It was obvious—the moment Mindy Hall said that soft, smiling line about "not eating people," the young sales associate only grew more tense.
Her experience wasn't enough to help her stand steady in front of a customer like this—someone polished, demanding, wrapped in money and reputation like armor. But she'd been in retail long enough to learn something important:
Mindy Hall wasn't the warm, approachable woman on television.
If anything, she carried a quiet kind of dread—an invisible pressure that made people shrink before they even understood why. The associate stood stiffly, lips pressed tight, fear pooling in her stomach.
Luckily, the manager arrived in time and smoothly took over, stepping between the trembling staffer and the celebrity.
"Ms. Hall, I'm very sorry," the manager said with genuine deference. "That associate is newly hired and still learning the store. Please forgive her."
Mindy's eyes didn't change as she replied, flat and calm, "Useless things are a waste of space."
Then she turned—just like that—and her face rearranged into a friendly smile, as if she'd never said anything cruel at all.
"Why don't you help me pick some of your newest pieces," she said sweetly. "I'll have to trouble you."
The manager swallowed and nodded, leading her toward a row of newly arrived lace nightdresses—black, sheer, silk-soft, the kind of fabric that looked like it existed for sin.
She lifted one carefully, letting it slip through her fingers. "This would suit you perfectly," she said, watching Mindy's expression. "I'm sure no one could look at you in it and not be tempted."
Mindy stroked the garment.
Intricate gold embroidery shimmered across the delicate fabric—handwork, meticulous and expensive. She understood craftsmanship. She understood the hunger men had for beautiful things.
A nightdress like this wasn't just clothing. It was a weapon.
Harrison Langford would be entranced. Any man would. They'd kneel sooner or later, whichever one it was—because men were always the same in the end.
Mindy's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "You know what I like," she said softly to the manager. "And I don't want anyone else to have tried it on."
"Of course, Ms. Hall," the manager replied at once. "This just arrived today—no one has tried it. And it's limited. Our store only has this one."
Only then did Mindy nod, satisfied.
She held the nightdress up against herself in the large fitting-room mirror, testing the silhouette, admiring the way it looked even before it touched her skin.
"As expected," she murmured, red lips lifting. "No one wears this better than I do."
Her mood was unusually good today—good enough that she could almost pretend she wasn't furious.
The Chaemante endorsement had slipped from her grasp not long ago, stolen at the last moment by that woman—Jayna Stevens. Mindy could tell herself it was a small market, that she was "letting her rival have it."
But the truth was uglier:
The connections she'd bought.The favors she'd called in.The effort she'd spent—
All of it wasted.
And that made her want to break something.
"Lucy," Mindy asked quietly, angling her head toward her assistant, "any updates from that side?"
Lucy Smith pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Mindy exhaled through her nose, contempt sharpening. "A pack of useless fools. What—her sales can really beat mine? Ridiculous."
She stared into the mirror. Her own face stared back—beautiful, flawless, certain. Her acting was undeniable. She could crush a scene with one look.
So why wasn't she the one holding this year's Best Actress trophy?
Why was it Jayna?
"The report isn't out yet," the assistant said carefully, "but Marketing believes that since Ms. Stevens signed with IQueen, their stock trend has been doing very well."
Mindy lifted a brow but didn't bother responding.
People had once compared them to "two tigers on one mountain."
But a mountain didn't hold two tigers.
Jayna Stevens wasn't worthy of being spoken in the same breath.
Mindy's smile vanished the second the manager stepped away. Her face sank, shadowed and sharp.
Just thinking about Jayna made her temper flare.
She stared into the mirror again—and then, abruptly, her focus caught.
Jayna?
Mindy's eyes narrowed at a reflection she hadn't meant to notice: a long-limbed figure, tall and familiar in outline.
She turned quickly.
Her gaze locked onto a woman in a tracksuit—someone who moved fast, turning her back as she slipped into a fitting room.
Mindy frowned.
Her mind filled with suspicion.
That shape—too familiar. The jawline. The mouth. The posture.
But the outfit didn't fit.
Jayna's off-duty style was usually custom gowns, luxe pieces, curated elegance. She didn't dress like this—like someone blending in. Sunglasses. Navy athletic wear. White sneakers. No bag.
And her face…
Dirty? Freckled? Something odd, something unsettling.
Still—
That silhouette.
That mouth.
Mindy grabbed her assistant's arm, voice low and quick. "Did you see the woman in the tracksuit?"
"No," Lucy said, shaking her head.
Mindy laughed softly. "If that was Jayna Stevens…" Her eyes gleamed. "Then things get interesting."
