Chapter 22【VIP】
Crossing out the date on the paper, there are less than ten days left until the party and the debt repayment date.
Opesha left the table, fixed her hair in front of the mirror, and then went to the kitchen with her skirt lifted up. After eating too much Western food, she really missed the taste of Chinese breakfast, so she bought flour a day in advance, kneaded the dough herself to make buns, and drew a design for Sinderel, asking him to make a simple steamer according to the design.
Of course, her painting skills were once again met with silent ridicule from Sinderel.
After the steamed buns were heated, Opesa carried them up the spiral staircase. After knocking on the door, she pushed it open without hesitation, greeting the busy figure, "Good morning, Sinderel."
Sinderel stood in front of the wooden mannequin, without looking up, and said "hmm" lightly.
Opesa looked over and held her breath—
After days of polishing, the sample garment has become even more dazzling and gorgeous. The black silk, like the melting night, shimmers in the sunlight with a dark sheen. Silver embroidered vines snake around key areas, cleverly concealing yet intensely provocative. Layers of translucent lace create a hazy, suggestive image. Fine silver chains dangle from the edges, whispering softly with every movement.
It seemed to be born to conquer the night and desire. Opesa watched with great interest, feeling that the success rate would be very high this time!
"Not bad!" Opesa came over, still feeling excited. "Oh, my hero, come and have breakfast. I made this last night. Want to try it?"
Xindrell's eyes swept over the steaming pastry. It looked a bit ugly, like a bun. He slowly picked it up, took a tentative bite, and commented, "Not bad."
Opesa didn't express disdain for the review. She straightened her back proudly and continued to admire the dress. "Since this is our beginning, it must have a name. Have you chosen one yet?"
Sinderel shook his head: "No."
"How about calling it 'Whispers'?" Opesa suggested, "The whispers and moans of the night."
The whispers and moans in the lingering night...
Sinderel's gaze lingered for a moment on the black fabric that exuded a silent allure. Something incredibly subtle flashed across his eyes, too swift to register. He didn't comment on the name, simply looking away, as if the scorching black had burned his eyes. "What do you want to do next?"
Opesa didn't notice Sinderel's little movements, her mind was full of the clinking sound of money colliding.
The most important thing now is promotion.
How can we make customers see this shocking thing inadvertently?
Opesa's mind raced, and a bold, and in her opinion, brilliant, plan quickly took shape.
Draw an advertising picture.
Although it is a medieval country and cannot mass-produce leaflets for publicity, it does not mean that there are no other means.
If you don’t have the ability, then just take advantage of the popularity.
Thinking of this, she hurriedly said: "I have a good idea!"
As a result, Bruno, the most sought-after portrait painter in Furland, was invited to work in their small shop studio, which was filled with all kinds of fabrics and strange gadgets, for a large sum of money.
The easel was set up, the huge canvas stretched taut, and Opesa changed into her Whisper suit, loosely covered with a dressing gown.
"Madam, please... relax a little, yes, lower your shoulders... your eyes, can your eyes be a little more... mysterious?" Painter Bruno is a strict and old-fashioned middle-aged man, but the hand holding the paintbrush is a little sweaty.
He had painted countless ladies, dignified, quiet, and noble, but he had never faced such an aggressive subject. The laces of the dressing gown were deliberately left untied, revealing the astonishing outline entwined in the black lace underneath. The half-covered, half-exposed, impact was even stronger than if it were completely uncovered.
Opesa struggled to strike the required poses, her mind racing with information about newspaper ad space pricing and placement strategies. Sunlight filtered through the glass, casting dappled shadows on her smooth skin and the dress she wore, "Whisper."
Bruno's brush quickly painted on the canvas, capturing the light and shadow, as well as the temptation that made the onlookers tremble with fear.
Just as Bruno was concentrating on drawing the last few strokes of light, the door of the workshop was pushed open silently.
Sindriel stood there.
He had just returned from outside, seemingly to retrieve something. His emotionless eyes were fixed precisely on the eye-catching canvas the moment he stepped through the threshold.
On the canvas, Opesa is wearing the "Whisper" that he modified and sewed by himself, and is captured in a charming posture under the morning light.
Very beautiful, her dressing gown half-removed, the flowing black satin setting off her snow-white skin, just like the snow outside that had not yet melted.
That look, the mystery that the painter tried to capture, was a glaring one to Sinderel, as if it was a shame of being completely exposed to the public.
Was this her idea?
Isn't she always conservative?
Below the line, is it what it looks like now?
A nameless rage, cold and violent, came so swiftly that it even overwhelmed the rationality that he was always proud of.
He didn't even make any sound, his figure was as fast as a ghost, and when Opesha and Sind were focused,
Bruno felt a flash before his eyes, a sharp pain in his wrist, and the paintbrush flew out of his hand, followed by a sharp "swish" sound.
Sinderel held the brush and moved it down mercilessly.
The paint, still wet, clung to his fingers, leaving a sticky mess. A massive gap completely destroyed the alluring figure on the canvas. The painting that had displeased him crumbled into a shattered mess amidst a piercing sound.
