Among the upper-class elite, skin care wasn't just a routine—it was practically a religion.
Wealthy women like Lanny Lee were fiercely loyal to their favorite brands. The Yeats family's facial mask line, known for its premium quality, had long held a top position in this market. As Marcia Yeats' close friend, Lanny had used their products for years and was not one to experiment casually.
But tonight was different.
Lanny was a die-hard fan of the Master of Clouds. She had even attended the last art auction in New York, though she hadn't managed to win anything.
Now, in exchange for a signed photo of her idol, she was willing to make an exception.
"It's just one time," she reasoned. "It won't hurt."
Grinning, she nudged Marcia on the shoulder.
"Marcia, once I get that autograph, you'd better gift me a few extra masks from your brand as compensation," she joked. "I'm risking my face tonight."
Marcia rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Who cares? I'm not some silly fan of the Master of Clouds."
Indeed, neither she nor her husband Nick Yeats cared much about the artist. Their attendance at the auction was more about appearances than interest. With even Governor Hugh Kurds present, showing face was a matter of social obligation, not passion for art.
Soon, the ten winners selected for the special giveaway were led backstage.
Each was asked to remove their makeup and apply a facial mask.
Then came the waiting period.
To pass the time, the organizers arranged two live performances. It was a clever way to keep the audience entertained while the mask took effect.
Meanwhile, backstage…
Lanny, ever skeptical about trying new skin products, was stunned.
As the minutes passed, she felt something she hadn't experienced before.
So gentle…
So soothing…
It was as if invisible, expert hands were massaging her face, awakening every dormant skin cell.
What kind of product is this?
As someone who had used high-end masks her whole life, Lanny could tell instantly—this was no ordinary product. It was far superior to the one she'd loyally used from the Yeats brand.
"It's time. Thank you for participating," a staff member said warmly. "Please remove your masks and check the results in the mirror."
Lanny hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to take it off.
But when she finally peeled away the sheet and looked into the mirror… her breath caught.
Her skin was visibly lighter, more vibrant, and noticeably smoother.
Though she hadn't reached Marcia's porcelain-fair tone, the change was dramatic. Her usual dull complexion had brightened several shades.
"Wh-What is this mask?! It's unbelievable!" she exclaimed.
For years, Lanny had battled uneven pigmentation and dry patches. No high-end product had ever yielded such quick, visible results.
The other nine women were having similar reactions.
Some had struggled with dryness, others with fine lines or dullness. All of them were now admiring their transformed reflections.
Even without foundation or makeup, their skin glowed with renewed vitality.
The host returned to the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our volunteers back, so they can share their experience!"
One by one, the women returned—smiling, confident, and visibly radiant.
The crowd buzzed with excitement, especially the wealthy women in the VIP section.
They had watched in real time as Lanny—once known in their circle as the 'Dark Beauty'—stepped onto the stage now looking… luminous.
"Tell us, what kind of mask is this?!"
For many in the audience, the Master of Clouds was secondary. This miracle mask had become the real showstopper.
Sitting below the stage, Nick and Marcia Yeats looked grim.
They were veterans of the skincare industry—and they recognized a threat when they saw one.
And this was no bluff. Lanny, their own friend, had just confirmed the mask's incredible effect. And Lanny wasn't the type to lie—not on stage, not with her reputation.
Nick's jaw tightened.
If this product enters the market…
It would be catastrophic for the Yeats family's cosmetics business.
The host raised his voice again, this time with a new announcement.
"Now, let's welcome the head of the research and development team behind this revolutionary facial mask—Ms. Yelena Sharp—to introduce the product."
Suddenly, the entire event felt less like a charity auction and more like a high-society product launch.
Yelena stepped onto the stage with elegance and professionalism. Her confidence commanded attention.
"Good evening, everyone," she began. "My name is Yelena Sharp, and I represent the Queenie Group."
Hearing that name, Nick and Marcia's hearts skipped a beat.
They turned stiffly to glance at John, who sat beside them with a faint, knowing smile.
Queenie Group...
That was their daughter Queenie's company—until she handed it over to John.
Could it be...?
No. They refused to accept that this barbarian could be behind such an innovative product.
It must've been Yelena's team. John probably just slapped his name on the paperwork.
Yes. That had to be it.
They kept repeating it to themselves, desperate to avoid the growing, bitter realization:
John Lopez might actually be capable.
On stage, Yelena continued confidently:
"… and this new flagship product is called—BEAUTY."
The name echoed across the stage.
The audience hung on her every word.
The Yeats couple sat frozen, unable to deny the truth any longer.