Chapter 42
A saleswoman rushed out from inside the boutique.
She was a woman in her early thirties, heavily made up, her eyes pausing for a second on the Hermès bag in Haven's hand, then another second on Valencia's logo-less suit—making her judgment in half a second.
"Mrs. Wipere!" The saleswoman approached Haven with a saccharine smile plastered across her face. "The limited runway piece you reserved last time just arrived. I kept it specially in the back for you—didn't let anyone touch it. Right this way—"
She turned her head, her tone dropping three notches when addressing Valencia and Seraphine, her expression now perfunctory and businesslike. "You two please wait a moment. I need to assist Mrs. Wipere first. Feel free to browse on your own."
Valencia stood in place, watching her, saying nothing.
The saleswoman didn't spare them another glance and reached out to take the dress from Valencia's hand.
"Does your store not even understand the concept of first come, first served?" Valencia's gaze turned cold.
The saleswoman didn't even look at her, wrapping up the dress and fawning as she presented it to Haven, her tone dripping with flattery. "Mrs. Wipere, look—only two of these came to all of Silverlight City, and I specifically saved one for you. The Wipere family is one of our long-standing customers, so of course you get priority service. Mr. Wipere is the richest man in Silverpeak Town—our manager specifically instructed that Mrs. Wipere's orders must be handled first. Unlike some walk-in customers who try things on forever and probably can't even afford them, but still like to put on airs."
The word "richest" made Haven's chin lift even higher.
She smugly held the dress up against herself, deliberately raising her voice so it echoed through the quiet boutique. "At least you understand. Some counters really let just anyone in. Standards—you have to have standards. Can't let just anyone walk in."
The saleswoman laughed along, her gaze sweeping over Valencia and Seraphine, a hint of disdain curving her lips. "Mrs. Wipere is absolutely right. Our pieces start at six figures. It's truly not something everyone can afford. The third floor has fast-fashion brands—much more affordable, just a thousand or two dollars. How about—"
She tilted her head toward Valencia. "Shall I point you in that direction?"
Xiomara stood beside them, silent the entire time, only tilting her head slightly, watching Seraphine with a gentle, pitying gaze—as though looking at a poor relative who'd wandered into an upscale venue without realizing it.
She finally let out a soft sigh, her tone full of "I'm looking out for you" regret when she spoke. "Seraphine, don't take the saleswoman's attitude to heart. The clothes here really aren't cheap. If you want to add a few new pieces, I know some great value brands I can recommend. They're not big names, but you won't be embarrassed wearing them out. After all, your circumstances now are different from before. Save where you can."
After she finished, she deliberately glanced at Seraphine.
The superiority in that look was unmistakable—solid, condescending.
Seraphine still didn't speak.
The corner of her mouth even curved slightly—a faint arc, so subtle it was almost invisible.
Seeing her silence, Haven grew more smug.
She cast a sidelong glance at Valencia, her voice shrill and piercing. "Some people have never worn a decent piece of clothing their entire lives. Not that it's their fault—their family's just in that kind of situation. But—if you don't have the means, don't walk through that door. Putting on airs when you can't afford it—you're only embarrassing yourself."
Valencia was stunned.
She'd lived over forty years, moved through Silverlight City's elite circles for most of her life—and no one had ever dared tell her to go browse fast fashion on the third floor.
"Get your manager out here." She didn't waste words, her tone as calm as a frozen lake—devoid of emotion, yet radiating a coldness that silenced the entire boutique instantly.
The saleswoman froze, staring at Valencia for several seconds—no designer bag, no diamond ring, no necklace, clothes with no discernible brand.
She thought Valencia was someone important?
Her lips curled slightly, her expression now blatantly dismissive—not even bothering to pretend anymore. "Miss, our manager is very busy and not in the store right now. If you have any needs, you can speak with me. If you're not familiar with items in this price range, I can recommend a few brands on the third floor. The prices there are much more affordable and better suited to your spending level."
Haven let out a snort of laughter beside them, the sound especially crisp and grating in the quiet boutique.
She looked at Valencia gleefully.
So what if this woman was beautiful? So what if Seraphine was pretty?
Poor people with no money—what good was beauty?
Xiomara also smiled gently and shook her head, her tone as soothing as coaxing a child.
"Ms. Mellon, don't make things difficult for the saleswoman. The clothes here cost tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars—this isn't an ordinary mall. How about this—after we finish shopping, I'll treat you both to coffee downstairs. If Seraphine sees styles she likes but can't afford, I can help find similar alternatives."
A couple of people in the gathered crowd nodded, their gazes toward Valencia now tinged with pity.
Just then, a middle-aged man in a dark blue suit came running out from the back of the store in three strides.
He was Felix, the store manager for this brand at Grand Central Plaza. He'd been checking inventory in the back and vaguely heard the commotion up front. He poked his head out to look—
And shot up like he'd been electrocuted, sprinting over.
"Ms. Mellon!" Felix rushed up to Valencia and bowed at a ninety-degree angle, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
He'd faintly heard from the back what his saleswoman had said to Valencia—good God, that was Valencia.
The legitimate lady of the Windsor family.
A distinguished guest of the FitzRoy family. A personal friend of Grand Central Plaza's chairman.
Her name was at the top of the memo list for Grand Central Plaza executives—not the VIP list, the list of people who absolutely could not be offended.
"You've graced us with your presence—why didn't you let us know in advance? I would have personally greeted you at the entrance!" Felix's voice carried barely suppressed panic, his bowed posture held for a long moment, not daring to straighten. "Please don't be upset, please have a seat over here, this way—"
The saleswoman's smile froze instantly.
She still held the limited-edition dress in her hands, standing petrified, completely at a loss.
She looked at Felix, then at Valencia, her lips moving but not a single word coming out.
Felix straightened up and swept his gaze over the scene before him—
His saleswoman stood beside Haven holding the dress, a fawning smile still frozen on her face, while Valencia and Seraphine stood empty-handed—not even a glass of water offered to them.