The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 101

Sloane instinctively shielded her face. "No, please, I'm just passing through. I don't have any makeup on..."

"No makeup?" Diego Solano leaned into the camera, then looked back at Sloane with exaggerated shock. "Sloane, did you say you don't have makeup on? Look at this luminous skin! Guys, did you hear that? She says she isn't wearing makeup."

Perhaps because she had just recovered from an illness, her complexion was strikingly pale on camera, complemented by a faint, alluring flush at the corners of her eyes.

The live chat exploded:

[Impossible, her skin is flawless!]

[Look at the camera, please!]

[What kind of divine natural beauty is this?]

[Diego, move over. I want to see her.]

Sloane felt a little embarrassed by the attention. She lowered her hand and offered a polite smile to the lens. "Hi everyone, I'm Sloane Taylor, a diver."

The chat went absolutely wild.

[She smiled! She smiled!]

[She's gorgeous, I'm dead!]

[That smile just ended me.]

[Diego, feature her more and I'll spam you with rocket donations.]

Diego narrowed his eyes at the skyrocketing comments. "Sloane, you're an absolute Viral Queen! You've been on screen for one minute, and my follower count is growing faster than it does in an hour!"

Sloane pressed her lips together helplessly. "Stop joking around. I really didn't prepare for this, so please stop filming."

"Not being prepared is perfect!" Diego grabbed her wrist. "There's a complimentary styling salon upstairs with professional hair and makeup artists for the guests. Look at my outfit—just got it done. Not bad, right?" Diego smugly brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Come on, I'll take you up there to experience it!"

"Give me twenty minutes, guys! I'm going to show you a total transformation!"

Finally, she handed Sloane a mirror, a thoroughly satisfied smile on her lips. "Magnifique."

Sloane stared at the woman in the reflection, stunned into silence for two whole seconds.

Her hair was pinned up in a loose, elegant sweep, leaving a few curled, face-framing tendrils to cascade naturally around her ears. Her makeup was understated, yet it deepened her gaze, making every individual lash stand out. Her lips were coated in a sheer balm that barely altered their natural shade but gave them an irresistible, glossy sheen.

But what she found hardest to get used to was the dress—a piece the stylist had plucked from a rack of formal wear. It was a deep midnight blue velvet, boasting a minimalist cut with almost zero embellishments, yet on her, it fit with an inexplicable, breathtaking perfection.

"It suits you flawlessly," the French woman noted in heavily accented English. "Go on. Knock them dead."

Sloane stood by the elevators, took a deep breath, and started toward the banquet hall.

She hadn't even reached the doors when Diego's scream pierced the air:

"Holy crap—!!!!"