Mr. Starr’s pinned social media post featured the avant-garde outfit, hailed as a “tribute” and a “stand against counterfeits” by a renowned designer.
“One of a kind. Utterly unique. What do you think?” The photo showed him striking a casual pose.
“Mr. Starr,” a socialite ventured, “so yours is the only authentic version in existence?”
“Without a doubt,” Mr. Starr confirmed.
“One is enough.
I highly doubt you’ll see another.
Once people know the original is right here,” he gestured to himself, “who would dare wear a fake?
This post is just the beginning.
I’m collaborating with the industry to seriously tackle counterfeiting.”
“A noble cause, Mr. Starr!” the socialite applauded.
Another guest, Socialite B, smirked and glanced toward Amelia.
“No matter how tight the net, there’s always someone brazen enough to wear a knockoff.
Some people are simply shameless.”
“Absolutely,” Socialite A agreed.
“Zero self-awareness, flaunting fakes as if they’re a badge of honor.”
Just then, Damien’s phone vibrated.
A message from Liam: “All set on my end. Green light?”
Simultaneously, Amelia stood up.
Damien immediately reached for her hand, sensing her intention.
He could feel the slight tremor in her fingers, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw not fear, but steely resolve.
“I can handle this. Trust me,” she said, her voice low but firm.
He saw the unwavering confidence on her face and released her hand.
“Alright.”
After Amelia walked away, Damien texted back: “Stand down.”
Liam stared at his phone, bewildered: “Why?!”
No reply.
Liam was utterly confused.
He had been ready to launch a full-scale operation to fabricate a provenance for the outfit, and now his brother was calling it off.
What kind of future sister-in-law wears questionable clothes?
And the wildest part? This story is hosted at g.com.
His brother didn’t care.
In fact, he was fully committed to backing her up.
Tch.
Men are hopeless when they’re in love.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as Amelia walked directly toward Mr. Starr.
The audacity of this woman!
They braced for a spectacular confrontation.
What they didn’t expect was for Mr. Starr to step forward and envelop her in a warm, familiar hug.
“Miss Johnson!
It’s been far too long.
I’ve missed you terribly.”
“And I, you,” Amelia replied, gently pating his arm as if brushing off lint.
The outfit’s androgynous, loose fit suited his style perfectly.
“You two know each other?” a socialite gasped, her surprise evident.
“We go way back,” Mr. Starr said, emphasizing his words.
“This ‘genuine piece’ I’m wearing? It was a personal gift from Miss Johnson herself.”
A dead silence fell over the group.
This was… not the outcome anyone had anticipated.
Sabrina, who had been reveling in the prospect of Amelia’s humiliation, felt her smug smile freeze on her face.
She looked as if she had just bitten into a rotten lemon.
Impossible.
How does Amelia know Mr. Starr?
What is going on?
Mr. Starr then turned his attention to the socialites.
“So? Where is this lady who supposedly wears ‘knockoff trash’? I’d very much like to meet her.”
Socialite B offered a stiff, awkward smile.
“Oh, her?
She, uh… she left.
Must have overheard us and couldn’t take the shame.”
“Miss Johnson,” Mr. Starr said, turning back to Amelia, “I must be going.
Would you be so kind as to walk me out?”
“Of course,” she nodded casually.
Damien’s eyes followed them as they exited.
His gaze darkened slightly—he knew there were layers to this story yet to be uncovered.
One thing was certain: his seemingly gentle little rabbit had claws.
Liam practically skipped over to Damien.
“See? I knew sis-in-law wouldn’t be caught dead in a fake.”
Damien raised an eyebrow.
“You knew?
When did you express this certainty?”
“Well… I thought it.
Really, really hard,” Liam chuckled sheepishly.
Damien stood up.
“Hey, where are you going?” Liam called after him.
“To find your sister-in-law.”
Liam had been about to share a significant piece of information he’d dug up, but he hesitated.
Better to hold off for now.
His brother was clearly head over heels, and this might not be the best time.