Inside the fitting room, Jayna ripped off her sunglasses and sucked in a sharp breath.
She was sure now.
Mindy had noticed her.
A direct clash? A strategic escape? Or the fake, syrupy "sisterhood" act for the cameras?
None of it benefited her.
Anything involving Mindy Hall always turned into toxic headlines. Mindy's fans were vicious—biting at anyone on command.
Especially Jayna.
And Jayna couldn't afford negative rumors right now.
Not when Ginevra was still in this mall.
Jayna looked down at her tracksuit, then imagined Mindy's smug, polished face, and felt her own "presence" shrink by half out of sheer bad luck.
So this is what it feels like, she thought bitterly.Going out without checking the stars first.
Bad omen. Bad day.
Then she straightened.
Fine.
She might go soft in front of Ginevra—she might melt, might hesitate, might get shy in ways she hated.
But to everyone else?
Jayna didn't care.
She was an award-winning actress. A woman who had clawed her way to the top and stayed there.
Jayna lifted her chin, pulled out a wet wipe, and scrubbed the black dots off her face—one by one, erasing her disguise like shedding a skin.
She reapplied the brightest, boldest lipstick she owned. She loosened her hair and let it fall with deliberate elegance.
She looked into the mirror and curved her mouth into a beautiful, dangerous smile.
Mindy would be waiting.
Then let her wait.
If you want a show, Jayna thought, I'll give you one.
She reached for the door—
And at the exact moment she cracked it open, a hand slipped through the gap.
Fast. Precise.
A body slid into the cramped fitting room with only a quarter of a door's width to spare.
Jayna's eyes flew wide.
The intruder immediately covered her mouth, palm firm, preventing any sound.
Jayna froze—shock turning to instinct, pulse spiking—
Then she heard it.
A voice like cool steel.
"It's me."
Ginevra Volkova.
Jayna's eyes softened at once. She nodded quickly, letting herself be pulled back as Ginevra shut the door and turned the lock.
(Why are you here?)(I came for you.)
They looked at each other in the tight, sealed space, and in a few silent seconds, they understood.
Ginevra's sudden appearance startled Jayna—stunned her, really—but the coldness of her presence, that steady winter air she carried, made Jayna's heartbeat settle.
Jayna wanted to protest at first.
She wasn't afraid. She didn't run.
But—
She wasn't stupid, either.
Going out now would invite unnecessary trouble.
So she listened to Ginevra.
She changed quickly, moving with brisk, controlled motions—because why was it that this woman always appeared exactly when Jayna needed her most?
Outside, Mindy's impatience was already growing.
Ten minutes.
The "tracksuit woman" had been in the fitting room for ten minutes.
Too long.
Mindy's curiosity sharpened into certainty.
If it really was Jayna, Mindy could make this explode. Her own schedule was public; everyone knew she was here. But Jayna appearing here, too?
A hundred mouths would start talking, and not one of them would care about facts.
Mindy could already see the headlines.
Stalking.Jealousy.Obsession.
Truth didn't matter.
What mattered was making Jayna trip.
A story needed chaos to be entertaining.
Mindy stood, eyes bright with anticipation, and motioned for her assistant to follow. Then she asked the manager to come with them.
They pulled aside the curtain to reveal rows of fitting rooms—ten stalls total.
Mindy smiled at the manager. "While I was trying on that nightdress, I think I misplaced a brooch. I'll need my assistant to check."
The manager's smile stiffened. She immediately signaled her staff to help.
Mindy waved it off, still smiling. "No need. It's only a few fitting rooms. My assistant will look. If there are guests inside, you can have them open the door—or step out for a moment."
The manager hesitated, uneasy. Customers here were wealthy—people who expected privacy. Asking them to leave a fitting room was inappropriate.
Mindy tilted her head, her voice turning sweetly oppressive.
"I'm not trying to make things difficult," she said. "But my brooch is a limited SF piece. If it was lost in your shop…" She touched the empty spot at her chest with a faintly wronged expression. "Then I suppose you'll be responsible."
The manager's face drained.
There was no universe in which she could afford that.
She looked at the fitting-room doors. Only two stalls at the very end were locked.
And fortunately, there weren't many customers trying things on right now.
Mindy watched the manager's surrender with faint amusement. She gestured for her assistant to "check" the empty fitting rooms first—pure theater.
Of course, nothing was found.
The brooch was already in Mindy's bag.
The manager swallowed hard. "There are… two guests still inside."
Mindy didn't respond to the plea in the manager's eyes.
