Chapter 311: Bet I Made You Look

The living room of the Sinclair Penthouse looked like a Sephora had been picked up by a Category 5 tornado and dropped into it.

Half-empty Venti iced coffees were sweating on the glass coffee tables. Open makeup palettes, trailing loose translucent powder, littered the velvet ottomans. Rolling racks crammed with designer garment bags lined the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking the panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline.

And vibrating the floor, pumping at a high volume through the integrated smart-home surround sound system, was Meghan Trainor.

"I could have my Gucci on! I could wear my Louis Vuitton!"

Aria stood in the center of the chaos, wearing a white silk robe, happily shimmying her hips to the beat.

"Are we sure about the cool tones, Coco?" Aria asked, holding a silver hand mirror up to her face. "I want to look sharp tonight, but not washed out."

"I’m just swatching palettes!" Coco yelled over the bass of the pop song, dabbing a series of color-correcting swatches along her jawline to test the shades against her skin. He was wearing a neon-yellow mesh shirt, buzzing with creative energy as he stepped back to analyze the contrast. "We are finding your perfect tone for the camera flashes tonight! Tilt your chin up! The light is hitting you weird!"

On the other side of the room, Zoe was engaged in a life-or-death battle with an industrial garment steamer, shooting thick plumes of hot steam at a rack of backup dresses.

Sitting directly in the blast radius of the chaos, trapped in the center of the living room in her wheelchair, was Diana Sinclair.

She was wearing a dark plum cashmere set, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white. A pair of noise-canceling headphones rested around her neck, currently useless against the vibrating bass of the music.

Her face was pinched into a mask of hatred and irritation. A visible vein throbbed violently at her temple.

"Turn that garbage off!" Diana shrieked, her voice cracking as she glared at the trio. "I have a migraine! The bass is rattling my teeth! This is a private residence, not a cheap, downtown discotheque!"

Aria took a slow, deliberate sip from her iced matcha latte. She looked right at her fuming sister-in-law, a sickly-sweet smile spreading across her lips.

Aria locked eyes with Diana and loudly, obnoxiously sang the next lyric of the song right at her.

"But even with nothing on... Bet I made you look!" Aria winked, popping her hip.

Coco let out a loud cackle, snapping his fingers in the air. "Yes! Serve it!"

"You are an insufferable, classless brat!" Diana hissed, her face flushing a mottled shade of angry crimson. "When Damien gets home from the office, I am telling him that you have completely trashed his home!"

"Oh, please do," Aria sighed dramatically, dropping back into the makeup chair. "He’ll probably just buy me another house to trash so I don’t get bored. You know how he spoils me."

Diana’s mouth snapped shut. Her chest heaved with rage.

She hated this girl. She hated that Damien wouldn’t care if Aria set the rugs on fire, as long as she smiled while doing it.

"Alright, enough swatching," Coco announced, clapping his hands together and wiping a smear of foundation off his wrist. He pointed a finger at the black garment bag hanging on a velvet-lined display rack in the corner.

"It is time," Coco whispered reverently. "The masterpiece awaits."

Zoe immediately abandoned the steamer. She sprinted over to the rack, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Open it," Zoe demanded. "I haven’t even seen the final alterations yet! You’ve been keeping it a secret for weeks!"

Aria stood up, her heart doing a slight, excited flutter against her ribs.

She walked over to the rack.

Coco grabbed the zipper of the garment bag. He pulled it down slowly, teasing the reveal.

The black plastic fell away.

Zoe let out a loud, breathless gasp, slapping both of her hands over her mouth.

Even Diana, despite her loathing for the trio, couldn’t stop her eyes from widening in involuntary awe.

It was breathtaking.

It was a custom, haute couture gown crafted from liquid, obsidian-black velvet. The bodice was a rigid, architectural corset designed to snatch the waist and push the chest upward. But the true genius of the dress was the embellishments. Sewn flawlessly into the dark velvet were thousands of jagged, razor-sharp shards of mirrored crystal.

It looked exactly like shattered glass.

It caught the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows, refracting blinding, scattered beams across the living room walls.

"It’s the perfect dress’," Coco whispered, tears of pure artistic pride welling up in his eyes. "The paparazzi are going to literally drop their cameras."

