Jayna's eyes followed Ginevra the whole way—until that cool, composed figure disappeared into the glow of the skincare counters on the first floor.
Only then did Jayna finally step into the elevator.
She was becoming more and more obsessed with her.
It was getting dangerous—how unguarded she felt, how easily her thoughts strayed toward Ginevra without permission, like a tide that refused to retreat.
Jayna lifted a hand and gave her own cheeks two brisk pats, as if she could slap the softness back out of herself.
Focus.
Chin up.
She was Jaynara Stevens. The star everyone adored. The woman who could walk into a room and make the air change.
Even in a velvet tracksuit that fit beautifully—if one ignored the little black speckles scattered across her face—she would still be stunning.
But no one could ignore them.
With her oversized polarized sunglasses and that deliberately "dirty" face, the dense dots looked even more jarring—almost unpleasant to stare at for too long, like something that tugged at people's instinctive discomfort.
Jayna was thrilled.
She wandered through luxury storefronts without a single sales associate trailing her with bright smiles and aggressive enthusiasm. No one tried to persuade her. No one tried to flatter her.
Because in everyone else's eyes, she was just a poor, scary-looking woman who couldn't possibly afford anything worth recommending.
She wasn't wearing any jewelry. Even her bracelet sat back at Ginevra's bedside, forgotten. She hadn't brought a bag, either—something that made her oddly uneasy, because she was a genuine handbag addict. No matter the event, no matter the place, a bag was always part of her armor.
Now she had nothing.
Fine. Technically, the most expensive thing on her body was this tracksuit.
And, annoyingly, it really was comfortable.
The pockets were deep enough to hide half a life inside them. Jayna found herself thinking—half amused, half tender—that Giny's clothes always suited her best.
She shook her head with a quiet laugh and stepped into the lingerie boutique.
At the entrance, a sales associate gave her a cautious, puzzled look—one quick glance that didn't know where to land—but still greeted her politely.
"Welcome in."
Jayna pushed her sunglasses up a fraction and offered a genial little smile, then began browsing as if she belonged there.
Her gaze slid over the displays—so many styles, so many moods.
Seductive lace. Sweet cotton. Playful ribbons. Dangerous satin. Bold, unapologetic cuts that looked like they'd been designed purely to ruin someone's self-control.
Jayna's red lips curved slowly, blooming into a smile that was almost wicked.
What would she like?
What kind of look… would make her lose composure?
Jayna imagined Ginevra's eyes, the slight stiffening of her throat, the way her voice could go quiet when she was trying too hard to remain calm.
The thought alone made Jayna's skin warm beneath the velvet.
Down on the first floor, the skincare area was crowded—probably because it was the weekend. Every counter had customers clustered in soft-lit lines, everyone moving with the leisurely excitement of spending money on themselves.
Ginevra frowned faintly.
She rarely came down here. Too many people made her uneasy in a way she couldn't quite explain, like her nerves were forced to stay awake. Usually her skincare arrived by mail—sent from time to time by Noxi Volkova with little notes that were either smug or annoying or both.
And she sent the rival's products, Ginevra thought, irritation settling low in her chest.
She opened Tom Hanley's messages again—his neatly organized "Jayna Care Manual," packed with habits, preferences, warnings. It was thorough in a way that made Ginevra feel unexpectedly reassured.
Jayna had at least one reliable person beside her.
Chaemante — Pure Devotion Collection.
Ginevra remembered: Jayna's signature endorsement.
She checked the mall's interactive directory and followed the arrow to a store positioned left of her—about where nine o'clock would be on a clock face. When she lifted her eyes, she saw the boutique immediately.
Elegant. Polished. Designed to look like a temple built for beauty.
Chaemante—a global luxury house, branded with the idea of being your own queen.
Fashion. Skincare. Fragrance. Jewelry.
A place that sold confidence as much as it sold products.
Regional Ambassador: Jaynara Stevens.
Those were the lines Ginevra had read in Tom's file.
And the only thought she'd had afterward was simple:
She deserves every word of it.
