Guilty as Gorgeous | Chapter 23
As the final walk commenced and all the models lined up on stage with the designer, someone deliberately shoved Phutphitchaya, nearly sending her tumbling off the edge.
"Oh!"
"Shameless! Keep stealing other people's men and see if you don't end up climbing the thorny trees of hell, you bitch."
The voice was a mere whisper on the breeze, intended for her ears alone. The villainess, having regained her balance, took a deep breath to steady herself. She continued her walk as if nothing had happened, moving to her designated spot.
The host moved down the line to interview the designer. Soon, it was time for the congratulatory bouquets from the VIPs waiting below. The socialite designer soon had her arms overflowing with flowers.
The final cue was a bouquet of vibrant red roses, meticulously selected to befit the queen of all flowers. It was held by a handsome young man in a black-tie tuxedo. The long-stemmed roses were perfectly formed, interspersed with delicate white blossoms that served as a sophisticated alternative to baby's breath.
"Wow! Is that a hundred roses, Mr. Wasawat? A bouquet that size—let me carry it for Ms. Kay instead," the assistant volunteered.
"My apologies, but this isn't for Ms. Kay. A friend of mine couldn't make it, so he asked me to bring this to encourage one of the models."
"Which model would that be?"
The question piqued the interest of every guest. The man holding the flowers was a top-tier socialite whom no one in Thailand's elite circles failed to recognize. Wasawat Siwaratchaphakdee gestured toward the actresses standing near the front of the stage, right next to Nisakorn.
"Ah, so it's the beautiful Ms. Nisakorn, the star of the show!"
"Wrong again," the young man chuckled, offering a polite, apologetic bow to the leading lady. "My apologies for the confusion. I brought this bouquet for Ms. Shanya—as an apology and a token of admiration."
"From whom, if you don't mind me asking?" the playful host prodded, knowing the entire audience was leaning in to listen.
"I believe everyone already knows. If you'll excuse me, Ms. Kay."
He spoke and took the liberty of stepping forward to present the gift to the actress. She accepted it, her face flushing as she met his mischievous, teasing gaze. She quickly averted her eyes, looking down at the Phutphitchaya flowers of varying sizes—from buds to full blooms—arranged beautifully against the crimson petals of the flowers of love. The combination was uniquely harmonious, as if conveying a hidden, special meaning.
"The sender requested this specific arrangement. I hope you like it, Shanya."
"Thank you."
"When you're free, please drop by my house again," he invited in a velvety tone. The stage went silent, as if everyone had extended their radars to catch every syllable clearly. "I'll have Ms. Rotjana prepare a feast for you."
"I wouldn't want to be a burden."
"For you, Shanya, it's no burden at all. It would be a great honor." Having said his piece, he gave her a slight bow before accepting another bouquet from an assistant to present to the designer. "This one is to congratulate Ms. Kay on her new collection."
"Simply stunning. Thank you, Wat," the senior designer said with genuine delight.
A barrage of blinding flashes followed for several minutes. No one missed the shot of the villainess clutching a massive bouquet with glowing cheeks, contrasted against the leading lady who, despite her usual practiced smile, had eyes that didn't share the joy.
The stage program concluded as everyone trickled backstage. The models—many of whom were actresses and close colleagues—immediately swarmed Phutphitchaya to admire her flowers. They had seen with their own eyes who had tried to trip her and heard the snide remarks earlier.
Now, it was time for 'payback.'
"I'm literally going to scream! Look, they used your namesake flowers to accent the roses. It's romantically lethal!"
"If it were me, I would've 'accidentally' fallen off the stage just so Mr. Wasawat could catch me," someone swooned.
"Don't be ridiculous! It's his friend who sent them to Shanya."
"And which 'friend' might that be?" the same girl teased.
"I believe the initials are W, first name starts with P... from that famous family that's been in the news lately. Am I right, Shanya?"
"Stop fooling around. Let's just go grab some papaya salad after work."
"You're treating!"
"No way! We're splitting it like always." The 'stingy' star's eyes went wide as she counted nearly half a dozen friends.
Despite being stars and models, some of them ate like bottomless pits—much like her youngest sister—only to follow it up with intense workouts, self-induced vomiting, fasting, or the currently popular hunger-suppressant injections, depending on each person's weight-control strategy.
"Oh, come on. A simple meal like that won't even dent the wallet of the future Madame Shanya."
Phutphitchaya frowned at the implication. "Don't talk nonsense. If you don't split the bill, don't come."
"Fine, fine! I was only joking. You're so prickly and hard to woo, no wonder men are falling all over themselves for you. I hope this one doesn't get ignored like the others."
"Who would dare ignore him? The line to replace her probably reaches all the way to Padang Besar. I'd personally volunteer to heal his heart if you don't want him!"
"So much charm... I bet she has plenty of 'special moves'."
A voice from Nisakorn's circle drifted through the air.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?" a model from Phutphitchaya's group snapped back immediately.
"Who knows? If the shoe fits, wear it. I was just talking about those mistresses who are so 'expert' in bed that men—young or old—end up drowning in shallow water. Even when they know the meat isn't fresh. Well, they do say a woman should act like a prostitute in the bedroom."
