One Insult, Two Goodbyes—Husband and Her Out

I send my sister, Lola Graham, to my couture boutique to pick out a wedding dress. As she is leaving, a trainee clerk, Kayla Larson, demands three million for the gown.

Helpless, Lola says my name. "I'm the owner's sister. I don't have to pay."

Kayla rolls her eyes.

"You're pranking the wrong store. Our boss doesn't have a sister. You're just broke and trying to scam us!" she snapped, blocking my sister's way. "This is your last warning—either pay up, or I'll rip that dress off you and throw you out!"

Stunned, Lola calls me.

When I rush over, I hear my long-time store manager standing deferentially behind Kayla, warning Lola, "You'd better behave. The woman in front of you is our boss' wife. Cross her, and you'll regret it."

"Trying to fake your way in here? You've got some nerve," Kayla sneers, adding to my sister's humiliation.

My hand freezes on the door. Without hesitation, I cut off my husband's secondary credit card and call him.

"Have I been too generous with you? Or did giving you too much money make you think you could afford another woman behind my back?"

I was just about to drive back to the boutique when I got a call from my sister, Lola Graham.

"What? The new trainee, Kayla Larson, claims she's the shop owner's wife?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Didn't you tell her you're my sister?"

Before she could answer, a loud slap sounded through the speaker. Lola's scream followed.

I realized something was wrong and shouted her name into the phone. But all I could hear was Kayla yelling, "This store belongs to my husband! Don't you think I'd know if he had a sister?"

"Miss, let me be honest with you. You've hit a brick wall today," the store manager chimed in with a mocking laugh. "This store belongs to Mr. Carter, and the woman in front of you is his wife! If you didn't want to pay, at least come up with a better excuse."

Their arrogant voices unsettled me.

Just a week earlier, my husband, who had never involved himself in my boutique business, suddenly asked me for a favor on our wedding anniversary.

"One of my neighbor's daughters just graduated from high school and can't find a job. Her mother reached out to me, and for old times' sake, I agreed to help her. Honey, could you let her help out at your boutique?"

Afraid I might refuse, he even held up his hand and swore, "I promise, she's clever and hardworking. You'll be pleased with her."

"Sure," I agreed without hesitation and sent Kayla's information to my trusted store manager.

Now, Lola's call had been cut off. The last thing I heard was Kayla's curses. I ordered the driver to step on it and pulled up the store's surveillance feed.

The footage slowly came into focus. Kayla had pinned Lola beneath her as she repeatedly slapped her.

"You wore our dress without