She walked toward the two locked doors.
As she lifted her hand to knock, one fitting room opened—revealing a middle-aged woman with a fuller figure. She glanced at them, then calmly asked the associate for a larger size and shut the door again.
Mindy ignored her.
Her gaze fixed on the remaining door—the one that hadn't opened since the "tracksuit woman" went in.
Mindy turned slightly, lips splitting into a smug smile.
Excitement made people careless.
And Mindy, in that moment, was careless.
She knocked—hard.
Loud. Aggressive. Shamelessly domineering.
The manager flinched. "Ms. Hall—this isn't appropriate!"
Mindy shot her a sideways look, unmoved. "There's a very important person in there," she said coldly. "Manager, you'd better watch carefully."
Then—
The door opened halfway.
A woman appeared.
Pale skin.A navy velvet tracksuit bottom.Her top half partly covered, as if she'd been interrupted mid-change.
She slowly removed her sunglasses.
And her eyes—
Ice, absolute and merciless—fixed on Mindy like a blade.
"What is it?" the woman asked, voice calm and cold.
Mindy stared.
Once. Twice.
She scanned the stranger's face, the freckles scattered across it like an unsettling pattern.
Her mind stumbled.
How…?
This wasn't Jayna.
The woman's indifference chilled Mindy into a small, awkward stiffness. Mindy forced her tone softer, controlled, polite.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," Mindy said smoothly. "I'm looking for my brooch. Have you… seen it?"
She smiled, watching closely.
She only needed one flicker of panic. One tiny tell.
But the stranger didn't give her anything.
"I haven't," the woman replied—steady, cold, unwavering.
The door remained half-open, and Mindy's impulse was to peer inside.
But the woman's composure was absolute. Her posture didn't waver. Nothing in her face suggested guilt or fear.
Mindy hesitated, unsure.
"…I see."
Then the stranger tilted her head slightly and addressed the manager instead—polite, controlled, and sharp as a scalpel.
"In your store, if someone loses something," she asked, "is it normal to pound on customers' doors like this?"
The manager bowed quickly. "I'm very sorry. We truly disturbed you. This was inappropriate."
The manager glanced pleadingly at Mindy.
Mindy didn't move.
She still didn't want to let go of the suspicion. Something felt wrong. Something didn't fit.
The woman in the fitting-room doorway smiled faintly—and then, almost deliberately, shifted so that a sliver of her neckline fell open.
A glimpse of black lace.
A flash of pale skin.
Her mouth curved with something like amused confusion, but her eyes were colder than before—dangerously cold, like restraint covering something lethal.
Then she asked, gently and clearly:
"What—are you interested in women too?"
The question snapped through the air like a match struck in a quiet room.
Everyone's eyes jolted to Mindy.
Because from their angle, it did look as if Mindy's gaze had been fixed—just a little too long—on the stranger's chest.
If you ignored the unsettling freckles, the stranger really was… striking. A kind of severe beauty. The kind that made people hesitate.
Mindy's face tightened. Her embarrassment came fast, sharp.
She noticed the black lace more clearly now and jerked her gaze away, horrified at the implication.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you," she said stiffly, and turned on her heel.
She left.
The manager exhaled as if she'd survived something.
The woman in the fitting room watched Mindy's retreating back without expression—until the last shadow of her presence disappeared.
Then she called softly to the young associate lingering near the end of the corridor and offered a brief smile.
"Could you bring me this in one size up?" she said, gesturing lightly to the lace. "And… when that lady leaves the store, please let me know. Thank you."
"Y-yes," the associate blurted, cheeks flushing crimson.
The customer's aura was intoxicating—elegant, restrained, the kind of beauty that felt almost forbidden. And she'd smiled at her.
Most importantly, the associate wanted Mindy Hall gone. A customer like that shaved years off a person's lifespan.
Mindy, meanwhile, handed her selected items to her assistant with a dark, irritated expression. Her mood was ruined.
When her mood was ruined, so was her appetite for shopping.
She pressed fingers to her temple, annoyance pulsing there.
Being toyed with by some random stranger in a fitting-room corridor only made her angrier.
Maybe she'd misjudged because she was under too much pressure lately.
Yes. That must be it.
She'd seen what she wanted to see.
As they moved toward the exit, Mindy's assistant received a call. She stepped aside, spoke in a low voice, then leaned close to Mindy and murmured something.
Whatever was said changed the rhythm of their steps.
Within minutes, Mindy and her assistant left the mall—swiftly, quietly, as if they didn't want anyone to see them go.