Payback's Intern Chapter 1

I let my sister Rachel choose a wedding dress from my bridal boutique. As she left, a new intern stopped her, demanding $30,000 for the gown.

Rachel explained, “I’m the owner’s sister. I don’t pay.”

The intern rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Our boss has no sister. You’re just a freeloader.” She blocked Rachel’s path, threatening, “Pay now, or I’ll rip the dress off you and throw you out naked!”

Rachel called me, stunned.

I rushed over and heard Maria, my longtime manager, supporting the intern as she threatened Rachel. “Wise up,” Maria said coldly. “This is our boss’s wife. Cross her and regret it forever.”

The intern pinned Rachel down, smugly accusing her of scamming.

I froze, chilled. Immediately, I canceled my husband’s credit card and called him. “Have I been too good to you, Mark?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “Or did I give you too much money to chase other women?”

* * *

When my sister’s call came in, I was just about to drive over to the boutique.

“What did you say?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “The new intern, Jessica, is claiming she’s the boss’s wife?”

I let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “Didn’t you tell her you’re my sister?”

The next thing I heard was the sharp, ugly crack of a slap, followed by Rachel’s cry of pain. My blood ran cold. I screamed Rachel’s name into the phone, but my voice was drowned out by Jessica’s shrill shouting.

“This boutique belongs to my husband!” she shrieked. “You think I wouldn’t know if my own husband had a sister?”

Maria’s voice, cold and mocking, followed right after. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll be straight with you. You’ve really messed with the wrong people today.”

“This boutique belongs to Mr. Collins,” she continued, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. “And the woman you’re looking at is Mrs. Collins! The real owner’s wife! If you wanted to walk out without paying, you should’ve come up with a better excuse!”

Their arrogant words echoed in my ears, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

Just a week ago, on our wedding anniversary, my husband, Mark—who never showed the slightest interest in my boutique—had come to me with a request.

“Honey, there’s a girl from my old neighborhood whose family I’m close with. She just graduated and can’t find a job,” he’d said, his voice earnest. “Her mom called me, and you know, for old times’ sake, I told her I’d help. Could you… could you let her work at your boutique?”

He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes, because he quickly held up four fingers in a solemn vow.

“I promise you, Evelyn, she’s a real go-getter, sharp as a tack. You’ll love her!”

“Fine,” I’d said, giving in. I then forwarded Jessica’s resume to Maria, my most trusted employee.

Now, the line to Rachel went dead, the last sound I heard being a furious curse from Jessica.

My mind racing, I urged the driver to speed up, simultaneously pulling up the live security feed from the store on my phone.

The image sharpened, and my breath caught in my throat. Jessica had Rachel pinned to the floor, her face contorted in rage as she slapped my sister again and again.

“You wear a dress from our store and refuse to pay? That makes you a thief! A common freeloader!” Jessica screamed. “For a piece of trash like you, even beating you to death wouldn’t be enough!”

Rachel struggled, but she was no match for Jessica’s brute force.

What sent a wave of pure fury through me, though, was the sight of Maria—my manager of three years—acting as Jessica’s willing accomplice. She was crouched beside them, flipping through a ledger with a grim look of satisfaction.

“Mrs. Collins, I’ve done a quick tally of the last three months,” Maria announced. “This little bitch has taken over a dozen dresses from the store. The total value is well into the hundreds of thousands.”

Maria’s words were like gasoline on a fire. Jessica’s rage intensified. She grabbed Rachel by the throat, her voice a venomous hiss.

“You say you’re my husband’s sister? Sister?” she spat. “What’s your real relationship? Before I showed up, just how many dresses did you steal from my store?”

The scene made me tremble with a rage so potent it was hard to breathe. Seeing Rachel’s face, already swollen and red, sent a spike of pain through my heart.

I dialed Mark’s number.

I needed to ask him just how the sweet, capable girl from his neighborhood had turned into a violent maniac who dared to call herself the owner of my boutique.

He picked up almost immediately, his voice light and cheerful. “Evelyn! Shouldn’t you be sketching designs right now? What’s up? Miss me already?”

I took a deep, shaky breath. “Mark, I’m going to ask you one question. What, exactly, is your relationship with Jessica?”

“Why is she telling everyone that she’s Mrs. Collins… your wife?”

The other end of the line went completely silent. All I could hear was the faint hum of static and the sound of his heavy breathing. His silence was an answer in itself, and it fueled my anger.

“Mark, answer me!” I snapped. “Have I been too good to you? Given you so much freedom and money that you thought you could get away with keeping another woman on the side?”

He chuckled, a low, condescending sound. “Evelyn, we’ve been married for years. Don’t you have even a little bit of trust in me? Look, I don’t have time for your games. I have a meeting to get to.”

The line went dead. When I tried to call back, it went straight to his voicemail.