Mistake

Chapter 37 

Jerry was having none of it. He waved a polished nail at Cynthia’s comfy get–up and let out a dramatic sigh. “This won’t do,” he griped. “Can we get a little help here?” No sooner than he spoke, a team of assistants whisked 

Cynthia away to get changed. 

Liam made to follow but Jerry boogied in front of him, wagging a finger. “Hold up, big guy,” he chirped. Jerry checked him out and gave a nod. “That suit’s sharp. Stick with it. Just need to whip your hair into shape.” 

Now, Liam was all about his business suits–tailored ones at that. Fancy shindigs were his playground. Jerry’s finger was still poking at Liam’s chest when he stepped away, Liam’s voice cool as ice. “I got this.” 

Jerry huffed and backed off. “Alright, you insist. Then I’ll go see my masterpiece.” He sashayed to the dressing room, rear end jiggling in his tight pants. 

Jerry was a Clusian. As the international stylist, his rule was simple: nothing but his own creations. And when he first spotted Cynthia, his mind was buzzing with plans for her glow–up. 

When Cynthia twirled out in that dress–shoulderless, sky blue with a deep blue fade at the bottom–she was like a fairy tale come to life. 

Jerry was gobsmacked. She was a dream in that dress until he saw the tell–tale marks dotting her arms and neck. 

Cynthia turned beet red. 

Jerry was practically crying over spilled milk. “This is all wrong,” he wailed. His flawless vision was in tatters. 

Liam, catching wind of the drama, strolled in. “Problem?” 

Jerry was on the verge of a fit–hands on hips, voice hitting the high notes. “She’s got to rock a dress tonight. Did you have to leave your mark all over?” 

Liam’s face turned stone cold, icing up the whole room. Jerry folded like a cheap suit as soon as he felt that stare. “How’s she gonna show up to the ball looking like someone’s snack?” he whimpered. 

Liam checked out Cynthia, then dropped his verdict. “Get her a shawl.” 

Jerry stamped his foot. “No way!” He was fixated on his design, and wouldn’t budge for extras. His creation was 

sacred. 

Liam just jammed his hands in his pockets and stared Jerry down. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want their big sponsor anymore.” 

“Man, money talks,” Jerry sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. He finally draped a light shawl over Cynthia’s shoulders, careful to cover the marks without hiding her skin. Just as he was prepping to do her hair, 

there was a ruckus at the fare duce 

“Jerry’s grot too far faerre i samt a makeover dat And what about that blue dress from the other day” want it.’ 

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