Chapter One #3
Henry is in his forties, with graying hair, broad shoulders, and the kind of dominant presence that makes grown men rethink their life choices.
He’s been calling me “kid” since my mom hired him when I was twelve, and at this point, I’ve accepted that I could live to be a hundred years old, and he’d still call me “kid.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue, instead looping my arms through Odette’s and Violet’s.
“Let’s go look at some dresses.”
Henry holds the door open, and we stride inside like we own the place. Which I actually do technically.
A sharp-looking blonde woman in a perfectly tailored cream-colored business suit strides toward us. “Can I help you?” Her voice is clipped, disinterested, just polite enough to be professional but laced with thinly veiled disdain.
The three of us turned to face her. I don’t like her tone. This is not the type of person I would typically employ.
I feel Henry’s presence behind me, standing beside the door, scanning the boutique with that imposing bodyguard energy. He’s watching everyone, tracking who comes and goes like the security demon he is.
I straighten my spine. Going from easygoing omega to Fallon Creed.
“Yes, you can help me,” I say smoothly. “My name is Fallon. I have an appointment to find a dress.”
She narrows her eyes, scanning me like she’s searching for a lie. “You’re getting married?” she asks, the disbelief practically dripping off her words.
Odette and Violet take an instinctive step back because they already know. I might be sweet. I might be kind. But I do not tolerate disrespect. Violet always tells me when I get angry, my eyes darken, and those around us can practically feel the violence in the air.
“Yes,” I say evenly, meeting her eyes without a flinch. “I am getting married. My soon-to-be husbands will be covering all costs. They should have their card on file.”
The woman snorts. She actually snorts, like I just told her I plan to pay for my dress with Monopoly money.
“Like whoever you’re marrying could afford us.” She rolls her eyes, the condescension thick enough to choke on. “You might want to try the thrift store around the corner.”
The sheer audacity of this bitch.
Before I can tear into her, I catch movement from the corner of my eye—a man stepping through the door, speaking quietly to Henry. Henry doesn’t even glance at me when he gestures toward me in response.
I turn my attention back to the bitch in front of me. Tilting my head slowly, my expression slipping into something calm, collected, and just the right amount of menacing.
“Now, Ms. Whatever-The-Fuck-Your-Name-Is,” I say pleasantly. “I genuinely don’t care. But what I do care about is the fact that I will not tolerate this judgmental bullshit.”
Her smug expression flickers.
“My soon-to-be husbands, whom you might have heard of—the Rosetti pack?”
She pales so fast I laugh. Watching her, however, I don’t miss the flash of anger in her eyes. Filing that way for later, my amused laugh curled into something dark and humorless, the kind of sound that makes people instinctively take a step back.
And she does. She steps back.
An employee hovers awkwardly behind her, trying to blend into the background. I won’t let her.
“Is this how she treats all her customers?” I ask her instead; my voice is deceptively light.
The poor girl looks like she wants to evaporate into thin air, but after a moment of painful hesitation, she stammers, “O-Only the ones she thinks are poor.”
Ah. So, she’s just a bitch all around. I turn back to Ms. Condescending Dragon Lady. “Well. I suppose I will need your name after all.”
Her mouth opens, eyes darting nervously. “Why?” she demands, her timid mask slips for a second. Hmm, interesting.
I smile. It’s not friendly. “Why?” I echo. “Oh, there are a few reasons.” I hold up my finger. “One: You’re a bitch, and you shouldn’t be helping people on one of the happiest occasions of their lives.”
Another finger. “Two: I will be telling my husbands about this interaction.”
Her breath hitches. I ignore it.
I glance over at Henry, who is already pulling out his phone and scrolling through security feeds. “Henry, I want the surveillance video of this entire conversation before we leave. I wouldn’t want to be troubled with ‘wrongful termination.’”
The woman visibly wavers, her false confidence crumbling like a stale cookie. I step closer. Not threatening. Not raising my voice. Just… watching her.
“Three: I am not one to tolerate disrespect. Neither is my family. My name is Fallon Creed.”
She gulps.
I let out another low chuckle, watching as the realization clicked into place. “And what store are we in?” I ask, tilting my head. “Ahh, that’s right. House of Creed.”
The color drains from her face. This time, the emotion is real—no hiding behind her mask.
I tsk, shaking my head. “Four: I just don’t like you. You’re fired. And I will be blacklisting you from all my stores and subsidiaries. I hope you have the day you deserve.” I point to the front door.
Her jaw drops, and she lets out a wordless sputter, but I’m already turning away, effectively dismissing her.
Henry steps in, guiding her toward the back to get her belongings.
That’s his problem now. I refocus on the employee who told the truth—and the group of other employees who have gathered at a safe distance, watching the downfall of their boss unfold in stunned silence.
“Which one of you has been here the longest?” They all point at the first girl.
I nod. “You’re promoted. Will you help me today? Tomorrow, I’ll send someone to train you until you’re confident in your role.”
Her entire face lights up. “Ms. Creed, I would be honored.” She straightens her shoulders and seems to stand up taller. It’s horrible what one terrible person in power can do to another.
I smile softly. “Please, just call me Fallon.”
I gesture to my best friends, who finally step forward now that the storm has passed. “These are my best friends, Odette and Violet.”
Violet, of course, immediately breaks the tension.
She starts giggling. “Fallon, that was amazing. I’ve known you all my life, but you still manage to surprise me.”
The employees visibly relax, the entire store exhaling like it’s been holding its breath. Odette watches, amused, as Violet loses her shit.
“My name is Rose, and I would love to help you find your dream dress.”
The only other person in the room is the man. I can see clearly, now that I don’t have tunnel vision. He is a tall, suited figure who glides effortlessly to the counter where a man stands to help him.
I turn back and smile. “Lead the way, Rose.”