"It’s perfect," Aria breathed, reaching out to gently trace a shard of mirrored crystal on the bodice. "Coco, you outdid yourself."

"Of course I did," Coco sniffed, wiping a tear. He turned to look at Aria’s face.

His brow furrowed.

"Wait," Coco frowned, crossing his arms. "Your skin is giving... stressed, dehydrated, and lacking a subtle, inner glow."

Aria gasped. "I moisturized!"

"Not enough," Coco deadpanned. He checked his watch. "Since we have plenty of time before the final fitting and body-tape application, I am booking you and Zoe for a sixty-minute pure oxygen facial at the luxury spa here. Right now."

"A spa trip?" Zoe perked up instantly, looping her arm through Aria’s. "I am not saying no to that. Let’s go."

"We’ll be back in an hour!" Aria promised after quickly changing into sweats.

She turned around, flashing a bright smile. "Hold down the fort, Diana!" Aria called out sweetly.

Diana glared at her with pure murder in her eyes, refusing to answer.

Aria, Zoe, and Coco piled into the elevator, a whirlwind of giggles and excitement.

The steel doors slid shut.

The penthouse instantly plunged into silence.

The smart-home system recognized Aria had left, automatically pausing the Meghan Trainor playlist.

Diana stared at the closed elevator doors for a long minute. Her chest heaved, her breath rasping through her teeth, the headache throbbing against her temples.

She looked around the room. The mess. The clothes everywhere.

Damien had never allowed anyone to leave a cup on a coaster without a coaster beneath it. He was a meticulous perfectionist. But for Aria? None of that suddenly mattered.

Diana’s hands trembled against the armrests of her chair.

She hated Aria. She hated that she was young. She hated that she wasn’t hideous. And she hated, more than anything in the world, that Aria was the undisputed center of Damien’s universe.

Diana’s dark eyes slowly drifted across the room.

They landed on the corner of the living room.

Hanging on the velvet-lined display rack, catching the ambient light and throwing shattered, glittering reflections across the walls, was the custom obsidian-velvet gown.

It was the dress that was going to put her on the cover of every single magazine in the world by tomorrow morning.

Diana stared at the dress.

She slowly shifted her gaze down to the glass coffee table next to the rack. Resting beside Coco’s open, makeup case was a small, black leather sewing kit he had used for last-minute alterations.

Lying right on top of the kit was a pair of razor-sharp, silver fabric shears.

Diana swallowed hard.

She rolled herself directly up to the display rack, stopping just inches from the glittering masterpiece.

Up close, the dress was even more spectacular. The velvet was thick and heavy, the crystals sewn with painstaking perfection.

Diana’s lip curled in disgust.

"You don’t deserve this," Diana whispered into the empty room, her voice shaking with spite. "You’re a cheap little whore playing dress-up with my family’s money."

She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the silver shears from the coffee table. The metal was cold against her palm.

She looked at the dress. She looked at the sharp blades in her hand.

If she ruined this, Aria would have nothing to wear to the premiere. She would miss the red carpet. She would be humiliated, forced to scramble for an off-the-rack backup that wouldn’t fit, destroying whatever plans she had.

The thought of Aria bursting into tears, the thought of her grand comeback shattering into a million pathetic pieces, sent a rush of pure adrenaline straight into Diana’s veins.

Diana gripped the shears tightly.

She raised her arm, her eyes burning with vicious hatred.

She jammed the sharp blades directly into the center of the delicate, corseted bodice.

Shhhk.

The sound of the velvet tearing was loud in the quiet room.

Diana didn’t stop. She violently yanked the shears downward, ripping a massive, jagged, irreparable slash straight through the center of the gown. She slashed again, cutting through the intricate crystal embellishments, sending shattered glass tumbling onto the floor.

She hacked at the sleeves. She shredded the silk lining of the skirt. She mutilated the gown until it was nothing more than a ruined, jagged, unwearable heap of shredded velvet and broken crystals hanging pathetically from the hanger.

Diana dropped the shears onto the carpet.

She sat back in her wheelchair, her chest heaving, panting as if she had just run a sprint.

She looked at the destroyed masterpiece.

A victorious smile stretched across Diana’s face.

"Oops," Diana whispered to the empty room.