The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading The Fallen Salesgirl, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of The Fallen Salesgirl.
The police took my report seriously, recording my statement with professional efficiency. The officer at the front desk had gently suggested I go home and rest, promising they'd look into my claims.
When the station called me back the next morning, they'd thoughtfully arranged for two female detectives to handle my case - a considerate touch given my fragile state. The women questioned me with a careful balance of compassion and righteous anger, their expressions darkening as I recounted the details.
"Go home and try to get some rest," the senior detective said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We're going to make sure these men answer for what they've done."
My heart soared at the thought of Richard Winston finally facing consequences. But my relief was short-lived - the bastard was ten steps ahead of us.
The following day brought Richard and Derek Anderson into the interrogation room, where they performed like Oscar-worthy actors. Richard's face was the picture of wounded innocence. "Officers, surely you're not going to railroad an innocent man over some hysterical woman's fantasy?"
Then came the bombshell. "She showed up at my place in the middle of the night," Richard continued, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Got down on her knees begging for forgiveness, then suddenly she's pulling at my pants—"
"Enough!" The female detective's palm slammed against the metal table with a sharp crack. "Keep your testimony professional."
Richard just shrugged. "What can I say? Salesgirls are always looking for their next commission - in bed or out of it."
Derek played his part even better, widening his eyes in theatrical shock. "Tie her up? Beat her? Come on, you can't seriously believe this crap!"
The detective's jaw tightened. "Let me get this straight - you're claiming she wanted split lips, bruised wrists from restraints, and bite marks on her chest?"
Derek's smirk made my skin crawl. "Some people are into that, Officer. BDSM's all the rage these days." Then came his trump card - he pulled out his phone.
The video footage hit me like a gut punch. There I was, sprawled across the bed with glazed eyes, making sounds I barely recognized as my own. Richard produced his own clip - me riding him with deliberate movements, my breathy moans filling the small interrogation room.
"That's just—that's just the body reacting!" I stammered, my face burning.
Derek scrolled through his messages with a predator's grin. "Oh Natalie, you've got such... specific tastes. We were just giving you what you wanted." He turned the screen toward the detectives. "See for yourself."
The text logs turned my blood to ice. According to the damning evidence, "I" had been enthusiastically arranging our encounter:
June 17, 11:15 AM
Natalie: When are you coming, Derek?
June 17, 11:16 AM
Derek: On my way.
June 17, 11:16 AM
Natalie: Have you eaten yet?
June 17, 11:18 AM
Derek: I'll have you instead...
The smoking gun came at 3:04 PM:
Natalie: Got it. I'll prepare handcuffs, ropes, candles, and a whip for later—let's make it wilder.
My hands shook as I checked my own phone. They'd clearly doctored everything before deleting the evidence. And the bank transfers? I'd been too traumatized to even open my banking app after the attack.
"They made all of this up!" My voice broke as tears streamed down my face. "They took my phone—I never sent those messages! The money—I didn't even know about it!"
The lead detective's expression shifted from professional concern to something worse—doubt. After dismissing Richard and Derek, she turned to me with a heavy sigh. "Natalie... this case just became a lot more complicated."
When the station called me back the next morning, they'd thoughtfully arranged for two female detectives to handle my case - a considerate touch given my fragile state. The women questioned me with a careful balance of compassion and righteous anger, their expressions darkening as I recounted the details.
"Go home and try to get some rest," the senior detective said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We're going to make sure these men answer for what they've done."
My heart soared at the thought of Richard Winston finally facing consequences. But my relief was short-lived - the bastard was ten steps ahead of us.
The following day brought Richard and Derek Anderson into the interrogation room, where they performed like Oscar-worthy actors. Richard's face was the picture of wounded innocence. "Officers, surely you're not going to railroad an innocent man over some hysterical woman's fantasy?"
Then came the bombshell. "She showed up at my place in the middle of the night," Richard continued, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Got down on her knees begging for forgiveness, then suddenly she's pulling at my pants—"
"Enough!" The female detective's palm slammed against the metal table with a sharp crack. "Keep your testimony professional."
Richard just shrugged. "What can I say? Salesgirls are always looking for their next commission - in bed or out of it."
Derek played his part even better, widening his eyes in theatrical shock. "Tie her up? Beat her? Come on, you can't seriously believe this crap!"
The detective's jaw tightened. "Let me get this straight - you're claiming she wanted split lips, bruised wrists from restraints, and bite marks on her chest?"
Derek's smirk made my skin crawl. "Some people are into that, Officer. BDSM's all the rage these days." Then came his trump card - he pulled out his phone.
The video footage hit me like a gut punch. There I was, sprawled across the bed with glazed eyes, making sounds I barely recognized as my own. Richard produced his own clip - me riding him with deliberate movements, my breathy moans filling the small interrogation room.
"That's just—that's just the body reacting!" I stammered, my face burning.
Derek scrolled through his messages with a predator's grin. "Oh Natalie, you've got such... specific tastes. We were just giving you what you wanted." He turned the screen toward the detectives. "See for yourself."
The text logs turned my blood to ice. According to the damning evidence, "I" had been enthusiastically arranging our encounter:
June 17, 11:15 AM
Natalie: When are you coming, Derek?
June 17, 11:16 AM
Derek: On my way.
June 17, 11:16 AM
Natalie: Have you eaten yet?
June 17, 11:18 AM
Derek: I'll have you instead...
The smoking gun came at 3:04 PM:
Natalie: Got it. I'll prepare handcuffs, ropes, candles, and a whip for later—let's make it wilder.
My hands shook as I checked my own phone. They'd clearly doctored everything before deleting the evidence. And the bank transfers? I'd been too traumatized to even open my banking app after the attack.
"They made all of this up!" My voice broke as tears streamed down my face. "They took my phone—I never sent those messages! The money—I didn't even know about it!"
The lead detective's expression shifted from professional concern to something worse—doubt. After dismissing Richard and Derek, she turned to me with a heavy sigh. "Natalie... this case just became a lot more complicated."
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.