---
Tracy gasped when Mirabel came out in her simple outfit.
"No, no, no. Absolutely not."
"What?" Mirabel arched a brow.
"Too plain. Too obvious. You can't just show up looking like you're heading to the grocery store."
Mirabel smirked. "Relax. It's just a press conference. They'll ask their questions, I'll answer, and that's all."
Tracy shook her head firmly. "No, you can't."
"And why not?" Mirabel pressed, folding her arms.
Tracy's mind raced. Think, think of an excuse… Then she snapped her fingers. "Because your brother said you should dress nicely. If you don't, people will get the wrong idea."
Mirabel tilted her head. "That actually makes sense."
"Exactly. No more arguing. To your room, now."
With a reluctant laugh, Mirabel followed her.
---
A few minutes later, Tracy pulled out clothes from her wardrobe. "This top, this skirt, and these heels. Wear them."
Mirabel eyed the set. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"Nope. Perfect. Now, put them on."
She obeyed, slipping into a chic crop top, sleek skirt, and heels. When she stepped out, Tracy froze.
"Wow. Just wow. You look stunning."
Mirabel frowned. "I look like some singer about to jump on stage and perform."
"Still stunning," Tracy teased. "Now sit. Makeup and hair."
Mirabel sat before the mirror, watching as Tracy loosened her pink hair, letting it cascade down her back. Soft, simple makeup followed, enhancing her sharp features without stealing the show.
"There," Tracy said proudly. "Now you're ready to face the world."
"Okay," Mirabel breathed, grabbing her bag. She stepped into the waiting car.
Her phone rang—Lucian. She answered as the driver pulled away.
"Hey, Lucian."
"So… how was your day with Cherry?" His voice was warm, curious.
"It was great. We had fun."
"Good. Are you heading to the press conference now?"
"Yeah. Any updates?"
"Yes. We caught the guy, but he refuses to confess."
Her stomach tightened. "And what are you going to do?"
"Torture him until he talks."
"No!" Mirabel's voice sharpened. "Lucian, I don't want another scandal. If you let him go, he might run his mouth and cause more trouble."
"He's already saying things." Lucian's voice darkened. "But the truth is… he just wanted fame. Said he'll delete the video."
"Then make him publicly apologize. Nothing more. No violence."
"…Fine. For you." His tone softened.
"Thank you. I'm almost at the event. Talk later."
"Later."
Lucian hung up, then gave quick orders to his men—make the boy apologize publicly, then release him. He already knew Mirabel's stepsister was behind it, but for the sake of family… he would only warn her.
---
Mirabel POV
The car pulled into the venue. Flashing cameras and shouting voices filled the air. Journalists, paparazzi, reporters—they were all there, hungry for answers.
Mirabel stepped onto the stage, her heels clicking, her pink hair gleaming like fire under the lights. She bowed slightly before taking the microphone.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Mirabel King. I'm a model and actress. Let's begin—and please, let's keep this nice."
She sat, microphone steady in her hand. The sea of reporters leaned forward.
"You," Mirabel said, pointing toward a journalist in the middle.
"Is everything in the video true?" the woman asked boldly.
Mirabel's lips curved into a calm smile. "Hmm. Yes… and no. First of all, I did not steal anyone's fiancé. And about my kids?" Her eyes softened, steady and unapologetic. "That part is true."
Gasps echoed across the room. Cameras flashed like lightning.
---