Revenge is best served cold

I watched Elsa in silence, curious to see what she would say next.

She put on a troubled expression and hesitated for a long time before finally speaking in a voice full of grievance as if she were being forced into a corner.

Yet her voice was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "This gown is one of only two in the world. One was kept by Debbie herself, and the other was purchased by a mysterious buyer."

I raised an eyebrow, signaling for her to continue.

"Jane, ever since you got married, you've been a housewife. How could you possibly know any mysterious buyers?"

She turned to the crowd as if explaining on my behalf, her tone gentle and understanding. "Don't blame Jane, everyone. She didn't know. It wasn't intentional. She didn't mean to wear a fake."

On the surface, she acted like she was defending me. But in reality, she was repeating the accusation over and over again, making sure everyone believed I was wearing a fake.

I remained calm, letting her little performance draw in more spectators.

When the crowd had fully gathered around us, I finally spoke, my voice even. "Just because you wear fakes doesn't mean everyone else does."

I took a step forward, and Elsa instinctively stepped back. "Jane, what are you talking about? I don't understand."

She lifted her chin stubbornly, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm only trying to remind you. I don't want people to misunderstand you. Why are you trying to slander me?"

The moment her words fell, voices of protest rose in her defense. "She's standing up for you, and you're slandering her?"

"This is a limited edition gown. If you just admit you didn't know, people would understand. I mean, staying home for too long can make you out of touch with the real world."

"Why turn it around on her?"

With people backing her up, Elsa's face became even more pitiful. A single tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another.

I watched her dramatic display and finally spoke, unable to hold back. "Honestly, being a designer is a waste of your talent."

A flash of confusion flickered in Elsa's eyes.

"You should really consider a career in the entertainment industry. That kind of talent is rare."

The moment the words left my mouth, Elsa immediately realized I was mocking her. Her face froze. But within seconds, she regained her composure.

"Jane, I know you're holding a grudge against me for exposing your fake gown, but you don't have to mock me like this. It's better I bring it up now than if Ms. Lopez were to see it later. That would be truly embarrassing."

Before I could respond, a confident, lively voice cut through the crowd. "I heard someone's wearing a knockoff of my design. Let me see! Move! Move!"

The crowd parted as a woman in a striking red gown strode in, exuding an undeniable presence.

I had seen her before in fashion magazines. This was Debbie, a renowned designer from Caldera.

She stopped beside me, scanning me up and down before turning to Elsa with a puzzled expression.

"This is my design. Why are you calling it a fake? Aren't you a designer yourself? Can't you tell the difference between a real piece and a counterfeit?"

With just a few light words, the entire situation flipped.

Elsa's face went pale. After a long silence, she finally managed to stammer, "H-How... could this be?"

Realizing her slip, she quickly tried to recover, but I cut her off, "I never said I bought this gown myself. I'm not sure why you assumed I'd be wearing a fake. Or maybe you're just used to wearing counterfeits yourself, so you think everyone else does it too?"

I took a step closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. "Still not going to apologize? Jeremiah isn't coming—he wasn't even invited. If you keep dragging this out, I might just bring up the gown you wore two days ago."