Arno stepped into Velora Atelier, a boutique that practically oozed exclusivity. Every inch of the store shimmered with quiet luxury—the kind you didn't just wear, but breathed in. It was one of the top designer houses in the country, and Arno had browsed their website the night before, memorizing every curve of their cotton and soft silk collections.
A sales associate approached, with a beautiful, charming smile.
"How can I assist you today, Ma'am?"
Arno glanced at her—young, polite, definitely new to this job.
"I'm looking for something stylish, suitable for everyday wear… and within budget," Arno replied with a calm smile.
"Of course, ma'am. Please follow me."
The staff member led her to the cotton and silk section, neatly arranged under soft lighting that made everything look just a little more tempting.
"Please take your time. I'll be nearby if you need anything."
"Thank you," Arno said, then began flipping through the garments—soft pastels, bold prints, delicate embroidery. She was lost in the texture of a pale lavender dress when a voice struck the air like a sour note in a symphony.
"Well, well. Can't even afford a proper designer dress after leaving my son? Tch."
Arno didn't need to look up. That voice could rise from the grave and she'd still recognize it: Mrs. Lysell, Auren's mother. A woman who had opposed her from day one, seeing her not as a person but as a threat. Auren's "mistake." A gold digger. An outsider.
"I always knew you weren't good enough for him," Mrs. Lysell sneered. "Thank God he finally saw the light. If he had married you, who knows how much you'd have taken from him?"
Arno smirked. Her fingers remained on the fabric, unshaken. She continued browsing as though the insults were background noise in a cheap drama.
"You dare turn your back on me?" the older woman barked. "No manners at all. Haven't you learned anything from your mother?"
That did it.
Arno turned slowly, her eyes calm but sharp. "You're right," she said evenly. "I don't even know if my parents are alive. But look at you—standing in a public store, barking insults at someone half your age. Who raised you?"
"You… you insolent girl—"
"Arno!" Another voice rushed in—breathless and syrupy. A young woman caught Mrs. Lysell's arm. "Aunty, what happened?"
Of course. Angika Ruxin. The ex–best friend turned backstabber. The girl who smiled with knives.
Arno looked at the two women standing together and muttered under her breath, "What a great combo."
She turned away and handed the dresses she had chosen to the staff. "Please make the bill for these."
"Certainly, ma'am. One moment, please," the staff said, quickly disappearing behind the counter.
"Arno, I know you're still angry with me," Angika said, tears gathering as if on cue. "I understand if you hate me, but how can you talk to aunty like that?"
Arno chuckled—dry and unbothered. "Angika, honestly, you missed your true calling. You should've gone into acting. You're wasted in real life."
"Shut up!" Mrs. Lysell roared.
Arno was already looking elsewhere, as if they were no more than flies buzzing in a shop full of luxurious.
But Angika hadn't planned to let this chance slip away.
She had always hated how confident Arno was—despite being an orphan who'd only later been adopted into the Solace family. She couldn't stand how people naturally flocked to her, admired her, loved being around her. It should've been her in the spotlight—the praise, the effortless charm. After all, she was a Ruxin. Born into wealth. Status was her birthright.
How dare Arno shine brighter?
So Angika took what she thought would even the scales.
She snatched Arno's boyfriend.
Auren came from a powerful family too—just like her. He was her perfect match. Not Arno.
She called him. He would be there any moment. She couldn't let this scene slip from her control.
"Arno!" Angika had run toward her. "Please—we've been best friends for over ten years…" She reached out and grabbed Arno's hand.
Arno immediately pulled back and looked at her with tired eyes. "What now? Didn't you finish showing off your little magic tricks?"
She turned, ready to walk away. "Besides, we're not friends anymore," she added. "So if you'll excuse me—"
Suddenly, Angika lunged to slap her.
But Arno caught her wrist mid-air—and without hesitation, slapped her across the face.
SMACK!
The sound echoed like thunder. Gasps rippled through the section as Angika spun, falling to the floor, clutching her cheek.
Did I really hit her that hard? Arno wondered briefly. But before she could dwell on it, a voice roared—
"HOW DARE YOU lay a finger on my woman?!"
Ugh. Auren.
"I did," Arno said calmly. "So what?"
Mrs. Lysell rushed in, tears brimming on command. "Auren! Didn't I always tell you that girl was no good? She hit Angika! She insulted our family!"
Angika sobbed dramatically into her hands. (Inside, she smiled. She knew Arno reacted when someone tried to bully her. And she knew how to play the victim. A perfect trap.)
"Auren, you have to stand up for me!" she cried.
"You…" Auren gritted his teeth. "You were the biggest mistake of my life. I wish I'd never met you. You're a poisonous woman. I regret every second I spent with you."
The words landed like bullets.
Arno had known this would happen. She'd seen it coming. But still—her heart stung. Eight years of one-sided love, and this was the end. She swallowed the pain, forced a smile.
"Thank God," she said. "So you finally understand. It was your mistake all along."
Then she turned to Angika. "And you? You just picked up the trash I threw out. No need to be so dramatic. I don't walk backward."
A staff member approached and handed her a shopping bag. "Ma'am, here are the dresses you bought."
"STOP!" Auren barked. "Anyone who sells clothes to her is the enemy of the Lysell Group!"
The staff exchanged nervous glances. One of them stepped forward, hesitant but firm. "Sir, our policy is to treat all customers equally. We can't do that."
"You dare defy me?" Auren snapped. "Call your manager!"
The manager rushed out, bowing hurriedly. "Yes, Young Master! What brings you here today?"
"Don't sell clothes to uncivilized people." Auren pointed straight at Arno.
"Don't worry, Young Master," the manager said quickly. "Take back all the clothes from her." He signaled the guards.
They moved in—until a deep voice cut through the chaos.
"I want to see who dares lay a hand on her."
Everything froze.
All heads turned.
It was time to step in, I, Lucien Malric Moreaux stood at the entrance, beside Shan. We had come to pick up my suit. Shan had suggested I come early—said I'd get to "save the beauty."
Instead, I had decided to watch. To see how Dr. Solace handled her battles.
Now, I stepped forward and took her hand. She looked at me, eyes wide.
"Mr. Moreaux?" the manager whispered, trembling.
"Mr. Moreaux?!" Angika, Auren, and Mrs. Lysell froze in place.
Without even glancing at them, I took the shopping bags from Arno's hand.
"Did they hurt you?" I asked gently.
She nodded, then turned to Angika with sudden mischief in her eyes. "Oppa! They were bullying me before you came. Who knows what would've happened if you were just a little late…"
She gripped my hand tighter.
A lightning bolt shot through me. My whole body stiffened. My throat went dry.
I turned to face the room. "I want to see who has the guts to defy me now."
"P-please!" the manager fell to his knees in front of Arno. "Ma'am, I apologize! I didn't know you knew Mr. Moreaux. Please forgive me!"
"You're fired," Shan said coldly. "Mr. Moreaux owns this store. And starting now, none of you—" he pointed at the trio— "are allowed to shop here. Ever again. Or at any future brand under this chain."
"What?!" Angika grabbed Mrs. Lysell's hand in disbelief. Her face burned with rage. How is Arno always this lucky?!
Auren looked pale. He should've felt glad after finally getting rid of Arno. But instead… something burned in his chest. Regret? Jealousy? His heart clenched, and he held it, confused.
Angika clung to Auren. Mrs. Lysell hovered protectively by her son.
But while they were caught in their tangled mess, Arno tugged at my arm.
"Let's go," she whispered.
We slipped away from the store—hand in hand.
Outside her warm, steady, soft hand was still in mine. And for the first time since waking up in this world, I didn't regret.
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