Don’t Cross Me

I was born with severely hyper-reactive skin. Anything less than the absolute highest tier of luxury fabric sends me into a full-blown allergic shock.

Ironically, this medical curse caught the eye of a haute couture label owner. She hired me as the company's chief quality assurance director.

My rule was simple. If I put on a gown and it felt uncomfortable, it had to be remade.

Today, I rejected three sample dresses from our newest designer. She completely lost her mind.

"Who are you to say my pieces cannot be sold!"

"I have a master's degree in design from Paris. You are a self-taught nobody. You have zero right to critique my work!"

"Let me spell it out for you. My mother owns this company. You are making me uncomfortable now, so you can pack your desk and get out!"

I gently rubbed my inflamed arms, feeling a massive headache coming on.

I really debated whether or not I should tell her the truth.

The lead investor keeping this company afloat was my oldest sister. The exclusive fabric supplier was my second sister. The A-list celebrity who originally put this obscure brand on the map was my third sister.

The only reason Hollywood actresses flocked here for red carpet gowns was because their talent agency CEO was my fourth sister.

The brand got featured annually in the world's top fashion magazine because the editor-in-chief was my fifth sister.

My sixth sister was the best internal medicine physician in the country. My seventh sister was a notoriously ruthless corporate lawyer.

And they had both explicitly warned me that if I suffered one more allergic reaction at work, they would bury this company in medical reports and lawsuits.

Before I took this job, all seven of my sisters sat me down.

"Sloane, if this job makes you happy, we support you."

"But if anyone there makes you uncomfortable, we will make sure nobody in that building ever sleeps comfortably again."

...

Camille snatched the rejected dresses off the rack and violently whipped them into my face. The sharp, acrid smell of cheap synthetic dye immediately suffocated me.

I pinched my nose and stumbled backward. My voice was completely flat.

"Your fabric choices are garbage and your tailoring is sloppy. The seams scrape my skin raw. According to our corporate standards, these do not pass."

"Your mother hired me. If you want me fired, she is in a meeting next door. Go complain to her."

It just so happened that Serena, my third sister, was visiting the office today to negotiate her endorsement contract for the upcoming season. My skin was burning, and I felt nauseous. I figured I would just hitch a ride home with her later.

I turned to leave, but Camille lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"Stop using my mother to threaten me! You play this manipulative little victim act, pretending you are allergic to everything. It might work on her, but it does not work on a professional like me!"

"You think you are so delicate? You think my clothes are uncomfortable? Let's see what actually happens when you wear them!"

Camille practically pinned me against the desk, forcing the cheap gown over my head. I dodged left and right, but the allergic reaction hit me like a freight train. The rough, toxic fabric scraped aggressively against my bare shoulders.

A wave of intense dizziness washed over me. My breathing grew dangerously shallow.

A few of the other employees exchanged nervous glances. One of them finally spoke up in a quiet voice.

"Camille, Sloane really does have a severe condition. She keeps EpiPens and antihistamines at her desk."

"A lot of our wealthiest clients have the exact same autoimmune issues. That is why she tests the garments. If a client has a reaction, we get sued."

Camille's face twisted into an ugly snarl.

"So you are telling me that an elite graduate from Paris is somehow inferior to an uneducated fraud?"

She aggressively ripped the collar of my cotton undershirt, rubbing the fabric between her fingers before bursting into manic laughter.

"I thought you could only wear top-tier luxury goods? Look at this basic cotton rag she is wearing. We could buy a truckload of this trash for the price of one of my gowns."

She had no idea. This basic cotton was organically grown on my second sister's private pesticide-free estates. The air in the textile mill was hospital-grade filtered.

And the so-called premium fabric Camille was bragging about? My family supplied it. She was just using the cheap, discarded offcuts we sold at a massive discount.

The abrasive material kept scraping my skin. A massive cluster of angry red hives erupted across my neck. If I did not get my medication immediately, my throat would close and my organs would begin to fail.

I desperately reached for my handbag, but Camille slammed her designer heel down on my fingers.

"Trying to run now that your lie is exposed?"

"Hold her down. I am going to make her wear my design and drag her into my mother's office to beg for forgiveness!"

The entire design floor went dead silent. The staff just stared at each other.

When nobody moved, Camille's voice escalated into a hysterical shriek.

"Do you idiots not understand how this works! You ignore the boss's daughter to protect a scam artist?"

"Fine! The second my mother's meeting is over, I am firing every single one of you! Let's see if you ever work in the fashion industry again!"

Intimidated by the threat, a junior designer named Brooke stepped forward. Her eyes were cold.

"I will help you, Camille."

"She is always rejecting my patterns. Always complaining about my fabric choices. I have been sick of her face for months."

"Let's make her nice and comfortable."

Brooke grabbed another heavy synthetic skirt and shoved it forcefully into my face.

My stomach violently cramped. My wheezing grew louder. My entire body felt like it was submerged in boiling water.

