The Billionaire's True Heiress From Fake Jewel to Real Crown novel Chapter 864

Seeing Jocelyn's relentless persistence, Claire's expression cooled. "That sounds like a personal problem."

She opened the car door for Ophelia, ushering her inside.

While Cabinda wasn't as sweltering as Apex, standing on the pavement was still thoroughly unpleasant.

Watching them drive away, Jocelyn stomped her foot in pure frustration.

She couldn't believe they had dismissed her so effortlessly.

It was always the same with these high-society snobs—looking down their noses at her just because she was an actress.

Jocelyn's burning ambition to claw her way to the absolute top only grew stronger. One day, she would grind every single one of these arrogant elites beneath her heels.

She yanked her phone from her designer handbag and dialed her sugar daddy.

"Larkin, it's me. Jocelyn."

"Aren't I accompanying you to that birthday gala the day after tomorrow? I found the most breathtaking gown. It's a white pearl-embellished gown. I'll send you a picture right now."

Jocelyn texted the photo over. The response was almost instantaneous. Just one word: Buy.

Then, a follow-up text asked for the price. Was two hundred thousand dollars enough?

Jocelyn hadn't actually checked the price tag yet. She hurried back into the studio and marched up to the front desk.

She didn't even need Lisa; the receptionist gave her the number without blinking.

"That gown is $1.8 million."

Jocelyn's jaw practically hit the marble floor.

She never in her wildest dreams imagined a single dress could command such a horrifying price.

These sickeningly wealthy elites!

"It's that expensive?" If it had been a few hundred thousand, she might have hustled and found a way to cover it. But $1.8 million? That was completely out of her universe.

The receptionist found the whole display deeply amusing. Miss Hunter hadn't even checked the price before harassing their VIPs in the street and demanding they surrender the dress. It was aggressively ignorant.

Still, as a receptionist who couldn't even afford the silk sash on that gown, she kept her judgments to herself.

"Yes, it is a masterwork, which is exactly why it is strictly for sale and not for rent."

Regardless of her internal amusement, the receptionist's smile remained flawlessly professional.

Jocelyn finally understood her place.

She retreated to the studio's restroom and called Larkin again.

"Larkin, someone already placed a hold on the gown. They won't even let me try it on, otherwise I would have sent you a picture immediately."

Larkin was fond of Jocelyn. She was eager to please, naturally pretty without crossing into high-maintenance territory, and thoroughly unburdened by morals.

She was ambitious but had zero backing, which made her incredibly easy to control.

More importantly, she was perfectly willing to indulge his darker bedroom fetishes.

As long as she didn't cross the line, Larkin was happy to fund her vanity.

"Which studio are you at?"

Jocelyn gave him the name of Eyre Haute Couture.

Larkin chuckled. He actually knew the place well. His wife was a top-tier client and dropped obscene amounts of cash there regularly.

The studio was legendary in their social circles for catering exclusively to the ultra-rich.