The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 14: Chapter 14
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I called Monica Evans into my office for questioning. She came in with tears in her eyes, explaining how a client named Simon Granger had crossed the line with her.
I kept my professional smile in place, but inside? I was beyond irritated.
Monica was a top graduate from an Ivy League school—trained in ballet, fluent in classical piano. Yet here she was, unable to land a real job, settling for a sales associate position at our firm.
Beautiful. Young. Naive. The untouchable campus princess everyone had worshipped.
A cold smirk tugged at my lips. Soon, she'd learn what the real world thought of princesses.
After a quick exchange of texts with Simon, I turned to Monica with a gentle, reassuring smile. "The company is prepared to take legal action. Mr. Granger is terrified—he's on his way now to apologize to you personally."
Her tears dried instantly, replaced by hopeful relief.
We waited in the empty office. By six, Simon finally arrived—long after everyone else had gone home.
The building was silent, making his booming laugh sound even more grotesque. "You really thought you could take me on, you stupid little girl? Tonight, I'll make sure you regret even trying."
Monica's breath hitched. "W-what are you—?"
I seized her wrist from behind, my voice a venomous whisper. "Stop making this harder than it has to be. Apologize to Mr. Granger. Now."
She thrashed, panic flooding her eyes.
Watching her struggle, I saw myself years ago—just as powerless.
I dragged her to the couch, forcing her down.
Simon didn't waste time. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and leaned in, slow and deliberate.
Monica's face contorted in pain, but with me pinning her arms, all she could do was sob.
When it was over, she choked out, "I'll report you both!"
I laughed. "Go ahead. Let the whole world know how ruined you are."
Simon, ever the pragmatist, tossed a thick stack of cash onto the couch—twenty grand.
"Quit the waterworks," he said, grinning. "I'll take care of you. This is just for starters—your monthly allowance from now on. And trust me, there's more where that came from."
Her sobs quieted. Peeking through her fingers, she eyed the money.
Simon smirked, tossed out a few hollow promises, and left.
Two days later, Monica resigned.
On her way out, she shot me a look so full of hate it could've melted steel.
Two months after that, I ran into Simon at a charity gala. He'd already replaced Monica—another fresh-faced girl clinging to his arm.
Casually, I asked about Monica.
"Kicked her to the curb," he sneered. "Total dead fish in bed, and that attitude? Not worth the thirty grand I dumped on her."
Then he introduced his new accessory. "Luna Valentine. Just started college. Gorgeous, right? Luna, say hi."
Luna flashed me a saccharine smile. "Pleasure, Ms. Lowell."
I returned the pleasantries with practiced grace.
That night, I went home to my new penthouse—1,700 square feet of sleek, empty space.
Alone? Sure. But never lonely.
Exhausted, I sank into the plush chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, sipping my coffee with the effortless poise of old-money royalty.
I kept my professional smile in place, but inside? I was beyond irritated.
Monica was a top graduate from an Ivy League school—trained in ballet, fluent in classical piano. Yet here she was, unable to land a real job, settling for a sales associate position at our firm.
Beautiful. Young. Naive. The untouchable campus princess everyone had worshipped.
A cold smirk tugged at my lips. Soon, she'd learn what the real world thought of princesses.
After a quick exchange of texts with Simon, I turned to Monica with a gentle, reassuring smile. "The company is prepared to take legal action. Mr. Granger is terrified—he's on his way now to apologize to you personally."
Her tears dried instantly, replaced by hopeful relief.
We waited in the empty office. By six, Simon finally arrived—long after everyone else had gone home.
The building was silent, making his booming laugh sound even more grotesque. "You really thought you could take me on, you stupid little girl? Tonight, I'll make sure you regret even trying."
Monica's breath hitched. "W-what are you—?"
I seized her wrist from behind, my voice a venomous whisper. "Stop making this harder than it has to be. Apologize to Mr. Granger. Now."
She thrashed, panic flooding her eyes.
Watching her struggle, I saw myself years ago—just as powerless.
I dragged her to the couch, forcing her down.
Simon didn't waste time. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and leaned in, slow and deliberate.
Monica's face contorted in pain, but with me pinning her arms, all she could do was sob.
When it was over, she choked out, "I'll report you both!"
I laughed. "Go ahead. Let the whole world know how ruined you are."
Simon, ever the pragmatist, tossed a thick stack of cash onto the couch—twenty grand.
"Quit the waterworks," he said, grinning. "I'll take care of you. This is just for starters—your monthly allowance from now on. And trust me, there's more where that came from."
Her sobs quieted. Peeking through her fingers, she eyed the money.
Simon smirked, tossed out a few hollow promises, and left.
Two days later, Monica resigned.
On her way out, she shot me a look so full of hate it could've melted steel.
Two months after that, I ran into Simon at a charity gala. He'd already replaced Monica—another fresh-faced girl clinging to his arm.
Casually, I asked about Monica.
"Kicked her to the curb," he sneered. "Total dead fish in bed, and that attitude? Not worth the thirty grand I dumped on her."
Then he introduced his new accessory. "Luna Valentine. Just started college. Gorgeous, right? Luna, say hi."
Luna flashed me a saccharine smile. "Pleasure, Ms. Lowell."
I returned the pleasantries with practiced grace.
That night, I went home to my new penthouse—1,700 square feet of sleek, empty space.
Alone? Sure. But never lonely.
Exhausted, I sank into the plush chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, sipping my coffee with the effortless poise of old-money royalty.
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