"Sis."
From across the boutique, Olivia appeared like a designer-sponsored coincidence—dressed in a cute, flowy thing clearly meant to scream innocence™.
Right beside her stood Camilla Everhart, decked out in a forest-green blazer like a matriarchal statue, expression polished and indifferent. The disdain in her eyes was carefully tucked beneath a layer of social grace, but Melisa had long since graduated from the Everhart School of Passive-Aggression. She knew that look.
Once upon a time, it would've hurt. That was her mother too, after all. So why was she always the unwanted draft?
But now? Melisa simply raised an eyebrow, a gesture of elegant apathy, and returned to existing.
Lily and her friends, on the other hand, were short-circuiting. They didn't know who those women were, but the fashion labels did all the screaming for them. Especially that pendant Olivia wore—a little too much sparkle for someone who was just passing by.
