Sylvia had barely stepped through the door when she noticed that Freya, who had been tailing her earlier, had vanished into thin air.
It seemed Freya, fearing a confrontation, had opted for a disappearing act. No doubt she planned to reappear later, playing the role of the concerned friend, shifting the blame onto Sylvia while leaving her to face the fallout alone.
But Freya overlooked one thing: in her absence, Sylvia now had full control of the narrative.
Facing Eloise's husband, Sylvia offered a polite smile. "Thank you, but I think I need to clear the air."
Eloise's husband glanced nervously to the side before quickly interjecting, "No need for explanations. I trust you."
His statement, though seemingly casual, carried undeniable implications.
"No, not to you. I need to explain to Ms. Eloise. The dress I'm wearing... it’s a knockoff," Sylvia admitted, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she faced Eloise. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. I've always admired you, and I guess I tried to emulate your style. But as an intern, I simply can't afford the real thing, so I resorted to buying a cheap imitation."
To drive her point home, Sylvia tugged at her collar, revealing no label.
The brand she was accused of mimicking was known for patenting its care labels, making it nearly impossible for counterfeits to replicate them.
Knowing this, Sylvia had removed the label in the restroom.
"I bought this dress but was too scared to wear it. It's been sitting in my bag. I only put it on because my dress got dirty, and I had no other choice," she explained, effectively defusing the tension in the room.
After all, if her intention had been to provoke Eloise, why would she admit to wearing a fake? Sylvia framed herself not as a challenger but as an adoring fan, subtly elevating Eloise's status in the process.
Eloise's expression softened considerably. "You know, if you really like my style, you could've just asked me," she said with indulgent warmth, her grace winning over the room.
Sylvia apologized. "I won't do it again. A fake is a fake, and, honestly, the fit isn’t right. I'll be more careful in the future."
Just then, Christine approached with a brisk pace. "That doesn't look like a fake to me. Did you remove the label on purpose?"
Sylvia had been waiting for this. "Christine, have you ever bought anything from this brand? How would you know what's genuine?"
Christine stumbled over her words, "I… I haven't, but you can't just claim it's a fake without proof, right?"
"Alright, let's look at the proof."
Sylvia pulled up her phone, displaying a detailed fake purchase history.
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