"Ah--!" Bruno let out a short cry of surprise, and watched with heartache as his almost completed work was destroyed in an instant.
"Sinderel!" Opesa suddenly jumped up, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her. She was shocked and angry, and her voice changed. "Are you crazy? That's money, hard work, and our advertising!"
She finally managed to swallow her shame and be a model.
Most of the canvas was destroyed, and Sinderel finally stopped.
The tattered piece of cloth hung on the easel. He slowly turned his head, his pupils without a trace of emotion, only a bottomless chill that pierced straight into Opesha.
The sharp look in her eyes silenced her instantly, and a chill ran up her spine.
He didn't explain a word, but just glanced at the mess indifferently, casually wiped his paint-stained hands on a clean cloth beside him, then turned around, walked straight through the store without stopping, and disappeared at the door.
"He...what does he mean?" Opesa was shaking with anger, pointing at the door and asking Bruno, but it was more like asking herself.
Did he know that Bruno charged by the hour, and that Bruno had no schedule at all, so he had to pay extra to cut in line and only then was he able to invite this giant Buddha?
Her plan was ruined.
Bruno looked at his ravaged paintings, then looked at the door, shook his head and sighed: "Madam, your daughter... uh, Miss Sinderel's temper is really... extraordinary." He picked up the broken painting tools, collected double the compensation for mental damages, and left shaking his head.
Opesa's heart was bleeding as she looked at the pile of unrecognizable canvas fragments on the ground.
After the anger, there is a huge sense of confusion and frustration.
She had never seen Xindrel look so out of control.
Why did Sindrel go crazy? What about promotion?
She couldn't figure it out.
On the other side, in the eastern district of Furlan, on a street that was filled with the mixed smell of cheap perfume and alcohol even in the daytime, Sinderel's figure appeared at the entrance of the alley.
Incompatible with the gaudy and vulgar atmosphere around him, he was still wearing the same well-worn dress, tall and thin, with a face as pale as porcelain.
He was surrounded by prostitutes leaning against the door frame with bold and presumptuous looks, but he ignored them and walked straight ahead with his head down.
His target was clear - the relatively respectable two-story building deep in the alley, the flower kiln.
The territory of Ella, a famous prostitute in the city known as the "Red Rose".
They got to know each other, but it wasn't a good time.
Sinderel pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the doorman who tried to greet him.
Ella was lazily leaning on a velvet couch, looking at herself in the mirror. She had long, fiery red hair and honey-colored skin, rare in Furlan. Her figure was voluptuous and charming, and her every frown and smile carried the sophisticated charm of a seasoned womanizer.
"Oh, what a rare visitor." Ella put down the comb in her hand, curled her red lips, and looked at the "girl" with a gloomy and unique temperament with interest. "Sinderel... 'Miss'? What brings you here? I remember you said you would never come to see me again."
Without any greeting or even sitting down, Sinderel simply dropped a package on the coffee table in front of Ella.
A corner of the velvet was opened, revealing the dark black silk inside - it was an extra "whisper" he made.
"Put it on." Sinderel's voice was flat and as cold as ice.
Ella raised her eyebrows, stretched out her nail-painted fingers, picked up the thin cloth, and her eyes instantly burst into surprise and understanding - she was an expert and recognized at a glance that this was definitely not something native to Furland.
"It's truly marvelous," Ella exclaimed sincerely, her fingertips caressing the delicate silk. "For me?" She looked at Sinderel with a curious smile, her eyes flickering. "What's the price? You wouldn't give me such a thoughtful gift for no reason, would you?"
Sinderel pulled out a heavy velvet bag from his bosom and placed it next to the suit. He opened the bag and several glittering gold coins rolled out.
"Put it on," Sinderel repeated, his eyes locked on Ella. "To receive guests. To be seen by as many people as possible. Especially..." He paused, his voice lowered, carrying an invisible pressure, "those with status."
Ella looked at the gold coin, then at the outfit that would make any man's blood boil. The smile on her red lips deepened, a hint of amusement and excitement. She weighed the coin, gently stroked it, and whispered, "Deal, dear Miss Sinderel."
She stood up, her voluptuous curves rising and falling beneath her gauze nightgown. "Don't worry, no one knows how to show off beautiful things better than me—but what is it called?"
"Whisper."
She picked up the underwear, her eyes gleaming with a desire to conquer. "'Whisper'? What a good name. It will make the loudest sound in the night of Furlan."
Sinderel didn't look at her again. His mission accomplished, he turned and left.
"Wait a minute." Ella called him, smiling brightly but with a hint of sarcasm. "You're so bold to come to me, aren't you afraid that I'll tell them?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Tsk tsk...it seems you have a guarantee, dear." Ella laughed even more happily. "But if she knew that you learned how to flatter the nobles under my command, and knew that you pretended to be weak and disguised your gender, would she be surprised?"
“…” Sinderel still didn’t look back.
He cannot reveal his gender.
Because he had sworn to someone that he would live on in her place.
"If you value your life, just shut up. This is none of your business." He left after saying this.
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