I adjusted a male customer's tie, and his wife slapped me across the face. "Don't you know tying a tie is an intimate act meant for a wife?" "Can't wait to seduce my husband, can you?" "Too bad—he has no taste. Every piece of clothing he buys has to be approved by me." "Your commission is actually in my hands!" Later, I finished my grassroots internship and returned to corporate headquarters. We ended up partnering with her husband's company, and I was the client representative. At the gala, the couple's faces changed. "You... weren't you just a poor salesgirl? How..." I swirled my red wine, speaking calmly: "Now, your family's future livelihood is in my hands." 1 I finished tying Mr. Sterling's tie and stepped back, satisfied with my work. The dark red striped tie made him look sharper. I smiled. "Mr. Sterling, this tie really suits you. It's perfect with this dark gray suit." Mr. Sterling turned in front of the mirror, nodding in approval. "It is nice, Sarah. You always have a good eye." Just then, a shrill female voice cut through the air— "Well, well, here you are!" I turned to see a well-dressed middle-aged woman storming over, anger written all over her face. I recognized her immediately as Mrs. Sterling. I'd seen her in the store a few times, but her expression today was far from her usual elegance. Before I could react... Slap! A heavy hand struck my face. Pain mixed with ringing in my ears. I clutched my face in shock, momentarily frozen. "Who told you to tie his tie?" "Don't you know tying a tie is an intimate act meant for a wife?!" Mrs. Sterling glared at me, her voice loud enough for the entire floor to hear. "Can't wait to seduce my husband, can you?" I was too shocked to speak, stammering out a defense: "Mrs. Sterling, you've misunderstood, I was just doing my job..." "Job?" She sneered, scanning the crowd of customers who had stopped to watch. "Look, what a professional 'job'! Tying a tie for a customer personally, fingers brushing against his neck?" Mr. Sterling seemed frightened by the sudden scene. He tried to calm his wife: "Honey, you misunderstood, Sarah was just helping me choose clothes..." "Shut up!" Mrs. Sterling cut him off sharply, then turned to me, eyes full of disdain. "Too bad—he has no taste. Every piece of clothing he buys has to be approved by me." "This tie, I don't like the look of it. Take it off!" My hands trembled slightly. I wanted to help Mr. Sterling remove the tie, but feared touching him would cause a bigger misunderstanding. Embarrassed, Mr. Sterling undid the tie himself and handed it to me. Mrs. Sterling pulled a visibly more expensive designer tie from her bag: "This is what suits him." She spoke arrogantly, then gave me a meaningful look. "Do you know? Your commission is actually in my hands!" "The person you should be pleasing isn't him, it's me." "Don't you know how many clothes the Sterling family buys here a year?" I kept my head down, face burning not just from the slap, but from the public humiliation. The store manager ran over, piling on an obsequious smile. "Mrs. Sterling, if there's anything you're dissatisfied with, please tell me, we will correct it immediately." "This girl has terrible taste. The matching is a disaster." Mrs. Sterling glanced at me with contempt. "Her sales numbers probably come from seducing male customers, don't they?" I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and suppressed my anger. Months of sales experience taught me that offending a wealthy wife is scarier than offending ten regular customers. "Sarah is just an intern; she doesn't know the rules," the manager said, smiling apologetically. "I'll arrange for a senior stylist to serve you immediately." Mrs. Sterling raised an eyebrow triumphantly, as if she'd won a victory. Mr. Sterling finally stole a glance at me, seemingly apologetic, but quickly looked down again. "Don't let it happen again." Mrs. Sterling dropped these words and dragged Mr. Sterling toward the VIP area. The manager turned to me and whispered, "Bear with it. This couple is a major partner for headquarters." I touched my burning cheek, watching their retreating figures, and murmured: "Does being a headquarters partner mean you can be this arrogant and abusive?" 