Ayla's POV
I froze for a fraction of a second, watching the deep red wine seep into Mrs. Aaron's silk gown. The fabric soaked impossibly fast, and luckily, as she panicked and paced up and down, the corner of the table caught her dress, splitting a sharp tear along the seam. My heart leapt. This was it. My opening.
All eyes turned toward her, but before anyone could fully register what was happening, I moved forward. My steps were careful, measured, composed. No one noticed me slipping closer except Mrs. Aaron, whose eyes widened in alarm. Mr. Aaron's hand hovered near hers, protective, ready to intervene.
"Please, let me help," I said softly, bowing slightly as I reached for the edge of the torn seam. My voice was calm, polite, reassuring. "I can fix this in a moment without attracting attention. This dress looks too good to be damaged, and the woman wearing it deserves to feel perfect. You'll see. It will be flawless."
