Their Obsession, My ruin
Before I could even protest, the woman waved her hand, and the assistants moved in like a well-trained military unit.
For the next three hours, my bedroom was turned into a high-end luxury salon. I was poked, prodded, brushed, and painted. They washed my hair with products that smelled like expensive vanilla and orchids, blowing it out into soft, cascading waves down my back. A makeup artist applied subtle, smoky eyeshadow that made my eyes look incredibly wide and piercing.
Then came the jewelry. The main stylist opened a velvet box, revealing a diamond necklace that looked heavy enough to anchor a boat. When she fastened it around my neck, the stones felt icy cold against my skin.
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