I dug my fingernails deep into my own palms, fighting to stay conscious.

Just hold on. Every time Serena finishes her business meetings, she always comes to find me.

Through the fog of my fading consciousness, I heard the familiar click of Serena's heels approaching from the hallway.

I forced my eyes open and screamed out for her. But my throat was so swollen that the sound came out as a pathetic, raspy croak.

Serena paused outside the glass doors, furrowing her perfect brows, and looked toward the design department.

Camille reacted instantly. She slapped a hand over my mouth. With Brooke's help, they shoved me backward into a dark, suffocating storage closet.

Camille quickly smoothed her skirt and walked out to greet my sister with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Oh, I am so sorry about the noise. Some of our interns lack basic manners. They get a little too excited when celebrities visit the office."

"You are even more stunning in person, Serena. Did the meeting go well?"

Serena barely glanced at her. Her sharp eyes swept the room. She lowered her voice, completely ignoring the compliment.

"Is it not working hours? Where is Sloane?"

A flash of pure disgust crossed Camille's face, but she masked it quickly.

"What terrible timing. I actually sent her out to meet a client this morning."

"Did you need to speak with Sloane about the new collection? I am the head designer. You can just talk to me."

The lie was painfully obvious. Because of my medical condition, Eleanor and I had a strict agreement when I signed my contract. I never did field work, and I never met clients in person.

Serena clearly knew this. She gave Camille a long, piercing stare before pulling out her phone.

Three seconds later, a customized ringtone echoed through the room.

But the phone was not in my pocket. It was sitting right on my desk.

Camille let out a heavy breath, feigning amusement.

"Sloane is so forgetful. She left for her meeting without her phone."

"But do not worry, our company driver and another associate are with her. She should be back soon."

"The new gowns are waiting in the fitting room. Please, follow me."

Serena stared at my glowing phone for a very long time. Her beautiful face grew dangerously dark.

The atmosphere in the room turned suffocatingly tense. The employees who knew the truth began to sweat, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Jenna, the girl who tried to help me earlier, opened her mouth to speak. But before she could, Eleanor walked in.

"Sloane is out having afternoon tea with Mrs. Astor," Eleanor lied smoothly. "You know how much Mrs. Astor trusts Sloane's eye. She will be back shortly."

"Why don't you view the garments with my assistant? I will notify you the second she returns."

I could tell Serena was on the verge of exploding, but she forcefully held it back.

Years ago, when I was in high school, I was five minutes late meeting her at the gate. Serena practically tore the school apart looking for me. I felt so embarrassed that I made all my sisters swear a blood oath. They were never allowed to expose our family background or throw their weight around at my workplace.

I never imagined that my desire to be independent would end up nearly killing me.

Serena gave a tight, clipped nod and turned toward the hallway.

Inside the pitch-black closet, the air was entirely depleted. I tried to regulate my frantic breathing. Gathering the absolute last ounce of my strength, I weakly pounded my fist against the wooden door.

Thump. Thump.

The faint sound echoed across the quiet office. Serena's head snapped around instantly.

"What was that?"

Brooke panicked. She grabbed a can of heavy aerosol bug spray and started misting it aggressively near the closet baseboards.

"We have a terrible rat problem this week! You should step into the VIP lounge so they do not ruin your designer heels."

The toxic chemical fumes seeped through the door cracks. My lungs completely seized. I let out a broken, wheezing cough.

Serena's eyes flared with absolute fury.

"What kind of garbage establishment are you running! Do you not know that Sloane... that some of your employees are terrified of rats?"

"I am calling my personal extermination team right now. They will tear these walls open if they have to."

"If this is not resolved, I am terminating my endorsement contract."

Brooke plastered on a fake, terrified smile, begging her to calm down. Serena pulled out her phone and marched down the corridor to make the call.

My heart sank into my stomach. Black spots completely covered my vision.

Camille was thrilled to see her leave and eagerly tried to follow her. Eleanor's expression morphed into pure rage. She grabbed her daughter by the arm and yanked her back.

"Where did you hide her? Is she in that closet?"

Camille blinked, still trying to play dumb.

"No! She is probably hiding in the bathroom to avoid working. Why are you blaming me?"

Eleanor practically growled.

"Camille, I am your mother! Do you really think you can lie to me?"

"Do you have any idea how valuable Sloane is to this company!"

Eleanor pushed past her and ripped the closet door open.

I tumbled out onto the hardwood floor. Cool, fresh air rushed into my lungs, providing a tiny fraction of relief.

I dragged my heavy body toward my desk, reaching for the emergency inhaler in my drawer with a violently trembling hand.

I pressed the nozzle and inhaled. But instead of medicine, a foul, chemical taste coated my tongue.

A blinding pain ripped through my chest. I coughed so hard I could not breathe. The metallic taste of blood filled the back of my throat.

Camille stared down at me with cold, dead eyes. A wicked smirk crept onto her face.