2 The next day, as soon as the store opened, a group of fashionable women surrounded Mrs. Sterling as they walked in. All of them dripped with jewelry, radiating the aura of luxury. Mrs. Sterling spotted me immediately, a sneer flashing in her eyes, and deliberately raised her voice. "Ladies, that's her! The salesgirl I told you about, the one who's been eyeing my husband." My hand froze in mid-air, and the shirt I was organizing fell back onto the rack. Other colleagues lowered their heads, pretending not to hear, while only the manager hurried over: "Welcome, ladies. How can I help you today?" Mrs. Sterling waved the manager away. "Not you. We're here specifically to see her." She walked straight toward me, followed by four or five women of similar age, their eyes sharp enough to poke holes in me. "This is the homewrecker counter girl I told you about." Mrs. Sterling pointed at me. "You all need to be careful. Don't let your husbands get snatched by this fox." "Yesterday, my husband was buying clothes, and she was throwing herself at him while I wasn't looking." A woman wearing a huge gemstone ring looked me up and down, scoffing: "With those looks? You're too sensitive, Cindy." "You don't know. The ones who look innocent are the best actors." Mrs. Sterling pulled a stack of pink receipts from her bag. "Look, I checked my husband's spending records. He's been here every month recently, and every time, she served him." "Oh, interesting." Another woman with a ponytail leaned in. "Every month. No wonder you're vigilant." I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Those receipts were indeed Mr. Sterling's, but we never had any inappropriate relationship! He was just one of the few regular customers I had! "Mrs. Sterling, you've misunderstood." I struggled to maintain a professional smile. "Mr. Sterling is our VIP client. The system automatically assigns returning customers to the sales associate who served them last." "Listen to that—" Mrs. Sterling clapped sarcastically. "Such a smooth talker. VIP client? More like your VIP target, right?" Other customers in the store looked over, some even taking out phones to record. Colleagues hid far away, except for the manager standing nearby, looking grim. "You know, my husband often mentions a project with a public company recently. He might even get promoted." Mrs. Sterling walked up to me, lowering her voice deliberately: "Do you think hooking up with him will get you to the top?" I knew Mr. Sterling was a partner of our brand, but besides normal sales reception, I never had any improper thoughts. I shook my head helplessly. "Too bad." Mrs. Sterling raised her eyebrows. "Good things like that won't fall to a small fry like you!" The ponytail woman put a hand on Mrs. Sterling's shoulder. "Don't be mad. We're here to spend money today, right?" She turned to me. "Since you like serving people so much, serve us well." Mrs. Sterling seemed to get the signal. She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her bag and threw it on the floor in front of everyone. "Pick it up," she said coldly. "That's your tip for today." The air seemed to freeze. The store was so quiet I could hear breathing. I looked down at the money, ears ringing. Since starting in sales, I had never been humiliated like this. I took a deep breath, looked up, and met her eyes: "Our store does not accept tips in this manner. Please respect every service staff member." "What did you say? What is a poor intern being arrogant about?" Mrs. Sterling leaned in. "Mrs. Sterling, your company just won the bid for the 'Underprivileged Schools Uniform' project last month. If you want to maintain a philanthropist image, choosing to throw money in a luxury store with cameras might not be the best move." Mrs. Sterling's face turned red instantly. "You—" "Mrs. Sterling!" The manager suddenly stepped forward, bent down to pick up the money, and handed it back to her. "I'm sorry, we do have a rule against employees accepting tips." "If you are here to shop today, we welcome you." "If you are just here to cause trouble... please forgive us for not being able to serve you." Mrs. Sterling's eyes widened. "You dare kick me out?" "Not kicking you out." The manager smiled, voice firm. "Just hoping you can respect our work environment. This sales associate is our top performer and has never crossed any lines with your husband." I looked at the manager in surprise, not expecting him to stand up for me at such a moment. Mrs. Sterling's friends looked at each other, seeming to find the situation awkward. The ponytail woman gently pulled Mrs. Sterling's arm. "Forget it. This store doesn't look like it has anything good anyway. Let's go next door." Mrs. Sterling glared at me viciously: "Just you wait. I can make this store close down immediately!" She shook off her friend's arm and led the group of women away, leaving a room full of whispering customers and relieved staff. "Are you okay?" the manager asked me. I shook my head, hands still trembling slightly. 