"Don't worry, I'll pay you back for the dress, not a penny less," she said, shooting a venomous look at Fiona before crossing her legs with a dismissive huff. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be stuck with some guy."
Fiona kept nibbling on her petit fours, unfazed. Yvenne was the kind of person who'd blame gravity for her own problems.
Jackson hadn't been exaggerating; the food here was top-notch, living up to the hype around the chefs at the Golden Pavilion.
When a platter of marinated seafood was served, Fiona eagerly scooped some onto her plate and started indulging. Unlike the daughters of prestigious families and their high-society pals, who got visibly rattled upon realizing Fiona was just a high schooler, she couldn’t care less.
"Are you close with Mr. Fitzgerald?" a woman with heavy makeup and red stilettos asked, giving Fiona a once-over. "Do you really think a little chick like you can catch his eye?"
From the corner of her eye, Fiona noticed a colorful group of women gathering around her—some sultry, some voluptuous, some ladylike, and others dressed as various anime characters. All of them flaunted figures that were undeniably appealing to men.
"Our Angel is talking to you, yet you just keep eating like it's your first time seeing food," one of them sneered.
Fiona couldn't be bothered to look up, calmly placing a forkful of scallop in her mouth. The silky texture was delightful.
"Angel, Fiona's new to this kind of high-end event. Naturally, she's making the most of it since she usually can’t afford such luxuries."
"And you? You're from the same low-tier school as her."
Yvenne flushed a deep red, clenching her teeth but not daring to retaliate.
"Answer what you're asked."
"Oh, he likes me the most," Fiona said with a blink and a deeper smile.
That one-liner was enough to drive them up the wall.
Angel, the woman, signaled to her crew, and in the next second, a plate of marinated seafood's sauce was dumped all over her.
"Ah!!" Her scream drew everyone's attention; this spot was now the center of attention. The woman jumped up, her front drenched in sauce, her skin carrying the scent of it.
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