?Chapter 1572:


    With a final re, she turned around and walked off.


    Hanging around any longer would only make it obvious that she was not one of the guests.


    If this entrance was a dead end, she’d just have to figure out a different route to get inside.


    She slipped outside and quietly observed the staff as they moved in and out of the building. It didn’t take her long toe up with another n. If she could pass as an employee, she could probably sneak inside.


    Keira tagged along behind one of the workers and slipped into the kitchen. The ce was a flurry of activity, hardly the kind of area a guest should be wandering.


    She had just set foot inside when a supervisor-type noticed her. “The free dinner’s being served on the first floor, ma’am. This area is off-limits to guests,” he said.


    His tone was polite, but Keira’s hopes sank. Clearly, blending in here wasn’t going to work either.


    She mustered a strained smile and made a hasty exit, wandering the halls with no real direction.


    After another half hour, she stumbled across the empty staff changing room. Inside, uniforms in three different colors hung neatly on racks, each shade marking a different department.


    Keira recalled that the staff she had just seen inside the banquet hall wore purple, so she quickly grabbed a purple uniform from the rack and slipped into it without hesitation.


    Looking in the mirror, she believed she blended right in with the hotel staff.


    With a small grin, she stuffed her own clothes into a locker and strode confidently toward the third-floor banquet hall.


    The Harper family security team didn’t check people in uniforms, so Keira managed to slip through without raising any suspicions.


    As winter nights settled in early, guests began to arrive by six o’clock.


    Sandra arrived just after five. Julia greeted her and led her to the makeup room to prepare. The makeup artist worked his magic, and before long, Sandra was staring at a prettier, more polished version of herself in the mirror, just as stunning as Brenna, if not more.


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    Julia was called away, leaving Sandra alone with the makeup artist. Lowering her voice, she asked, “So, how much did the Harper family pay you to do makeup tonight?”


    The makeup artist offered a subtle, practiced smile. He already knew Sandra’s status, and offending her wasn’t an option, so he answered truthfully, “One hundred and fifty thousand dors.”


    Sandra was frozen, her mind reeling. That was a lot of money. As a fashion designer scraping by on thirty thousand a month, the figure seemed astronomical.


    “How long have you been a makeup artist? You look so young,” Sandra said, admiring the transformation in the mirror—a new version of herself radiating newfound beauty.


    The makeup artist, a man in his thirties with a gentle demeanor, responded, “I’ve been doing this for about sixteen years. Miss Harper, is there anything you would like adjusted?”


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