The moment she stepped inside, a clean, refined scent drifted toward her—soft and expensive, pleasant without being suffocating.
"Welcome," a staff member said, guiding her in with practiced grace.
Ginevra nodded slightly.
The store was large, and busier than she expected. Customers seemed to enjoy themselves here. The atmosphere felt—strangely—comfortable.
Yet the abundance of products made Ginevra hesitate. Too many choices, too many shiny options. She couldn't locate what she needed at a glance.
A sales associate approached, smiling. "Hi—what can I help you find today?"
From the moment Ginevra stepped in, the woman's eyes had followed her. She couldn't help it. This customer had an arresting presence—well dressed, beautiful in a cool, severe way. But that same aura made her hard to approach, as if the space around her belonged to winter.
Ginevra spoke calmly. "Do you carry the Pure Devotion Collection?"
The associate's expression brightened in instant recognition.
"Of course." She led Ginevra to a red-toned counter and stopped. "You mean Ms. Stevens' signature line, right? You're not the first person today. It's our bestseller—people come in specifically for this."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice into a helpful hush. "May I ask—what's your skin type? Dry, combination…? If you're not sure, we can do a quick test."
Ginevra lifted her eyes and smiled slightly—an unexpectedly gentle curve.
"I'm buying it for her."
For a moment, it felt like she'd spoken a secret out loud.
No one here would understand what she meant by her.
Ginevra's gaze drifted to the wall, where a massive campaign image was embedded into the décor—a full-height poster of Jayna in a dark red gown. In the photo, Jayna's expression was cool, almost cruel, like a forbidden fruit in an oil painting: alluring, dangerous, impossible to resist.
Ginevra found herself thinking, strangely—
If she had ever paid even a little attention to the entertainment world… if she'd wandered into a mall like this even once, years ago…
Would she have met Jayna sooner?
The associate kept talking, excited, clearly a fan.
"Oh! Then that's perfect. This is incredibly elegant as a gift. It's literally Ms. Stevens' favorite—she uses it herself. Hydration, moisture barrier support, anti-aging, and it even has a repair complex—people love it. The name of the collection was inspired by her, too, which is why it's so popular. But I still need to ask—your friend's skin type is…?"
"Dry," Ginevra said quietly.
The associate looked delighted, as if Ginevra had just given the correct answer to a quiz.
"Oh my God—then you're so lucky. This line is especially good for dry skin. Ms. Stevens uses the No.1 toner—let me check availability." She hurried to the computer, tapped rapidly, then returned practically glowing. "You really are lucky—our store only has two complete sets left, and restocking is very difficult right now."
Ginevra looked at the beautifully packaged gift boxes and felt a faint lift in her chest—an image of Jayna's face flashing through her mind, that bright, pleased expression she got when she felt loved.
"I'll take both sets," Ginevra said.
The associate blinked, then beamed. "Absolutely. Just a moment."
As she began packaging, she smiled knowingly. "That friend must be very important to you."
Ginevra nodded without hesitation.
Yes.
She was.
The associate, now fully in "this customer is incredible" mode, added, "Would you like body lotion as well?"
Ginevra paused, then asked simply, "Is it also endorsed by Ms. Stevens?"
"Of course—same Pure Devotion line." The associate guided her to another display beside the red counter. "The gift box includes the main set—toner, emulsion, cream, serum, ampoules—so the lotion would be a great addition."
Ginevra studied the fragrance options and chose immediately.
Cherry blossom.
The associate checked inventory. "We have three left."
"Wrap them," Ginevra said.
The associate stared for half a beat—astonished by how decisive this customer was. No price-checking. No sampling. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.
Outside the boutique's glass, a cluster of young girls suddenly rushed past—followed by older women, too—moving with a bubbling excitement, all funneling toward the elevators as if pulled by the same invisible string.
Ginevra tilted her head slightly, startled.
The associate leaned in, lowering her voice into something conspiratorial. "Apparently, a huge actress is at the mall today."
A huge actress?
Ginevra's heart lurched.
Had Jayna's location been exposed?
"An actress?" Ginevra repeated, forcing her tone to stay calm as she reached for her card, ready to pay and leave immediately.