"Are you even Thai? That's a metaphor meaning a good wife should be a lady in the parlor but a prostitute in bed so her husband doesn't stray. That phrase is meant for a legal wife, not those thrill-seekers who just look for 'expertise' day by day. Some people love to craft an image like a ripe, beautiful fig, but the inside is hollow and rotten... I'm sure a smart man can see through that."
The last word was dragged out pointedly. She cast a fleeting glance at the leading lady, recalling a past conflict where she had been targeted by the pen of one of Methas's associates, making her life difficult for quite some time.
"Let's go, guys," Nisakorn said for the first time, her face indifferent as she finished dressing. Though her hands were shaking with rage, a person like her would never 'lower her gold to scrape against floor tiles' by stooping to trade insults and ruin her own reputation. "I'll treat you all to dinner at the hotel."
"Before you go, your friend should apologize for 'accidentally' shoving Shanya and nearly sending her off the stage."
"Did anyone see anything? Anyone...?" The culprit, Atom (or Chatsuda), Nisakorn's close friend, arched an eyebrow and turned to her clique, who put on innocent faces before bursting into giggles.
"With camera flashes going off like that, you really think no one saw?" Trinet, another close friend of Phutphitchaya who was usually more of a listener than a talker, spoke up, unable to contain herself. "Brave enough to do it but too cowardly to admit it. Where I come from, we call that yellow-bellied."
"Oh? And what does this have to do with you? Were you the one shoved?"
"Shoving my friend is the same as shoving me. But I'm the type to settle things face-to-face, not a backstabber. It's shameful to use dirty tactics while acting like a leading lady—generating buzz with a man who never even took you on a date."
"Who are you talking about!?" This time, the blood rushed to Nisakorn's face. She couldn't take it anymore.
Aside from Wansachon, the person she hated second only to Phutphitchaya was this Trinet. It was a shame this soft-spoken actress and model was the daughter of a coalition government minister and had been a mainstay in the industry across every era. Otherwise, she would have dealt with her as easily as she had dealt with Wansachon, ensuring she wasn't a thorn in her side like this.
"I mean anyone who fits the description. Or are you volunteering to take the hit, Ni?"
"That's enough, Tri. I'm hungry," Phutphitchaya tugged her friend's arm.
"No. I'm not leaving until the person who shoved you apologizes. Otherwise, the video footage—which is clearer than anything—showing that it was intentional will be released on every platform. If anyone wants to try me, go ahead."
A silence fell as the culprit's face began to pale. Eyes from both sides and neutral bystanders darted back and forth. Finally, receiving a subtle signal from Nisakorn, Chatsuda conceded.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Trinet asked, her expression flat.
"Sorry for shoving Shanya. But I didn't mean to."
"Cowardly to the end. If you didn't mean it, you would've apologized from the start, not kept it as a joke to gloat over."
Chatsuda breathed heavily in anger, humiliated and losing face in front of dozens of people in the room. But she knew Trinet was the real deal with rock-solid backup and didn't want to start a war she couldn't win.
"I'm sorry that I shoved her on purpose."
"Do you forgive her, Shanya?"
"I don't hold a grudge," Phutphitchaya said wearily, linking her arm with her friend's in a silent thank you. "Let's go."
The sound of glassware shattering and something striking the bedroom wall was followed by the muffled sound of a scream into a pillow. Sasithorn winced and opened her door to check, as her room was adjacent to Nisakorn's.
"Is P'Ni okay?" she asked a maid who had rushed up, looking panicked after hearing the same noise.
"I don't know, Ms. Si. But Ms. Ni has been in a terrible mood since she got home. She nearly hit me with her car at the front gate."
The girl clutched her chest, her face still showing her fright. Sasithorn frowned and gently rubbed the maid's arm in comfort.
"I'm sorry on her behalf. I'll have the housekeeper give you a little extra bonus this month for the scare."
"Thank you, Ms. Si," she said, genuinely moved. She thought to herself how two children from the same parents could be so different.
"Has Father returned yet?"
"He has, but he's still in the study with Mr. Banphot, the lawyer."
"Uncle Banphot is here too?" She asked with interest, then frowned as another sound leaked from the room. "Do you think I should knock and check on her?"
"Is that a good idea? I think it's better to wait until she cools down. Or should I call the Madam?"
"Mother is at the association; she said she'd be back late. In case P'Ni needs someone to vent to..."
"Oh, but you don't have to be her royal spittoon, Ms. Si," the maid said, having worked for the family for a decade.
"What a nasty comparison," she pinched the girl lightly with a mock-stern look. "We're sisters. Let her vent a little. P'Ni works with so many people and rarely rests; she must be stressed."
"Isn't she stressed because of that news the other day?" the girl muttered, looking down.
Sasithorn paused, acknowledging the truth in that, and let out a sigh. She wasn't close to her sister, even though they were the only two daughters, but she still respected her. In her good moments, Nisakorn could be quite lovely—even if those moments were far rarer than her bad ones.
"Poor P'Ni..."