"Miss L? The famous reclusive fashion designer?" Frank arched his eyebrow and questioned, his tone barely camouflaging his incredulity.
The tension in the room was charged, and one could cut through it with a knife. Everyone's eyes were on Lydia, anticipating her response.
Lydia, meanwhile, remained indifferent, her face void and bereft of any show of emotion. No one knew what she was thinking.
Seeing Frank stare at Lydia with such curiosity in his eyes, Dera gritted her teeth and held the arms of her wheelchair tightly, her heart racing. She had the premonition that she would not like the outcome of this meeting.
In accordance with expectations, Lydia took a deep breath and eventually admitted, "Yes. I am Miss L."
Gasps and subsequent whispers circulated through the room among the em
