At exactly 6:00 AM, a knock sounded at Luella's hotel door.
Standing there was a team of five people in sharp black uniforms, led by a woman with neon-blue hair and a measuring tape draped around her neck.
"I'm Celeste," the woman said, pushing past Luella with a tray of high-end skincare products. "Mr. Vane said I had to turn a ghost into a goddess by sunset. We have a lot of work to do."
For the next ten hours, Luella was poked, prodded, and polished. Her skin, once dull from years of hiding, began to glow under expensive serums. Her hair, which she had kept hacked short and hidden under hoodies, was extended into waist-length waves of dark silk.
"The dress," Celeste whispered, unzipping a garment bag as if it held a holy relic.
It was a custom-made gown in blood-red silk. It had a high slit that reached the mid-thigh and a backless design that showed off Luella's elegant spine. It wasn't just a dress; it was a statement. It screamed that she was no longer hiding.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a black limousine pulled up. Xavier Vane stepped out, looking devastatingly handsome in a midnight-black tuxedo. He walked into the small hotel lobby, his presence immediately making the cheap surroundings look like a dumpster.
He stopped when he saw Luella walking toward him. For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze flickered with something else—admiration. Or perhaps, recognition of a fellow predator.
"You'll do," he said, though his voice was slightly lower than usual. He offered his arm. "Ready to burn it down?"
"I brought the matches," Luella replied, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
The Qiao Anniversary Gala was being held at the Grand Imperial Ballroom—the very place Luella had once celebrated her eighteenth birthday. As they stepped onto the red carpet, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi began to explode.
"Who is that with Xavier Vane?" "Is that... no, it can't be. Luella Qiao is dead!"
Ignoring the whispers, Xavier led her through the massive gold doors. Inside, the music stopped. The elite of North City froze.
At the center of the room stood Tiffany Qiao, wearing a white "innocent" gown, clutching the arm of Julian—the man who had watched Luella be hauled off to prison without saying a word.
Tiffany's wine glass shattered on the marble floor. Her face went as pale as her dress. "Luella?"
Luella didn't stop until she was standing right in front of them. She felt the warmth of Xavier's body behind her, a solid wall of power.
"Hello, Tiffany," Luella said, her voice echoing in the silent hall. "You look surprised. Did you think a little fire could keep me away from my father's celebration?"