Chapter 151: Pick Me Girls... LOL

The girl in the pink jacket caught sight of the sleek black platinum card resting between my fingers, and her eyes immediately dropped to the massive stack of high-luxury garment bags the curator was carefully preparing behind me. Each one contained rare, archival couture pieces worth tens of thousands of dollars.

Her arrogant sneer wavered for a split second, a flicker of panic darting across her eyes as she realized who she was looking at. But instead of backing off gracefully, her bruised ego kicked into overdrive.

She immediately shifted into a sickly-sweet, "pick-me" routine, tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder and leaning toward me with a practiced, flattering pout.

"Oh! Well... we didn’t realize she was with you," the girl purred, completely ignoring Benita as she offered me a fake, sugary smile. "We were just trying to help! You know how it is—some people just don’t know how to carry themselves in places like this. Honestly, a guy with your taste shouldn’t have to carry dead weight around."

Her friend nodded along, giving a petty, fake laugh. "Right? I mean, look at her. You could buy her the whole store, but you can’t buy class, can you?"

I didn’t give them so much as a second glance. Honestly, I was getting sick and tired of these low-tier, superficial snobs popping up everywhere thinking a designer logo gave them the right to look down on real talent.

Completely brushing past them as if they were invisible air, I turned directly to Benita with a calm, gentle smile.

"Here you go, Benita," I said softly, taking one of the primary luxury garment bags containing the rare archival piece she had been admiring and placing it gently into her hands. "This one is officially yours."

Benita looked up at me, her wide dark eyes blinking in complete shock as she held the sleek, weighted bag against her chest.

"You did an amazing job inspecting those cuts back there," I continued, my voice rich with genuine respect, loud enough for the entire gallery to hear. "Your eye for structural silhouette is miles ahead of anything on these racks. Let’s get the rest of your pieces sent up to the penthouse so we can start setting up your personal design atelier."

The girl in the pink jacket froze, her mouth falling open in utter disbelief. Her friend stood there looking like an absolute fool, her face flushing bright red with pure humiliation as they both realized they had just tried to broke-shame the hand-picked creative director of my next multi-million-dollar fashion empire.

The head curator stepped forward instantly, bowing deeply to Benita. "We will have the rest of your archival collection delivered directly to your residence within the hour, Miss Young."

Benita adjusted her grip on the bag, a small, confident smile finally breaking through her shy demeanor as she looked the two shocked socialites up and down before turning back to me. "Thank you, Ethan. I’m ready to leave."

"Let’s go," I said smoothly, guiding her out the heavy glass doors into the waiting luxury vehicle, leaving the two girls standing frozen in the middle of the showroom floor.

The girls stood frozen in disbelief, their eyes darting between the dress Benita had been admiring and the sheer nerve of our presence.

"The proportions on that piece are actually solid," Benita murmured, studying the silhouette with an analytical eye. "Though... if you brought in the waist, slashed the hemline, and maybe reworked the collar structure—"

"Wait," I interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand before she could second-guess herself. "Let her cook."

Encouraged, Benita leaned in, her vision taking over. She began detailing a wild, unapologetic customization plan—a bold hybrid of high fashion and chaotic redesign that would strip the dress of its safe, traditional luxury and turn it into something fierce and completely unheard of.

The girls gaped at her as if she’d suggested painting over the Mona Lisa.

"Since you’re still refining your technique," I said, turning to Benita with a grin, "why not use this as your canvas? Treat it as an experiment to lock in your signature style—pure, crazy, experimental fashion."

"An experiment?!" one of the girls finally blurted out, her voice cracking in horror. "Are you insane? That’s a one-of-a-kind limited edition piece! It’s worth thousands! The boutique would never sell it to someone just to tear it apart!"

I didn’t even bother looking at them.

Walking straight past the stunned crowd, I approached the clerk at the desk, leaned over the counter, and named a price—a figure so absurdly massive that it instantly sucked all the air out of the room.

The clerk’s jaw dropped. Without a word, her hands flew to the desk phone, hastily dialing the back office. "Manager? You need to come out here right now. Immediately."

The manager practically sprinted out from the back office, adjusting his collar with trembling hands as he confirmed the transfer.

Within seconds, the entire atmosphere of the boutique flipped upside down. The staff lined up with hands folded, bowing repeatedly, while the two snobbish girls stood in stunned, breathless silence as we were officially escorted into the VIP lounge.

"Sir, Miss, anything you need—champagne, espresso, immediate courier dispatch—it is entirely at your disposal!" the manager gushed, bowing so low his nose nearly touched the glass display case. "We will pack the archival piece in an airtight luxury travel trunk for you immediately!"

Benita stood beside me, shifting her weight awkwardly in her scuffed sneakers. She glanced over at the glass alcove, where the high-fashion mannequin stood in its sharp, dramatic posture. She bit her lip, clutching her sketchbook to her chest as her inner designer took over.

She leaned in toward me, her voice dropping to a shy, hesitant whisper. "Ethan... do you think... can we ask for the mannequin too? The exact pose... the angles on the shoulders and hip alignment are incredible for draping. It would be perfect for my experimental practice."

I grinned, stepping right up to the sweating manager. "We’re taking the mannequin too. Same display posture, packed and loaded into our vehicle right now."

"A-absolutely, sir!" the manager sputtered without a single second of hesitation, waving frantically for two attendants to start unmounting the heavy display. "Whatever Miss Young requires for her creative process! It will be in your private transport before you step outside!"

The two socialites watched in utter ruin as the store’s prized centerpiece was dismantled right before their eyes—not to be shown off in some high-society ballroom, but to serve as a raw practice canvas for the former textile worker they had just tried to mock.

Benita looked at the mannequin being carefully wrapped, then turned to me, a fierce, glowing spark finally lighting up in her eyes. The shyness was fading fast, replaced by the hunger of a true visionary ready to tear up the rules of luxury fashion.

"Let me guess," I said smoothly as the manager handed over our finalized receipts. "We’re going straight to your new studio?"