tone, “Mrs. Crawford, Maura is our chosen bride for our son. Are you really going to let some outsider you dragged in from who-knows-where upstage her? What does that say about our family?”

Damon’s expression darkened at “chosen bride,” but he forced a polite smile. The Newtons are far more powerful than my family.

Stacy, however, was giddy inside, though she played her part well. “Aurora is Esme’s daughter, and she’s only just returned from the countryside. I…” she began, playing the victim.

Beatrix sighed, cutting her off with faux sympathy. “Exactly. Since she’s fresh from the sticks, she needs to learn some manners. She’s all rough edges. If she doesn’t shape up, she’ll be a lost cause.”

Together, Beatrix and Stacy turned their verbal daggers on Aurora, portraying her as gutter trash.

Beatrix’s eyes flicked to the tiara. Her lips curled into a condescending smile. “That tiara you’re wearing? It debuted last week in Desucia. It hasn’t even hit the shelves here yet. If you can’t afford real jewelry, fine, but wearing a knock-off? That’s just tacky.”

Aurora’s heart skipped a beat. A knock-off? There’s no way Daxon would give me a fake.

Sensing her disbelief, Beatrix explained the tiara’s origin, her tone growing even more smug. “What? You think I’m lying? This tiara is from Lavalier Jewels, a brand exclusively for royalty. Only families with centuries of power can even dream of owning one. Ordinary people don’t even know it exists.”

Samara perked up, eyes gleaming. “Wearing fake jewelry, huh? I’ve seen it before, but girl, this is a new low. You’ve officially embarrassed yourself on an international level.”

A ripple of laughter followed, with Alison chiming in, “No wonder she couldn’t name the brand earlier.”

Beatrix glanced at Maura’s ruined gown, then at Aurora’s and Samara’s. Although both dresses were from the same collection, Aurora’s styling was far more elegant.

“I’ll make this easy,” Beatrix declared. “Apologize to Maura and Samara, change your dress, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Samara lifted her chin proudly, while Maura subtly inched forward, positioning herself in front of Aurora.

“Aurora, be a good girl and apologize,” Stacy cooed, her voice dripping with false affection. “Mrs. Newton is being very reasonable.”

Aurora remained quiet, head bowed. Everyone assumed she was too afraid to speak. In reality, her mind was racing. Beatrix wasn’t some untouchable queen—Aurora knew her true background. Beatrix was a disgraced illegitimate child, banished from the Chapman family to live in Mereida. In Aurora’s past life, Beatrix’s attempts to use the Chapman name had backfired spectacularly. The truth about Beatrix’s origins had been exposed, making her the biggest joke in Mereida.