Chapter 2

I stood up and walked toward Samantha.

Samantha instinctively stepped back, and a few drops of coffee splashed onto the floor.

She screamed, "What do you think you're doing? Are you going to hit me?"

"Carla, don't overreact."

"Yeah, can't bear to hear someone else calling you out on the truth?"

I paused, scanning the room.

The subordinates who normally treated me with utmost respect were now lined up on the opposite side.

"Step aside," I said.

They exchanged glances and, reluctantly, made a path.

I hadn't even settled into my chair when my phone rang. It was our partner company.

"Ms. Davidson, regarding next quarter's collaboration, we need to reconsider," the voice said, clipped and formal. "Your personal image has caused a negative impact on the brand. We don't want our products associated with someone who returns everything."

Before I could respond, the call ended.

Immediately after, the boss's secretary summoned me to the office.

I opened the door to find a tablet smashed onto the floor at my feet.

The screen was shattered, but the contents were still legible: [Trending #3 – #LuxuryCarFemaleExecMaliciousReturns#]

Carter Benedict sat behind his desk, face dark as iron.

"Carla, you've disappointed me beyond words. The company made you a director, not a clown!"

I bent down, picking up the tablet, my voice calm.

"Carter, it's not what it looks like."

"I don't care about the truth!" he slammed his fist on the desk.

"Netizens only believe what they see! The company's stock price has taken a hit—do you know how much that's cost? You have one day."

He pointed to the door.

"Can't control public opinion? Then get out!"

Stepping out, Samantha was leaning against the wall, waiting for me.

She still held her half-drunk coffee, her lips curling into a triumphant smile.

"Carla, got called out yet?" she cooed, leaning in with mock concern. "Why not just apologize? Returning clothes isn't a big crime. Admit your vanity, let people curse for a few days, and they'll forget."

Her voice dropped, eyes glinting with unmasked greed.

"Oh, and you've been sitting on that throne for far too long—it's time to make way."

I looked at her perfectly made-up face and couldn't help but laugh.

She thought I was still playing on the first level, when I was already in the stratosphere.

"Samantha," I said, adjusting my collar to reveal the glaring price tag. You better pray this fire burns even brighter."

Then I turned and walked away.

Behind me, she snorted. "Stubborn as a mule. I'll see how long you last."

At lunch, I sat at my desk, eating a salad.

The white blazer hung over the chair, tag facing the aisle.

Samantha came up with a phone on a tripod.

"Hey, Sam-fam! Good afternoon, everyone," she said, starting a live stream from behind me.

The title read: [Inside the Daily Life of a Top Exec]

The camera swung directly onto me.

"Look, it's the legendary Tag Lady herself. Mentally tough, can even eat lunch with all the hate."

The viewer count shot up instantly—from a few thousand to over a hundred thousand.

The comments poured in, a nonstop flood of insults and curses.

[Is that her? Looks so ordinary.]

[Eating salad? Go do time instead.]

[How has this person not been fired yet?]

Samantha's face flushed with excitement at the skyrocketing numbers.

For the sake of clicks, she began fabricating stories to smear me.

"You don't know," she whispered, putting on a conspiratorial tone.

"She's insanely arrogant at work. Every outfit is different, but she never pays for them.

"I even went to her house once… Her closet was full of tagged clothes. She wears them a few days, returns them, and the merchants block her accounts.

"She just opens a new account and keeps buying—she's a cancer in the industry."