Rex stepped out of the changing room, now back in his everyday outfit—charcoal-grey chinos, a soft cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a slim dark cardigan. A far cry from the throne-worthy suit he’d been wearing moments ago, but still, our bro was effortlessly sharp.
Seraphina gave him a once-over and finally exhaled like she could finally breathe again.
"Finally. Now I won’t have to file an emotional damage report."
Rex blinked. "You act like I committed a fashion crime."
"You were about to walk out in a bespoke suit like it was gym wear," she deadpanned. "That’s basically fashion homicide."
He scratched the back of his head. "I mean, it was already on me. Thought It would be okay to just keep waking."
She gave him a flat stare. "Okay, sit down. We need to talk."
Rex sat like a student getting called out for forgetting homework.
She crossed her arms, nodding like a teacher about to scold a child. "Listen carefully, Mr. Suit-Up-For-Fun. Suits like the one you’ll wear tonight aren’t just clothes—they’re delicate works of art. High-thread-count fabric, specialized stitching, hand-done embroidery... even your breath could wrinkle it wrong if you exhale dramatically."
"Not while running across campus and stopping for street tacos?"
She blinked. "You were going to eat tacos in that suit?"
"No," he lied quickly. "I’m just asking for a friend."
She stared at him, like for a serious two or three seconds, he coughed and quickly changed the subject.
"Okay, noted. No dramatic breathing."
She shot him a look but continued. "You only wear a piece like that one to two hours before the event—maximum. Not for fun. Not to take a walk. And definitely not to go skipping through sunlight like a runway model on spring break."
Rex scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "So... the movie heroes lied to me?"
"Those movie heroes are backed by a team of five stylists and an unlimited wardrobe budget," she said flatly. "In real life, wear a tux too early and you end up looking like a creased potato in premium wool."
"...that’s a very expensive potato."
"Exactly," she nodded. "One to two hours before the event—max. And even then, move like you’re made of glass. No slouching. No pocket-hands. No collar-yanking like you’re adjusting a school tie."
"Damn," Rex muttered. "So basically I’ve been doing it all wrong my whole life."
She looked at him pointedly. "Yes. But you’re learning now, so don’t make me regret giving you that suit."
Rex gave a mock salute. "Aye aye, fashion general."
She rolled her eyes but cracked a smile. "I’m serious. Hollywood parties are a different beast. Everyone’s watching, even when it feels like they’re not. There’s a rhythm to it—polite greetings, firm handshakes, confident eye contact. Smile just enough to be approachable, not enough to look desperate."
"Got it. Handsome, mysterious, emotionally unavailable."
"That too," she said, unfazed. "Also, be polite. Don’t get into drama. No dumb jokes unless they’re clever enough to pass as smart ones. Get full chapters from noveⅼfire.net
Rex folded his arms and leaned against the nearby chair, taking it all in with that easygoing expression of his. But inside, he was listening carefully—every word, every tip. After all, in his world, knowledge was power. And parties ? They weren’t just glitz and glam—they were battlefields dressed in velvet and champagne.
And he still had a quest to complete,so of course he had to show his best version possible.
So when Seraphina paused, finally done with her lecture, he gave a small, respectful nod.
"Thanks," he said. "Really."
She waved it off casually. "Just try not to disgrace my tailoring. That’s all I ask."
"So for now," she added, straightening the lapel of his cardigan like she couldn’t help herself, "the suit stays here—completely ready and waiting."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Oh, by the way, just give me the address of the party. I’ll make sure the suit is delivered and waiting on the scene."
"It’s in some luxury mansion in Beverly Hills," Rex replied. "Pretty sure the street name had more syllables than I can pronounce, let me check,he took out his phone, but in reality he was looking through system and read off the full address.
The moment she heard it, her brows lifted slightly. "A mansion, huh?"
She paused, processing. Then she began pacing slowly across the room, one hand on her chin and the other tapping her tablet like she was solving a high-stakes fashion puzzle.
"I see..." she murmured, her voice suddenly a shade more serious. "Originally, I thought it was just an average hotel party.
She paused, turned on her heel, and gave him a look—a look that said he’d just dragged her into something far fancier than she’d budgeted her morning mood for.
"But..." she trailed off as her eyes narrowed, "it seems like tonight’s party is far from usual."
Just as Rex opened his mouth to respond, she added, "So, what exactly is this event? Some private gala? Charity auction? Secret cult?"
Rex shrugged innocently. "Don’t look at me like that, I don’t know anything. It was just an invitation from a friend."
At that, Seraphina raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "Oh? Then that friend of yours is definitely not simple."
She folded her arms, tone shifting from amused to genuinely intrigued. "Parties like these—held at Beverly Hills mansions—are usually organized by Hollywood bigwigs. The kind of people who can make or break careers with a snap."
She gestured vaguely upward. "And almost everyone attending is from either the industry, or—" she pointed upward again.
Rex, following her gesture a little too literally, tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling with his mouth slightly open like a confused puppy.
Seraphina stared at him. Then, she burst into soft laughter and gave him a light smack on the arm. "What are you looking at, you idiot? I meant metaphorically. Up there. The real elites. The top one percent."