White feathered tassels traced the hem and neckline, giving the dress an ethereal quality—exactly the kind of look that suited Mirabelle's style.
Celestine slipped on a pair of gloves and stepped closer, examining the intricate lining and construction.
"The fabric is delicate and airy, but it doesn't really breathe. Still, the design pulls it all together nicely," she said, her fingers trailing over the seams. "On the red carpet, those flashes from the press are going to be blinding. I'd suggest adding a layer of lace tulle at the waist—to keep things decent, just in case."
She offered her thoughts while Denton's junior assistant jotted down every word.
Suddenly, Celestine's hand paused.
The assistant noticed. "Is something wrong, Miss Selwyn?"
From the inner waistband at the back, Celestine carefully pulled out a silver needle—about the length of her finger.
The assistant drew a sharp breath.
That spot was so well hidden, you'd never notice unless you were looking for it. If Mirabelle had put the dress on before they found it… the consequences didn't bear thinking about.
"There's also a bent pin holding part of the seam. I can't touch it or the whole dress will come apart." Celestine turned to the now pale-faced assistant. "Go get the designers. Now."
…
"This is outrageous! We spent a hundred grand on these two gowns, and this is what we get? What the hell are they playing at?" Denton fumed, arms crossed.
"Did you get through to anyone at Zephyrus Atelier?"
Mirabelle had just finished hair and makeup, exhaustion written all over her face. The timing couldn't have been worse.
Denton clenched his jaw. "Ha! They're so full of themselves. The second they heard we didn't have a full video record of the fitting, they just insisted that their boss personally made the gowns and that such a mistake was impossible. Reading between the lines, they're basically accusing us of trying to get out of paying for the dresses!"
Mirabelle gave a weary half-smile. "So they're not owning up."
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