I stood in front of a mirror in a haltered, champagne-colored designer gown. I stared in awe at my own reflection. The stylists did a good job. The ends of my long black hair were curled to perfection and swept on my left shoulder. It complemented well the tan skin that I got myself the other day.
My subtle-looking make-up was on point. The overall look was so elegant, nobody can tell that I came from the slums.
"You look stunning dear! You could be the best dressed at the gala tonight!" the stylist gushed while looking at my reflection through the floor to ceiling mirror in my walk-in closet.
"Are you sure? I'm kind of nervous," I whispered. I turned to the side to check my back.
The dress looked wholesome upfront but the whole back was cut out, revealing my toned back. I took a deep