3 ... When Mr. Sterling appeared at the store entrance, I was bending over to organize the pile of clothes Mrs. Sterling and her friends had messed up. Seeing him looking around nervously, I instinctively took a step back. "Miss Sarah." He walked quickly to me, lowering his voice. "I'm really sorry, my wife is..." I waved my hand, trying to end this awkward topic. "No need to explain, Mr. Sterling." But he insisted, "No, my wife is just... Sigh, I came to apologize. I'll take all the clothes I tried on yesterday." Mr. Sterling pulled a credit card from his inner jacket pocket, fingers trembling slightly as he handed it to me. The manager noticed the commotion and looked at me inquiringly. I nodded to signal everything was fine. "Is this okay?" I whispered. "Mrs. Sterling will be even angrier if she finds out." Mr. Sterling smiled bitterly. "It's fine. I really like these outfits." I took the card and led him to the register. Mr. Sterling stood aside, looking like he wanted to say something. After paying, he suddenly took a gold-rimmed business card from his pocket. "Um... if you have any difficulties in the future..." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "Feel free to contact me anytime." Just as I was about to refuse the card, a blinding flash went off. I squinted to see Mrs. Sterling storming into the store with her phone raised, followed by the same group of arrogant women. "Caught you!" She strode in. "I knew you two were up to something!" Mr. Sterling's face turned pale instantly. "Don't talk nonsense, I was just..." "Just what?" Mrs. Sterling snatched the card from my hand and tore it to pieces. "Giving your contact info to a mistress?" "Ma'am, you misunderstood!" I tried to explain. "Mr. Sterling was just..." Before I could finish, a sharp pain hit me— Mrs. Sterling grabbed my hair, pulling so hard my vision went black. "Slut! Seducing my husband and acting righteous?" she screamed. Customers backed away in fear, some taking out phones to record. Mrs. Sterling's friends also raised their phones, aiming at the scene. "Stop!" The manager rushed forward to pull Mrs. Sterling away but was shoved aside by the ponytail woman. "Stay out of this! This is a family matter!" Mr. Sterling stood by, lips trembling, unable to say a word. I struggled to break free from Mrs. Sterling's grip, but she held onto my hair like a maniac. "Look at this vixen!" Mrs. Sterling shouted at her friend's phone. "Daring to seduce my husband! I'll make sure you can't work on this street ever again!" Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, not from pain, but from the unprecedented humiliation. Mall security arrived but was surrounded by Mrs. Sterling's friends. Just then, two police officers rushed into the store. The manager had called them when things started going south. The lead officer grabbed Mrs. Sterling's wrist. "Stop! Physical assault in a public place. You are suspected of intentional injury." The officer's voice allowed no argument. Mrs. Sterling panicked, struggling to look back. "Husband! Richard! Say something!" But Mr. Sterling had already hidden behind the fitting rooms, only showing half his head, eyes dodging. When the police took Mrs. Sterling away, he didn't even dare to follow, just standing there rubbing his hands. When the store finally calmed down, I slumped behind the counter, shaking all over. The manager handed me a cup of warm water, whispering: "It's okay now. I've asked security for the surveillance footage." I looked toward where Mr. Sterling had stood— He had slipped away in the chaos, leaving only a crumpled business card lying lonely on the floor. I bent down to pick it up and found a line of small writing in pencil on the back: [Contact me if you have any trouble.] The handwriting was so shaky it was barely legible. The manager sighed, took the card, and threw it in the trash. "It's better to stay away from people like that." 4 Three days after the incident, I thought everything would settle down since Mrs. Sterling had been taken away by the police for investigation. However, things spiraled completely out of control. I first realized something was wrong on my way to work. On the bus, several young girls kept glancing at me and whispering. I subconsciously touched my face, thinking my makeup was smudged. It wasn't until one girl pointed at her phone screen that I heard their conversation. "That's her, the counter girl who seduces rich men." "Looks decent, didn't think she was so calculating." My blood ran cold. I opened my phone, and the social media homepage was filled with the video Mrs. Sterling uploaded. The edited clip only showed Mr. Sterling handing me the card and me taking it. The caption was in glaring large font: [Luxury Mall Vixen Seduces My Husband Right in Front of Me!] When I arrived at the mall, the store hadn't opened yet, but people were already looking in. I recognized one as a customer