"Yes." The associate's face tightened with dislike. "The one who's been all over gossip columns with that Hong Kong heir."
Ginevra's breath eased out.
Not Jayna.
The associate continued, stuffing extra samples into the shopping bag with fan-like enthusiasm. "Mindy Hall. She's so loud and high-profile. She leaks little tips about where she's going so reporters and paparazzi can show up. I don't get why anyone cares. Her studio even tried to maliciously tie her to Jayna before—"
Ginevra's brow furrowed. "The person coming—her name is Mindy Hall?"
"Mm-hmm." The associate handed over the bag. "People say she's on the third floor—shopping for lingerie. Like she wants the whole world to know how good her body is. In a minute there'll be a crowd trying to watch. Thank God security's here, or the entrance would get trampled."
"Thank you," Ginevra said sharply.
Before the associate could react, Ginevra grabbed the bag and turned, walking out at a pace that was almost too fast for her usual composure.
The associate blinked after her, utterly baffled. "What… was that about…?"
On the third floor, Jayna hadn't even had time to process the shift in the air before she saw her.
A tall, sultry figure stepped into the lingerie boutique, walking as though the entire store belonged to her. Every movement—every lift of the wrist, every turn of the chin—was deliberate, ornamental. Designed to be watched.
Mindy Hall.
Why is she here? Jayna's mind snapped awake.
She didn't have time to guess Mindy's motives. She only knew one thing: this was bad.
Wherever Mindy appeared, cameras tended to lurk nearby—her people, her "coincidental passersby" with phones held just right. And her fans—her fans were never subtle. Mindy didn't do low-profile.
Jayna slid her sunglasses higher on her nose. Leaving immediately would draw attention; it would look suspicious.
So she moved quietly to a less noticeable corner of the store, close to other customers, pretending to browse like a normal shopper.
No one would notice her.
And even if Mindy did—well, Jayna's disguise was ridiculous enough that she might not be recognized at all.
"Ms. Hall, welcome," the boutique staff greeted warmly.
Mindy gave a cool little hum, then caught sight of a few shoppers near the entrance and instantly rearranged her face into a gentle, friendly smile.
"Oh, it's been ages," she said sweetly. "Do you have anything new?"
Her voice was beautiful—smooth enough to make anyone's scalp tingle. Men or women, it didn't matter.
The young sales associate flushed bright red. This was the first time she'd seen a major celebrity up close. She looked nervous enough to vibrate, lowering her head slightly as she said, "This way, please."
Jayna picked up a silk piece and stroked it absently, pretending to consider it, while her eyes slid sideways past a rack of expensive lingerie to watch Mindy.
Mindy's assistant stood nearby.
Jayna had heard Mindy went through assistants quickly. A revolving door. People left, vanished, got replaced.
There had even been whispers—unconfirmed, half-swallowed stories—that one former assistant had died by suicide after enduring repeated abuse.
No one ever spoke about it openly.
Those who knew anything real had the wisdom to keep their mouths shut.
Jayna had only heard fragments, and she refused to pretend she knew the truth. In this industry, people traded rumors like currency—sometimes out of malice, sometimes out of fear.
Still…
Jayna watched the current assistant's face with narrowed eyes. The woman looked older than Mindy, yet her expression carried something unmistakable: a careful, practiced fear.
"Is this it?" Mindy asked, flipping through delicate pieces with a lazy hand. Her tone turned faintly contemptuous, her expression cooling fast.
The associate lowered her head, explaining quickly, "Since it's early winter, these are the newest arrivals for now. In a few days we should receive another shipment—"
Mindy smiled, not quite smiling. "So you're saying I came at the wrong time," she said lightly. "That I should come back later. Is that what you mean?"
The displeasure was clear. The warmth she'd worn at the entrance was gone, peeled off like a mask.
The associate panicked, flustered. "I-I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"
Mindy dipped her head and gave a soft little laugh, as if amused by the girl's fear.
Then she said, in a voice gentle enough to chill the blood:
"What are you so nervous about? It's not like I eat people."