Sophie answered again, her voice firm and unwavering, "No." Shane stared at her, his face impassive as if weighing her words in silence. Without a word, he turned his back to her, directing his attention toward his lawyer.
"Make a new contract," Shane ordered, his voice cold and unbothered. "Apply all the rules according to what she just stated for both parties." His words hung in the air, dismissing Sophie's objections as though they had never been spoken.
The lawyer quickly bowed and left, his departure emphasizing the sudden, tense quiet in the room. Shane remained standing, casting a long, penetrating look at Sophie, but still refusing to say anything. The silence stretched between them like a wall. Then, without any further acknowledgment, Shane walked away, leaving Sophie feeling the weight of his dismissal.
Soon after, a group of women entered Sophie's room, their arms filled with makeup kits and accessories. One of them, standing in the middle, smiled softly at Sophie and said, "Madam, I was sent by Sir Treyond to prepare you for the ball party."
Sophie blinked, her confusion evident as the words slowly registered. "What ball party?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief as she looked at them like they had come from another world.
The women exchanged nervous glances, uncertain of how to answer. They, too, were unsure of the details. They had only been told by their manager that they were to dress a very important person—no names were given, only the name "Treyond."
"Uhmm, madam, we were just asked to prepare you for a party. That's all we know," the same girl explained, her voice timid, as if begging Sophie to understand. They were just doing their jobs, after all.
Sophie looked at their anxious faces and, despite her confusion, reluctantly allowed them to begin. The unease lingered, though, as she had no idea what this ball was or why she was even attending.
As the stylists began their work, one of them commented, "Wow, madam, you look stunning." Her tone was warm, but something in her expression made Sophie pause. The praise seemed genuine, but there was a flicker in the woman's eyes, a hint of something Sophie couldn't place.
"She doesn't need much makeup," another stylist added, her voice filled with admiration. "Her features are naturally perfect."
"I'm sure you'll be the center of attention at the ball," a third stylist chimed in, unable to hide her excitement.
More servants entered the room, carrying dresses and accessories, their eyes widening at the sight of Sophie. "Wow, madam, you look incredible. The young master won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight," one of them said with awe in her voice.
Sophie, catching her reflection in the mirror, had to admit that she looked better than she expected. Her thoughts drifted to Shane, wondering if he would even notice, or if he would remain as distant as always. A blush crept up her neck, her mind replaying their last encounter. But before she could dwell on the thought, a sudden burning sensation crept across her face.
She brought her hand up instinctively, fanning her cheeks as the heat intensified. It wasn't just discomfort now—it was a sharp, almost painful heat.
"Madam, is it too hot in here?" one of the stylists asked, concern evident in her voice as she noticed Sophie's change in demeanor.
"Is something wrong?" another stylist asked, her eyes widening in alarm as Sophie's face turned an alarming shade of red.
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately, a wave of panic rippling through the stylists. One of the maids, noticing Sophie's distress, quickly ran out to fetch Treyond, her face pale with worry.
"Oh no, madam, I hope the makeup products Shirley used aren't causing a reaction," one of the stylists said, her voice filled with panic as she looked over at Shirley with accusatory eyes. "Shirley, how could you use cheap products on the madam? The manager told us to handle her with the utmost care!"
The accusation seemed to strike a nerve. Though spoken in concern, there was a venomous undertone that Sophie couldn't miss. A smirk flashed briefly on the stylist's face, quickly masked by a look of exaggerated worry.
"Shirley, this isn't the first time," another stylist jumped in, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "You did this before—buying fake products and pocketing the rest of the money. The manager won't forgive you this time."
Sophie, despite her growing discomfort, noticed the quick glance exchanged between the accusing stylists. It was subtle, but enough to make Sophie wonder if Shirley was being set up. The burning on her face worsened, but her mind began to piece together the underlying tension in the room.
"Shirley, do you want to destroy the company's reputation?" the first stylist shouted dramatically, her voice rising just as Treyond entered the room.
Treyond hardly spared a glance at the scene unfolding in front of him as he rushed to Sophie's side. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the red flush on her skin. He couldn't suppress the anxiety that flickered in his eyes. "The young master will kill me if this doesn't get fixed," he thought grimly.
Before Treyond could say a word, one of the stylists dropped to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes. "Sir, I deeply apologize on behalf of Shirley," she sobbed, casting a pleading look at Treyond. "She's new and didn't understand the rules. She must've bought the wrong products, and now look what's happened to the madam!"
As she spoke, her eyes briefly flicked over Treyond's tall figure, a calculating glint in her gaze. She reached for his hand as if seeking mercy, but Treyond brushed past her without so much as a glance.
Treyond's full attention remained on Sophie. "Young mistress, where do you feel the discomfort? The young master is already on his way," he said urgently, his voice low but filled with concern.
The stylist who had thrown herself at Treyond's feet froze in place, realization dawning on her face. "He's not the young master?" she thought, her expression quickly turning to one of disgust as she understood she had just embarrassed herself in front of a mere servant.
Sophie's pulse quickened at the mention of Shane's impending arrival. Her eyes darted to Shirley, who stood silently in the corner, tears streaming down her face. It was obvious now—the poor girl was being scapegoated, and the quiet anger in her eyes told Sophie everything she needed to know. Yet Shirley remained silent, absorbing the blame.
The burning on Sophie's face suddenly became unbearable, and she reached for a wipe on the table. Before she could use it, one of the stylists grabbed her hand.
"Madam, don't use that!" she exclaimed. "Shirley brought those too—they're probably fake and might make the reaction worse."
Treyond, hearing this, immediately grabbed the wipes from Sophie's hand and threw them to the floor without hesitation, his face grim with determination to prevent the situation from escalating further.