Time-Limited Love: A Contract Expired, Not Renewed novel Chapter 252

Charles had barely left when the stylist arrived, arms full of garment bags and an air of cheerful professionalism.

With practiced hands, the stylist helped Zinnia into her gown.

“Mrs. Ford, you have such an incredible figure,” the stylist gushed as she adjusted the silk at Zinnia’s waist. “This dress may look simple, but only someone with real poise could truly do it justice.”

She circled Zinnia, smoothing the fabric, her voice brimming with flattery. “Wearing it, you bring out every ounce of its elegance and worth.”

Zinnia, however, felt oddly self-conscious under the praise.

She had to admit, though—Landon’s choice of gown suited her taste perfectly.

It was a floor-length dress in the palest silvery blue, its lines sharp and minimalist. At first glance, the design seemed understated, but closer inspection revealed exquisite, meticulous detailing—evidence of the designer’s masterful touch.

The gown was crafted from rare, traditional silk crepe, handwoven with painstaking care. Its drape was impeccable: luxurious but subtle, cool yet quietly opulent. Despite the heavy price tag, the fabric floated around her, impossibly light, as if she were wearing nothing at all.

It was only through the stylist’s chatter that Zinnia learned just how unique her dress was. This was a one-of-a-kind piece, handmade by the world-renowned designer J.C.—the only one of its kind in existence.

The silk itself was prized above all others, available only through the most exclusive channels. Just this single gown, the stylist confided, was worth ten million dollars.

Zinnia was floored. For a moment, she actually wondered if she should reconsider the divorce and just wait for Landon to kick the bucket instead. If she so much as snagged the dress, she’d never be able to pay him back—not even if she sold herself.

Was Landon plotting something?

Lost in anxious speculation, Zinnia barely noticed the stylist steering her in front of the mirror.

Her skin was flawless—cool, porcelain pale, with barely a visible pore. Her features were delicate and finely shaped, not as sharp as a Westerner’s, but with a gentle, unmistakable grace.

“Mrs. Ford, your skin is incredible,” the stylist marveled, dabbing on foundation. “Makeup just glides on. I hardly need to do anything extra.”

The stylist couldn’t help but let out little sighs of admiration as she worked, making Zinnia feel both awkward and a bit embarrassed.

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