Rejected: A love story-Chapter 88: Who dares bullies My Girlfriend

The head saleswoman didn’t wait for Fiona or Ella to respond. She raised her chin, flicked her wrist dramatically, and said loud enough for the entire boutique to hear:

"You have five minutes. Buy something or leave. Don’t waste our time."

Then she spun around on her heels and walked away as if she had just issued orders to her servants.

Ella’s mouth fell open. "Did she—? Fiona, did she just time us? FIVE minutes? Who does she think she is?!"

The attendants behind the counter giggled while pretending to fold clothes.

Fiona gently tugged Ella’s sleeve. "Ella, let’s go. She’s not worth it. We don’t have to stay here."

"No," Ella said immediately, shaking her head, furious. "Absolutely not. Leaving now would look like she scared us off. That’s a slap to my reputation. I am NOT leaving."

"Ella—"

"No! Fiona, today we’re buying SOMETHING. She wants to see whether we can afford anything, right? Watch me buy her most expensive item and make her choke."

Fiona bit her lip. She admired Ella’s fire, but she truly didn’t want her friend wasting money just to prove a point. "You don’t have to do that. Let’s go to another store. There’s no reason to give them business."

Ella crossed her arms. "Fiona, I’m not letting that witch win. Pick two dresses for me. And don’t you dare look at the price tags."

Fiona looked at the racks, then at Ella, who looked absolutely serious. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Fiona. Pick. Two. Dresses."

Ella’s glare made it clear she wasn’t changing her mind.

Fiona sighed softly and went through the racks slowly. She picked one soft blue dress with a fitted waist and one elegant black dress with thin straps and a clean silhouette. Both were beautiful and minimal — absolutely Ella’s style.

Ella exhaled when she saw them. "Okay. They’re nice. Very nice."

Then, out of habit, she flipped the first price tag.

She froze and her throat bobbed.

Fiona’s eyes widened. "Ella... you don’t have to—"

"I SAID," Ella hissed through her teeth, "I am buying it."

But Fiona could see the panic in her friend’s eyes.

She placed a gentle hand on Ella’s arm. "Ella... no one who matters cares what that saleswoman thinks. You don’t have to prove anything to them. You don’t owe them your money."

Ella’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about them. It’s about ME. I’m tired of people thinking they can walk all over us. I’m tired of being looked down on." Her voice cracked slightly. "Just once... I want to walk out of a place like this with something they didn’t expect."

Fiona softened. She knew Ella wasn’t fighting the boutique staff anymore — she was fighting life.

"Okay," Fiona whispered. "But only if you truly want to. Not because you’re angry."

Ella swallowed again, fighting every emotion. "I want to. I’m doing it."

Before Fiona could say anything else, Ella lifted the second dress and checked the tag. This one made her eyes widen even more.

She exhaled shakily. "Wow... okay. This one is... definitely rent money."

"You really don’t have to."

"I do!"

Fiona gave her a small smile. "Then try them on first. At least make sure they fit."

Ella nodded and walked toward the fitting rooms, dresses in hand. Fiona followed her.

But before Ella could step inside, the head saleswoman suddenly appeared in front of the fitting room entrance, blocking them with her arms crossed.

"Oh no," she said sharply. "She can’t go in there."

Ella frowned. "What do you mean I can’t? I’m trying these dresses."

The woman sneered. "I won’t allow her"—she pointed rudely at Ella "to pass her body odor onto the dresses."

Ella’s jaw dropped. "EXCUSE ME?!"

Even Fiona froze, stunned.

The saleswoman sniffed dramatically. "I could smell her from across the store."

Ella’s entire body trembled with rage. "You did NOT just—"

"For hygiene reasons," the woman continued loudly, "only suitable customers are allowed to try on premium items. The fabric could absorb smells. And she—" her lip curled, "smells like sweat."

A few attendants snickered loudly.

Ella looked like she was about to explode, but Fiona stepped forward, placing herself between Ella and the woman.

Her voice was calm — dangerously calm.

"That’s enough."

The saleswoman rolled her eyes. "I’m doing my job."

"No," Fiona said firmly. "Humiliating people is not your job. Insulting customers is not your job. Making assumptions about people based on how they dress or what they can afford is not your job."

The woman scoffed. "Well, SOME people dress clean. Some people smell clean. Some people belong here. She doesn’t."

"And who made you the judge?" Fiona asked, still calm.

"Experience," the woman said smugly.

Fiona gave a small, cold smile. "Your experience seems to be in rudeness."

The saleswoman stepped closer. "You two are being dramatic. If you can’t afford the dresses anyway, why are you arguing? Go to the lower floors and find something within your budget."

Ella finally snapped. "You are insane—"

But before she could finish, the saleswoman turned sharply to a nearby security guard, who had been pretending not to watch.

"You!" she barked. "Come here, remove them."

The guard hesitated. "Ma’am... they didn’t do anything."

"They’re disrupting the environment!" she argued, glaring at him. "I want them out of this boutique RIGHT NOW. Both of them."

Ella’s hands curled into fists. "Try it. TRY throwing us out and see—"

"Ella," Fiona said softly, "don’t."

The security guard, pressured by the staff staring at him, moved closer.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "Please step outside—"

Before he could finish—the glass doors of the boutique slid open with a sharp sound.

Everyone turned at once as a tall, sharply dressed man stepped inside. No other person than Nathan.

His presence shifted the entire atmosphere immediately. His expression was unreadable — calm, but with a deadly undertone that made the air tighten.

His eyes were straight on Fiona.

Relief washed over her face without her meaning to.

Ella stepped back instinctively, whispering, "Ohhh thank God."

Nathan walked forward slowly, hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, but controlled — the kind of relaxed that made everyone nervous.

The saleswoman frowned, clearly not recognizing him. "Sir, unless you’re here to buy something, please wait—"

Nathan didn’t even look at her. He walked straight to Fiona.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, voice low but hard beneath the surface.

Fiona nodded, even though she wasn’t.

Nathan’s gaze shifted — slowly — to the saleswoman. And the entire room went cold.

"Who," he asked, each word precise, "decided to try throwing my girlfriend out of a store?"

The entire boutique fell silent.

The saleswoman blinked. "Girlfriend—?"

Nathan stepped closer, towering over her.

"Which one of you," he repeated, quieter this time — far more dangerous, "thought it was acceptable to insult her? Mock her? Time her? Threaten her? Accuse her of stealing? Or suggest she isn’t ’clean’ enough to touch your merchandise?"

The saleswoman’s face drained of color.

The attendants scrambled to look busy, even the security guard stepped back immediately.