“You—you little punk! You dare threaten me?” He fumbled for his phone, then threatened, “Fine! I’ll call Miss right now!”
But I didn't feel anything. I simply shrugged, spreading my hands lazily. “Go ahead.”
A few minutes later, the dressing room door swung open with a loud bang.
A tall young woman then swept in, surrounded by bodyguards. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.
“Eric,” she snapped, her voice crisp and cold. “You can’t even handle something this simple? What am I paying you for?”
I turned toward her and asked, “So, you’re Felicity Young, my fiancée?”
I studied her carefully, and I'd admit, she was stunning. Nearly five-foot-seven, her white wedding gown hugged her curves perfectly. If not for that icy look in her eyes, she could’ve passed for a goddess.
“Miss Young,” I said politely, “since it’s our first time meeting, allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Trevor Dalton. I came from a military—”
“No need,” she cut me off mid-sentence, flicking her hand dismissively. “I have zero interest in who you are.”
I had planned to introduce my background, maybe give her a reason to drop that arrogance. But apparently, this woman wasn’t the type to listen.