who had watched the drama yesterday, now filming me with her phone. "Look, that's the woman," she told her companion. "She had that husband bewitched." I walked quickly into the store, hands shaking as I turned on the lights. Stuck on the glass door was a note: [Mistress Shop, Shameless!] The manager arrived earlier than usual, frowning at the note. "Don't worry." He tore it off and crumpled it. "It'll blow over." I nodded, holding back tears. But facts proved we underestimated the power of cyberbullying. At noon, several young people rushed into the store, pretending to try clothes, but wrote insults on the fitting room walls with lipstick. In the afternoon, a middle-aged woman brought her daughter to the counter, pointing at my nose and scolding: "Women like you ruin families! My daughter is getting married soon, terrified of meeting someone like you!" The manager explained time and again, to no avail. By evening, someone threw a bag of trash into the store, foul liquid splashing onto the new spring arrivals. "I'm sorry." Cleaning up the mess, I said to the manager. "For bringing so much trouble to the store." The manager shook his head, not stopping his work. "Don't overthink it. The heat will die down in a few days." But a week passed, and the heat didn't drop; it intensified. Mrs. Sterling's friends took turns posting on social media. They embellished stories of how I "seduced" Mr. Sterling. Someone even dug up photos of me at other malls, captioned: [Professional Mistress, Targets Rich Men.] Even worse, influencers smelled traffic and came to investigate, recording videos at the store entrance: "Exposing how luxury sales associates seduce customers' husbands..." Mall security added guards, but couldn't stop the endless stream of "visitors." The store was now almost empty of real customers, business plummeted. Colleagues' looks went from sympathy to resentment. After all, their commissions were affected too. Friday morning, I stood before the mirror and found a few gray hairs at my temples. In just a few days, I seemed to have aged ten years. The coffee cup slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor. Staring at the scattered pieces, I vaguely remembered Mrs. Sterling's words— "Just you wait. I can make this store close down immediately!" Thinking about this, the doorbell rang. It was a courier. I took a small package, opened it, and froze. Inside was a photo of me in a school uniform standing at the school gate. On the back was written: [Don't forget who you are, Lin Yi.] In that moment, my fingers trembled slightly. Lin Yi, my real name, not Sarah, the bullied salesgirl. I walked to the window, looking at the towering LIN Fashion Group headquarters in the distance. A while ago, after graduating from a fashion institute in Paris, my father wanted me to return to headquarters as Chief Designer immediately. But to better understand local consumer needs and preferences, I voluntarily applied for this market research, working as a regular sales associate in a group-owned store for a year. No one knew Sarah was Lin Yi, except for a few executives at headquarters and—the person who sent the photo. I dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time. "Hello, it's me." A familiar voice came from the other end. "Saw the photo?" "I saw it, thanks for the reminder." I took a deep breath. "I want to come back." "Finally thought it through?" He laughed. "You could have called me sooner." "I thought I could handle it." I looked at my tired self in the mirror. "But now the store's sales are down, and colleagues are affected." "That's not your fault." "But it is my responsibility." I gripped the photo tightly. "I want to end this farce." Hanging up, I took out a delicate small box, opened it, and took out a unique brooch. This was my work when I won my first design award. Pinning it to my chest, I tidied my appearance in the mirror. Time to reclaim my identity. Early the next morning, I went straight to the manager's office and handed in my resignation. "Why?" The manager asked in surprise. "We'll get through this." I shook my head, fingers lightly touching the designer brooch. "Sorry, but I think I've gotten everything I needed." The manager looked at me confused, gaze landing on the brooch, pupils contracting slightly: "This design... I've seen it in fashion magazines." I smiled slightly, took out a business card, and handed it to him—proof of my true identity. The manager looked at the card, then at me, too shocked to speak. "Thank you for taking care of me this year." I said sincerely: "Now, it's time to resolve this storm."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386084", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel