Tabitha's POV
Noticing the shift in Kelsey's expression, I calmly dried my hands with a tissue and applied hand cream with deliberate care.
"Miss Arnold, I'm not sure what you're trying to prove here—whether it's your childish games or the family background you take pride in. All I know is that in matters of love, the one who is unloved is the real loser. Derek doesn't love you. I'd wager he feels more affection for the old man selling coffee on the corner than he does for you."
I set the hand cream down. "If I were you, I'd be too embarrassed to even show up, let alone make a scene."
"Tabitha, let's wait and see who the real loser is. We will meet again soon."
Kelsey retorted, though her lack of confidence was evident.
Indeed, what I was proud of was not anything else, but Derek's love for me.
Without Derek, I was nothing.
But with him, I had the whole world.
Kelsey's threats didn't really bother me. Derek loved me, so I didn't have to be afraid of any other woman.
If he stopped loving me, crying and pleading wouldn't help either.
Other women were not the focus. What mattered was Derek's love for me.
I walked away gracefully in my high heels, leaving Kelsey to mutter her frustrations behind me.
Just around the corner, I heard a shrill female voice shouting, "Do you have any idea how expensive my dress is? Do you know how hard I had to beg the brand to lend it to me? This couture fabric can't get wet! Can someone like you, a lowly cleaner, even begin to afford the compensation for it?"
In the distance, a woman in a blue evening dress was holding up her hem and berating a man dressed in cleaning attire.
The man, tall but noticeably humbled, kept his head bowed and said, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? That couldn't solve everything! Look, I'm not trying to be unreasonable. Give me 80 thousand dollars, and I'll consider the rest my bad luck for helping you out."
"80 thousand?" I laughed as I stepped forward. "Miss, you're being quite unreasonable. The dress you're wearing is worth maybe a few thousand dollars at most."
She immediately crossed her arms and eyed me with disdain. "Who are you?"
Clearly, she wasn't around when Derek made the announcement earlier, so she didn't know me and regarded me as a stranger.
Judging by her look, she probably thought I was just some mistress brought along by a man.
"Are you serious? The dress I'm wearing is a new piece by Niko. Ask around once you leave here, and you'll find out how expensive this collection is. You can't even get it for 800 thousand dollars on the market. It's quite generous of me to ask him to pay 80 thousand."
"If it were an authentic piece, 80 thousand dollars certainly wouldn't be enough. But the one you're wearing is a fake. It's a pretty good imitation, so I said it's worth a few thousand dollars. If it were obviously fake, it would only be a matter of a couple hundred dollars."
Upon being accused of wearing a fake, she scowled and replied, "You're talking nonsense. Why would I, a prominent celebrity, wear a fake? I went to great lengths to borrow this dress. You'd better mind your own business."
Although I had lost my memory, it was clear from her demeanor that she was not an A-list celebrity.
The cleaner had a deep scar on his face, and his exposed skin was dark and rough from years of hard labor.
He hunched over and said in a raspy voice, "Thank you, miss, but please, just leave. I don't want to drag you into this. I'll cover the cost. I've saved up some money over the years, and if that's not enough, I can sell my house to make up the difference."
"Why repay for a fake? At most, give her a few bucks for cleaning fees."
Our altercation had drawn a crowd, and soon people were gathering around us.
I could sense a rising tension in the air.