Chapter (4)
Ch. I Woke Up 4 I Woke Up 4
Chapter 4 Turn the Tables
“I don’t care how much they cost. I don’t want another dress,” Fiorella said firmly.
“I came here to be with my parents, not for designer clothes.”
“But… you think a school uniform is okay for this? There are so many guests.”
Jamila wasn’t giving up. If Fiorella followed her, she would let her pick any clothes she wanted.
Every gown in Jamila’s closet was S size, so Fiorella wouldn’t fit. Even if she squeezed into one, she would look as ridiculous.
She reached for Fiorella’s hand again.
“No need.” Fiorella dodged smoothly.
Jamila swallowed her frustration, keeping her smile in place.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she remarked.
Fiorella let out a dry laugh. “Out of nothing?”
She still remembered how that pink dress had humiliated her in her last life.
After it tore at the party, her birth family hadn’t blamed her, but her foster parents had the whole night.
“Do you even know how much that dress cost? We could work our whole lives and never afford something like that!”
“You haven’t moved there, and you’re already acting like this? What, you think you’re a princess now?”
It had already been a tough day for Fiorella. Instead of comfort, all she got was their rant.
Frustrated, she shot back, “It’s just a dress! The Huerta family has money to burn. You really think they care? They already said it was fine, so why are you making a fuss?”
That was the breaking point.
Her foster parents lost it. “Oh, so you think you’re too good for us now? Think we’re too poor for you? Then get out, you ungrateful brat!”
From that day on, people saw Fiorella differently.
Her foster parents thought she looked down on them.
Her birth parents thought she wasn’t good enough.
So she was stuck between two families, neither fully accepting her.
She had family, but she felt like an orphan, alone in a hotel, wasting time.
This time, she decided to wear what felt right. No more forcing herself into outfits just to fit in with the Huerta family.
Fiorella was young and pretty. She didn’t need heavy makeup and lipstick.
A little concealer for her acne was enough.
The simpler she kept her look, the more honest it felt.
Tears welled in Sandra’s eyes as she looked at Fiorella standing there.
“She should have been like Jamila, all dressed up for this. But instead, she’s in a school uniform, just trying to hold herself together over there,” she thought.
The Huerta family had debated whether to bring Fiorella home. Many worried she had grown up rough or was even scheming, only after their money. So they decided to wait and watch her for a while.
But now Sandra saw how unnecessary that had been. Fiorella was sensible and careful. She even refused a dress, afraid she would ruin it.
“All those fancy clothes and this life are meant for Fiorella,” Sandra thought.
A wave of guilt pushed her to step over and reach for Fiorella’s hand.
Fiorella looked at the face that mirrored her own. Memories flooded back. Overwhelmed, she took Sandra’s hand.
Without a word, they walked toward the center of the hall.
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