Chapter 4

The next morning, the internet erupted.

Samantha had somehow bribed my cleaning lady. A secretly filmed video of my home went viral.

The footage was shaky, but it was unmistakable—my wardrobe, my clothes racks, all crammed with garments, every single one flaunting a massive price tag. It looked like a giant clothing warehouse.

The trending hashtag #CarlaDavidsonTagQueen exploded. Views passed into the hundreds of millions.

Samantha's voiceover dripped with mockery.

"Oh my God, is she planning to open a clothing store or run a wholesale return business? How many pieces does she have? Thousands? How many merchants must she have ruined?"

Even a well-known fashion brand I had never bought from jumped in for clicks, issuing a statement denouncing "malicious returns," subtly dragging me down.

Some netizens even launched a "Boycott Carla" campaign. Others Photoshopped my memorial portrait and posted it to forums.

Poor Samantha must have been up all night trying to smear me.

Patricia, my assistant, messaged me: [Carla, you're trending online. The whole internet is waiting for your disaster tomorrow night.]

I replied: [Then let them watch.]

I read the hateful comments with a calm mind. In fact, I felt a faint urge to laugh.

By 7:50 p.m., Samantha arrived at my door, flanked by two assistants wielding fill lights and cameras. She looked like she was attending a red-carpet ceremony.

"Hello, Sam-fam!" she beamed into the camera. "Today, we're going to see how much stolen loot the legendary Tag Queen really has."

Even before stepping inside, her live viewership had passed a million—everyone there to laugh at me. The comments scrolled too fast to read.

[Go in! Expose her!]

[I've got my insults ready.]

[Waiting for the rich lady to crash.]

I opened the door, bare-faced, wearing the controversial trench coat, the price tag glaring on my chest.

Samantha's eyes nearly spilled her ridicule.

"Carla, you really never change. Still won't cut the tag, even now?"

She signaled the cameraman to zoom in.

"Come on, greet everyone! Where are you planning to 'scam' next?"

I stepped aside, letting her pass. "Come in."

She and her crew filed in, heading straight for the walk-in closet.

Her gasp was exaggerated.

"Oh my God! This is incredible! Sam-Fam, if all of this is returned, the merchants will go bankrupt!"

She grabbed a random garment, showing the tag.

"Carla, you've been caught red-handed. What do you have to say for yourself? Apologize to the whole internet! Admit you're vain, greedy, and a freebie fiend!"

I couldn't help but smile. Caught red-handed? Those words were perfect.

I stepped up to the camera, staring into the black lens, as if I could see through to the millions of malicious eyes on the other side.

"I have never returned a single item," I said, every word deliberate.

"So where is this 'freebie' nonsense coming from?"

Samantha laughed like she'd heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Never returned? Then why keep all these tags? Have you been collecting them like trophies? Don't play games—everyone knows the truth!"

The chat exploded with ridicule.

[Talk about stubborn!]

[Get lost! You're disgusting.]

Samantha sneered and reached for the tag on my coat.

"Still denying it! This tag proves your greed! Today, I'm acting as justice. I'll cut it off myself!"

The camera captured every second of her exaggerated motion. Her hand was fast and precise, seizing the tag.

With a sharp tug—rip!—the tag came off.

She held it triumphantly up to the HD camera, her face glowing with victory.

"See that? Evidence!"

I spoke suddenly, "You've been insulting me for three days. Did anyone care to read what this tag actually says?"

Samantha snorted, waving the tag carelessly.

"Isn't it just the price? What, showing off that you can afford it?"

Her tone was mocking, and her gaze flicked downward—just a glance.

Her smile froze. Her face drained of color in an instant.

The tag in her hand felt like a burning iron, scorching her fingers so she could barely hold it.

"This… what is this…"