The master dressing room was located in a massive suite on the east wing of the second floor.
The double doors were left wide open.
As the group of socialites eagerly tiptoed closer and peered inside, they froze dead in their tracks.
There was a massive crowd inside.
And they instantly recognized several of those faces.
It was the absolute most exclusive, impossible-to-book master stylists in the entire United Realmon States, complete with their full entourages!
These were the fashion titans who these girls couldn't even get a phone consultation with, no matter how much money their families threw at them.
And now...
Every single one of those elite masters was gathered in one room!
Just to serve a bunch of back-alley street thugs?!
The socialites felt a surge of acid burn the back of their throats, grinding their teeth in absolute fury. "I can't believe the Vinton family poured so much money into styling a useless hillbilly!"
Isabella was practically choking on her own envy.
The Vinton family had moved mountains to secure the best styling team on the planet for Serena.
But they hadn't bothered to send a single assistant to help her.
She had been forced to hire a B-list styling crew using the secret funds Agnes had wired her.
Socialite A huffed, crossing her arms to hide her blistering envy. "So what? Who cares how famous the stylists are? The second they see that dumpster-fire of a box, they're going to throw a massive diva fit and walk out."
Right on cue.
They saw Kevin, the lead master stylist, pick up the battered, torn cardboard box and walk over to Serena.
"Look! Look! He found the garbage box!"
"Hahaha, I bet the stylists are about to completely lose their minds on her!"
"Look at Kevin's face. He's definitely insulted by that country bumpkin."
The girls practically vibrated with malicious excitement, waiting for the show to drop.
Kevin was notoriously famous in the high-fashion world, not just for his unrivaled talent, but for his explosive, fiery temper and ruthlessly impossible standards.
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