The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric as Rachel stood in front of the mirror, the light catching her gold dress just perfectly. The intricate stitching shimmered as she adjusted the fit, oblivious to the tension building around her.
Viktoriya observed Rachel's every move with half-lidded eyes. While Wynter flipped through a magazine, but it was clear that her attention was on the scene unfolding in front of them.
Rachel, adjusting her lipstick with precision, let out a huff. "This makeup is atrocious," she muttered to the woman applying her touch-ups. "You've made my face look like a clown. Do you even know what you're doing?"
The makeup artist flinched, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the blush on Rachel's cheeks. "I—I'm sorry, Miss. I thought it would complement your—"
