Chapter 160: What Kind of Look Is That?
And so, the Johnson Villa turned into a runway show.
Evelyn and Mary took turns changing outfits, modeling one ensemble after another.
Everything Sophia had selected for them—whether in style or cut—was remarkably flattering, elevating their looks to sophisticated levels.
"This one's gorgeous. You could even wear it as everyday wear," Sophia said, admiring the lotus-pink maxi dress Evelyn had on, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Pair it with low-heeled pumps, and you'll look graceful, refined—comfortable yet elegant."
Evelyn loved the dress too. The fabric was soft and pleasant, and the long silhouette felt far more comfortable than shorter styles.
Next came Mary's turn.
She stepped out in a single-shoulder gown made of structured wisteria-purple fabric, its mermaid cut accentuating her hourglass figure.
At fifty-something, she looked like she was in her thirties, radiating the unique charm that only comes with maturity.
Even Ray was momentarily stunned. After all these years of marriage, Mary had always worn gentle, ladylike clothing—soft and understated, just like her personality.
But now, there was a new sharpness and poise about her that caught the eye.
"Sophia's taste is ruthless as ever," James remarked suddenly. On the surface, he was complimenting Sophia, but the real praise was aimed at his mother's striking presence. "Mom, this dress suits you perfectly. Wear this one tonight."
After more than an hour of wardrobe selections, both Evelyn's and Mary's closets were bursting at the seams.
Sophia signed off on the invoice and had the boutique staff take away the rejected gowns.
Shortly after, the glam squad she'd hired arrived. Everyone except Ray and Lucas needed hair and makeup done.
They all retreated to their respective rooms to prepare.
James sat at his vanity, a professional makeup artist working on his face. He was so used to this routine that he could scroll through his phone leisurely while it happened.
[Ethan]: James! My assistant was packing up and misplaced my invitation! Can't find it anywhere. I'm screwed!
James's lips curved into a faint smile as he typed back: [If you really don't want to come, you don't have to force yourself. No need to make up excuses.]
[Ethan]: What kind of talk is that? You don't believe me? You think I'm the kind of guy who's scared of power? With our friendship, of course I'm showing up to back you up!
James found it amusing. He'd only been teasing—how could he not trust the guy who'd repeated senior year just to keep him company? Besides, Ethan's rise to stardom had been no accident. Sophia had been instrumental in strategizing and boosting his career, and she even held shares in the agency he'd signed with.
Professionally and personally, there was no way Ethan would miss this party.
[James]: If you lost the invitation, just come anyway. With your fame, you think they'll turn you away?
[Ethan]: You're really laying it on thick. My fame doesn't hold a candle to yours!
[James]: You're being modest. Last time you had a concert, the ticket site crashed within seconds. You've got fans nationwide—I can't compete with that.
Over the past few years, the two had taken their careers in different directions, their schedules packed to the brim. Yet they'd never lost touch.
Now, having both reached the pinnacle of their fields, their bond hadn't weakened—it had only deepened. They were widely known in the entertainment industry as the ultimate best-friend duo, dubbed the "Peak Twin Stars."
Whenever a photo of them together appeared on X, it routinely shot to the top of the homepage.
"Mr. Johnson, time for eyeshadow," the makeup artist said, holding a brush in one hand and a powder puff in the other, signaling James to close his eyes.
James set down his phone and complied.
Within the next few minutes, his phone suddenly buzzed nonstop.
Not a call—a message bombardment.
Notifications that frequent could only mean one thing: a group chat.
Besides the family group, the only other chat he hadn't muted was his high school class reunion group.
Once his makeup was done and the stylist moved on to his hair, James picked up his phone to check the messages.
After years of silence, his old classmates wanted to organize a reunion—get together for a meal, catch up, and "reconnect."
Both he and Ethan had been specifically tagged.
James's gaze darkened. He set the group chat to "Do Not Disturb" and put his phone down.
Ever since he and Ethan had blown up in the industry, their former classmates had been reaching out with all sorts of "reasons."
It always started with pleasantries—"Long time no see, how have you been?"—followed by awkward small talk. Then came the pivot: "By the way..."—and out came the requests.
Some claimed a relative wanted autographed photos, though they were likely planning to sell them.
Others complained about struggling businesses and tight cash flow, hinting they needed a loan.
Some invited them to commercial events but expected them to show up for free, just to boost attendance.
Others had their eyes on James's and Ethan's connections, hoping to land high-paying, low-effort jobs.
The common thread? Not a single one genuinely cared about their well-being or cherished those three years they'd shared in school.
At first, James had tried to respond and help when requests seemed reasonable.
But human nature is greedy.
Once people taste the ease of getting something for nothing, they stop wanting to earn anything through effort.
"Mr. Johnson, you're all set," the makeup artist said, admiring James's reflection in the mirror, unable to suppress a smile.
This face bore no trace of cosmetic surgery, yet it was flawless—as if sculpted by divine hands.
Makeup artists lived for faces like this. The base required minimal correction to achieve perfection, and contouring was effortless—just a touch of shading along his natural bone structure.
And those eyes—breathtakingly beautiful. Clear, luminous, brimming with warmth in every glance and smile.
"Thank you," James said with a gentle smile, glancing at his reflection. He looked much the same as he did barefaced, yet somehow far more refined.
This glam team really knew their craft.
"As long as you're satisfied," the makeup artist replied, relieved James had no complaints, and began packing up.
James didn't need a styling team. He was renowned in the industry as a fashion icon, which was why he had endorsement deals with so many luxury brands.
Once the makeup artist left, James locked his door and opened his wardrobe. Staring at the four overstuffed compartments, his mind briefly went blank.
He didn't feel like wearing any of it.
After a moment's hesitation, he video-called Ethan.
The call connected almost immediately, revealing a head of hair so vividly red it looked like flames.
James frowned slightly. "What happened to you?"
Ethan ran a hand through his dyed-red hair. "It's for the concert. Why'd you call?"
James said nothing, his gaze dropping to assess Ethan's outfit for the day.
A black acetate shirt with a silver chain detail over the chest pocket.
"Never mind." James abruptly ended the call. He'd figured out what he wanted to wear.
On the other end, Ethan stared at his screen, utterly baffled.
What the hell was that about?