Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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Well, if that was how they wanted to play, then I had no problem settling things with the Stanford family once and for all.
Meanwhile, Anne was still doubled over laughing, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes like she'd just heard the joke of the century.
"This is the funniest thing I've ever heard!" she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery.
I wasn't about to waste another breath on them. Without a second glance, I grabbed my bag and turned to leave.
But just as my hand touched the door handle, two employees jumped up and blocked the exit, standing there like stone-faced bouncers at some cheap club.
I narrowed my eyes, my voice icy. "What's this supposed to mean?"
Anne finally caught her breath, sauntering toward me in those ridiculous heels of hers. She crossed her arms, giving me a slow, condescending once-over. "Nicole, you think this company is your personal playground? Coming and going whenever you feel like it? There's a process for dismissal."
I met her gaze, unfazed. "I don't need to follow any process."
Her sharp nails scraped across the leather of my bag, leaving faint scratches as she smirked. "What you need isn't really up to you, sweetheart."
"Open your bag," she demanded. "We need to make sure you're not walking off with company property. That would be theft, you know."
Before I could respond, she added with fake concern, "All our projects involve highly sensitive information. If anything goes missing—or gets recorded—the company could lose millions."
Her lips curled into a vicious smile. "Just following protocol. Don't take it personally."
At her signal, two more employees closed in on me. I watched them, my expression unreadable.
Right then, it hit me—I'd been way too patient for way too long.
My grandfather and father had always preached kindness, avoiding unnecessary conflict. Growing up abroad, I'd made it a point never to throw my weight around just because I could. But all that restraint had only given people like Anne the nerve to push their luck.
"Anne," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Have you thought about what happens next?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she snatched my bag and dumped everything onto the floor, letting my belongings scatter for the whole room to see.
"I'm a trusted assistant here," she declared, nudging my things aside with the tip of her shoe. "I enforce company policy and carry out Mr. Stanford's orders. What consequences could I possibly face?"
She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Just because your bag's empty doesn't mean you're clean. Search her."
At her command, the room buzzed with anticipation, employees leaning in like they were front-row at some twisted show. Someone even let out a low whistle.
I frowned as the two goons by the door stepped toward me. The second their hands reached out, I smacked them away.
"Don't you dare touch me," I snapped, my voice like steel. "What gives you the right?"
All the tension in my body dissolved in an instant. The quiet, composed version of me was gone.
The sudden shift caught them off guard. They hesitated, glancing at each other uncertainly.
But Anne just scoffed and shoved past them.
"Nicole," she sneered. "Who exactly are you trying to scare?"
Meanwhile, Anne was still doubled over laughing, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes like she'd just heard the joke of the century.
"This is the funniest thing I've ever heard!" she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery.
I wasn't about to waste another breath on them. Without a second glance, I grabbed my bag and turned to leave.
But just as my hand touched the door handle, two employees jumped up and blocked the exit, standing there like stone-faced bouncers at some cheap club.
I narrowed my eyes, my voice icy. "What's this supposed to mean?"
Anne finally caught her breath, sauntering toward me in those ridiculous heels of hers. She crossed her arms, giving me a slow, condescending once-over. "Nicole, you think this company is your personal playground? Coming and going whenever you feel like it? There's a process for dismissal."
I met her gaze, unfazed. "I don't need to follow any process."
Her sharp nails scraped across the leather of my bag, leaving faint scratches as she smirked. "What you need isn't really up to you, sweetheart."
"Open your bag," she demanded. "We need to make sure you're not walking off with company property. That would be theft, you know."
Before I could respond, she added with fake concern, "All our projects involve highly sensitive information. If anything goes missing—or gets recorded—the company could lose millions."
Her lips curled into a vicious smile. "Just following protocol. Don't take it personally."
At her signal, two more employees closed in on me. I watched them, my expression unreadable.
Right then, it hit me—I'd been way too patient for way too long.
My grandfather and father had always preached kindness, avoiding unnecessary conflict. Growing up abroad, I'd made it a point never to throw my weight around just because I could. But all that restraint had only given people like Anne the nerve to push their luck.
"Anne," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Have you thought about what happens next?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she snatched my bag and dumped everything onto the floor, letting my belongings scatter for the whole room to see.
"I'm a trusted assistant here," she declared, nudging my things aside with the tip of her shoe. "I enforce company policy and carry out Mr. Stanford's orders. What consequences could I possibly face?"
She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Just because your bag's empty doesn't mean you're clean. Search her."
At her command, the room buzzed with anticipation, employees leaning in like they were front-row at some twisted show. Someone even let out a low whistle.
I frowned as the two goons by the door stepped toward me. The second their hands reached out, I smacked them away.
"Don't you dare touch me," I snapped, my voice like steel. "What gives you the right?"
All the tension in my body dissolved in an instant. The quiet, composed version of me was gone.
The sudden shift caught them off guard. They hesitated, glancing at each other uncertainly.
But Anne just scoffed and shoved past them.
"Nicole," she sneered. "Who exactly are you trying to scare?"
End of Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You book page.