Hunger Games Stylists Novels & Stories

The maid hesitated for a moment before scurrying off to comply, leaving me alone with this whirlwind of judgment. The stylist continued her tirade, tossing clothes aside like they were nothing more than rags. “You need to let go of these outdated pieces. They’re dragging you down,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Each comment felt like a jab to my self-esteem, and I fought the urge to defend my choices.

Elara"s POV The following two days passed in a whirlwind of fear, setting up, and enchantment of silk. Damon was totally serious about the dress. Almost immediately after I consented to join the Summit, the count was five people appearing at the penthouse. That woman came not only with stylists but also beauty peddlers. They took my sizing finger by finger. They engaged in animated discussions about which colors to use, just like two commanders hash out tactics before battle. They pampered my sort of rough skin as if it belonged to some pampered lady of leisure who is only used to getting her hands massaged with splendid jasmine, scented oils. So, it was the night of the Summit. I looked at

Luna pulled my hair into a bun and then handed me my glasses after applying mascara and a lipstick on me. She took a step back from me to examine how I looked. A small smile grew on her face, "if you were staying with me.. you'd be turning heads. But now you're hiding your beautiful body and amazing legs with stupid saggy clothes.. dude.. make me your stylist." I rolled my eyes and took my small purse that only had my bank cards and a phone and keys, "leave my clothes the fuck alone. They are comfortable.." "Look how sexy AND comfortable my clothes make you.."

“We're here. So, as usual, you meet the stylists. They're gonna help you with the outfit, then you go directly to the make-up and hair-styling, okay?” “Alright.” They got off the cab and went to meet the director. “Oh, I like this.” Tom smiled when he saw the outfit he had to wear— a dark blue sweater with white stripes on the sleeves with a big logo in the centre, white shorts and blue tight leggings below, and of course, blue baskets. “After you wear them, we'd like to put a white bandanna in your hair.” a stylist suggested. “Great idea.” Tom smiled. “I seldom put bandanas. It’s good to change a little.”

Chapter 15 Estelle The banquet hall was cool but the tension between Zen and Bryon made it so much colder. It did not help that I was dressed in a cream lace see through fabric that clung to my curves as though for dear life. Zen’s group of stylists had literally constructed the dress on my body. The dress was sexy and elegant at the same time. Even when I lived in my father's house, I did not have access to this type of wear. Everything from my hair which was in a fashionable bun and set in small diamonds to my feet which was strapped in gold stilettos had been carefully thought out.

gleam in their eyes—and whispered to Alaric, "Welcome to the Hunger Games, rich kid edition." He chuckled under his breath and tightened his hand around mine, like he already knew he'd need to keep a firm grip to survive the night. We barely had a chance to breathe before the main event herself appeared at the top of the stairs: Lisa. Wearing what could only be described as a very sparkly piece of dental floss masquerading as a dress. I blinked. Twice. I mean, I knew Lisa loved attention, but this was... impressive. Bold. Brave. Frankly, physics-defying. If she so much as sneezed, the whole thing might fall apart.

I wonder why she's like this, she's such a genius but didn't even know how to differentiate bad and better outfits for herself. "Oh, I just hope that you're being true right now, cause we can saw the agony you're going through with those floppy eyes of yours leech." Jennifer added. Jennifer had a very stylistic and classy style among the three of them. She's like a crazy rich b*tch and a superstar. I actually adore her styling taste and her green eyes, except her evil attitude. "And so you're now happy? Is that a kind of attitude that your parents thought you? To celebrate someone's agony?" I saw them look at each other like they're communicating through their mind.

"Natalie, did you see it? But don't pay too much attention to it. I heard that Susan and Oliver were childhood sweethearts, so their relationship must be different now." "Let's assign the team members. Grace will be Sharon's stylist, Jacob will be Natalie's stylist, and Zoey will be Lily's stylist." the director said. "Now, let's go over the rules. The three of you will go to the campus and find props on your own, whether it's costumes or makeup tools. The final styling will be based on the props you find." Frowning with confusion, Jacob asked, "Director, didn't you say before that Zoey was in the same group as me and Jane?"

She leaned closer, her voice soft, “She’s an enemy you don’t want to keep around.” I said nothing. My gaze lingered on them, cool and steady, even as something burned low in my stomach. Margaret didn’t answer either, her eyes fixed on her own reflection while the hairdresser twisted and pinned her dark strands with trembling hands. Mia, unsatisfied, shifted her attention. She snapped her fingers at another stylist lingering near the corner. “Hey, you. Come over here.” The young girl rushed forward, bowing her head. Mia described the style she wanted, every word coated in entitlement, as if she already sat on the throne she craved. The stylist obeyed instantly, working on Mia’s hair with quic

Kali "Don’t look the Alpha in the eyes." "Don’t talk back to your mate." "A woman’s duty is to serve her mate and Alpha with unwavering obedience." Luna Diana’s voice echoes through the grand hall, each word a whip against my patience. She stands at the front, regal as ever, with her silver-blonde hair perfectly styled into a thick braid that cascades over her shoulder. Her sharp blue eyes scan the room with practiced authority, and her flawless red gown clings to her figure, a stark contrast to the suffocating rules she preaches.