"See, Mom? I told you she was faking it."

"She claimed she would go into shock if she wore my clothes. Well, I dumped her medicine out and replaced it with tap water and perfume. Look at her, she is still breathing."

"Anyone can fake a panic attack. And those hives? Who knows what kind of disgusting disease she brought into our office."

"You pay this liar a fortune every month just so she can torture your real designers. Call the legal department and have her sued for fraud!"

A flicker of hesitation crossed Eleanor's eyes. Her tone softened slightly.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat! Whether her skills are real or not, you saw how Serena treats her!"

"Even our exclusive fabric supplier asked about Sloane by name last week."

"They all share the same last name. They have to be related somehow. Do not ruin my business over a petty grudge."

Camille let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Mom, you are such a coward. We are the ones paying them."

"She is just an actress. If she refuses to sign, it is her loss. There are a million celebrities out there."

"And the supplier? Cut the contract. I can find you ten better textile factories by tomorrow."

"I looked at our financial reports. Their fees are bleeding us dry. This little bitch is definitely taking a secret kickback from them. That is why she keeps failing my designs!"

That specific accusation hit Eleanor's absolute weakest nerve. Her face darkened, and she fell completely silent.

She had constantly complained to me about high production costs and low profit margins. What she did not know was that a megastar like Serena would never look twice at a boutique this small. The price Eleanor was paying was already a massive family discount.

And those VIP clients who signed massive contracts with us? They were only buying the clothes because my second sister's anti-allergy fabric was a patented marvel. No other company on earth had access to it.

I gasped for air, forcing the words out of my bleeding throat.

"Eleanor... you were the one... who begged me to work here."

Eleanor let out a cold sigh and crouched down next to me.

"Sloane, I believe your allergies are real. It looks painful. I will have someone call you an ambulance."

A brief flicker of hope sparked in my chest, but the sudden, vicious glint in Eleanor's eyes extinguished it instantly.

"But Camille is right. You and your little supplier friends have been playing me for a fool all these years, taking a cut of my profits."

"Business is tough right now. Transfer all the kickbacks you stole into my account, and I will let this slide."

"Otherwise..."

Eleanor cracked open a mini bottle of cheap liquor from the catering cart. She grabbed my jaw and poured it directly into my mouth.

"An alcohol allergy is a terrible thing, is it not?"

Out of all my triggers, alcohol caused the most lethal reaction.

My internal organs felt like they were literally catching fire. Every single breath required a superhuman effort, yet no oxygen was reaching my brain.

I could not form a single word. I just mouthed the words, Phone. Transfer.

Eleanor eagerly placed my phone into my hand. But before I could unlock it, Camille's heel came crashing down on my fingers again.

"Mom, you are being an idiot! If you give her the phone, she is going to call the cops!"

"I already had the legal department draft a document. Make her sign it."

They were so blinded by greed that they failed to notice my phone screen blinking with a faint, pulsing red light.

It was an emergency dead-man switch my sisters had custom installed. The moment my biometric vitals dropped to critical levels, an SOS signal blanketed the city.

I was hovering on the edge of total blackness. Camille pulled a termination and repayment contract out of her folder and slapped it against my face.

"Mom, I hated her the second I walked into this office. The lawyers drew this up yesterday."

"I hired an independent auditor to review every single dollar this company has spent since she arrived. When they find the missing money, this contract legally binds her to pay us back triple the amount."

"Hey, stop playing dead. Pick up the pen and sign it."

My fingers twitched. I wanted to sign it immediately just to get them away from me.

Jenna stepped forward, her voice shaking.

"You cannot do this. Half our VIP clients have it written in their contracts that Sloane must personally inspect their garments."

"If Sloane leaves, we are in breach of contract. We will owe millions in damages, and we will never get another order."

Camille crossed her arms, smiling with supreme, unearned confidence.

"What do you know? When the brand was new, sure, we needed a gimmick like her. But the company is established now. People buy our clothes because of the design, not because of some quality inspector."

"I studied in Paris. My name alone will bring in a flood of high-end clients."

She forcefully jammed a pen into my crushed, bleeding hand. I reflexively curled my fingers, sending a blinding spike of agony up my arm.

Camille rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Still trying to stall? You really want to do this the hard way."

She snatched the bottle of liquor from her mother and poured the rest of the burning alcohol directly onto my open wounds.

The pain was absolute torture. A silent scream died in my throat. The severe allergic reaction caused my entire face and neck to swell violently.

Having lost all patience, Camille physically grabbed my hand and violently dragged it across the paper, forging my signature.

"There. Done. You said your relative is a famous actress? Better go beg her for the money you owe us."

The pen slipped from my fingers. My vision went completely black. The voices around me sounded like they were underwater.

Camille kicked me hard in the ribs.

"Get her out of here. Mark, Jenna, pick her up and throw her down the back stairwell."

The exact second they reached for me, the heavy glass doors to the office completely shattered open.