Her smile widened as she stood beside Elizabeth, feigning playfulness. “So, Elijah, tell us—who wore it better, me or Ms. Elizabeth?”

Elijah paused, almost dismissing the question, but then recalled the man’s hand gently caressing Elizabeth’s leg the previous evening. Had she worn that outfit, his touch would have been directly on her skin. His irritation growing, he retorted with disdain, “You certainly wear it better than she ever could.”

Elizabeth, having no desire to compete, merely sought escape. She turned and headed for the fitting room to change.

Noticing her indifferent response, Elijah realized he might have been too harsh. His voice hardened. “What is this supposed to cover? Is this a dress or a joke? Why can’t you choose something that properly covers you?”

Elizabeth stopped; a sharp pain shot through her old leg scars. Elijah’s scrutiny implied her scars were unsightly, shameful to the Norris family. He could have shown at least a pretense of concern. Why the open disgust in public?

Noticing Elizabeth’s subdued reaction, Camille moved protectively to her side. “Mr. James,” she said, her tone confrontational, “can’t you tell the genuine from the superficial? Or do you actually have such a twisted preference for ugliness? Do you really believe her slender figure surpasses Elizabeth’s grace?”

Sandra intervened gently. “Hold on, he was just teasing. Don’t take it so seriously. I have a heart condition, so Elijah tends to pamper me. I know I don’t have Ms. Elizabeth’s grandeur. Honestly, at her age, she could opt for something more refined.”