Chapter 43
Felix's face turned completely black.
He spun around and snatched the dress from the saleswoman's hands, his voice low but unable to suppress his fury. "What have you done? How dare you neglect Ms. Mellon like this!"
Then he turned back, holding the dress with both hands as he presented it to Valencia, his face plastered with a deferential, apologetic smile. "Ms. Mellon, this is the limited runway piece from this quarter—only two in the entire country. Does it suit your taste? And the entire new collection for this season hasn't even officially launched yet—I'll bring out everything for you and the young lady to preview first—"
The saleswoman panicked, crying out instinctively, "Manager! That piece is reserved for Mrs. Wipere! She's been waiting for so long—"
Felix turned around and shot her a cold look.
That look was like a blade, cutting off the rest of her words. "Go to HR today to collect your final paycheck. Don't come in tomorrow."
The color drained completely from the saleswoman's face.
She'd worked so hard to get into this mall.
Her lips trembled several times. She stumbled back two steps, her shoulder hitting the rack—hangers rattling before falling silent again.
Haven's expression turned ugly, her face cycling through colors like a painter's palette.
She'd been the wife of Silverpeak Town's richest man for twenty years—everywhere she went, people fawned over her. When had she ever been treated like this?
She yanked her arm free from Xiomara's grip and pointed at Valencia, her voice rising almost to the point of breaking in the quiet boutique. "On what grounds? We reserved this dress first! We got here first! She's the one cutting in line—why are you giving our things to her? Is this how Grand Central Plaza does business? Does being a manager make you so important? I'm filing a complaint! I'm going to your headquarters!"
Felix straightened up and turned to face Haven.
The deference had completely vanished from his face, leaving only a cold, businesslike expression.
He didn't even offer an explanation, didn't say "I'm sorry" or "my apologies."
"Because she's Ms. Mellon."
One sentence.
Because she's Ms. Mellon—no reason needed, no room for negotiation. The name itself was reason enough.
Haven's mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
She'd lived most of her life throwing money in people's faces—this was the first time someone had thrown a name back at her, striking her speechless.
She stood there, her face flushing red, the strap of her Hermès bag twisted out of shape in her grip.
What was the point of fighting for that dress now?
Her dignity had been thrown on the floor and trampled!
Xiomara stood behind Haven, her gentle smile finally cracking.
Her gaze fixed on Valencia, her mind racing.
Ms. Mellon? Which Ms. Mellon? Was there a Mellon family among Silverlight City's elite?
She flipped through her carefully accumulated network—the Windsor family, the FitzRoy family, the Percy family... none of them were named Mellon.
But Felix's ninety-degree bow just now, that bone-deep reverence—that wasn't acting.
Someone who could make a manager fire a saleswoman on the spot with just the title "Ms. Mellon" was definitely no ordinary person.
Her hands slowly clenched into fists.
How could Seraphine's birth mother possibly have such an impressive identity?
Felix turned back and continued respectfully presenting clothes one by one to Valencia, then personally retrieved several unreleased pieces from the season's collection from the safe in the back, laying them out neatly on the chaise beside Valencia.
The velvet fabrics gleamed softly under the lights, spread out piece by piece—each one worth a small fortune.
Valencia picked up the misty blue dress and held it up against Seraphine at a leisurely pace, her tone returning to its usual composure, as though the confrontation moments ago had never happened.
"This color is nice. Take this camel one too. This ash gray one is perfect for class. That off-white trench—" She pointed to the limited edition piece in Felix's hands, her tone casual. "Wrap that up too."
"Yes, Ms. Mellon. Everything will be delivered to your home this afternoon." Felix recorded everything efficiently while personally wrapping each garment for packaging, not daring to spare Haven even a glance.
Valencia took Seraphine's arm and turned to leave.
As they passed Haven and Xiomara, her steps paused.
From start to finish, she hadn't given Haven or Xiomara a proper look.
Then she spoke, her tone as casual as discussing the weather. "Mrs. Wipere. You just said Sera's 'conditions over there aren't good.' Let me correct you—she's my daughter. The conditions I provide for her will be the best in all of Silverlight City. No need for your concern."
"As for your slander—if I hear it one more time, I won't let it slide."
After saying this, Valencia turned to Felix. "From now on, these two are not allowed in Grand Central Plaza."
"Yes, Ms. Mellon." Felix bowed respectfully.
Xiomara's face turned white as a sheet.
Valencia hadn't raised her voice, hadn't emphasized her tone, hadn't even furrowed her brow—but the confidence radiating from her bones was harsher than any shouting. "Also, pay more attention to your standards. Don't let just anyone in."
"Yes, Ms. Mellon. I'll remember." The sweat on Felix's forehead still hadn't dried. He bowed again.
The boutique fell deathly silent.
The onlookers quietly dispersed, some still glancing back, whispering to their companions, "Who is Ms. Mellon?"
The saleswoman had already disappeared—probably gone to HR.
Only the Wipere family mother and daughter stood frozen in place, like extras abandoned on a stage.
Haven's lips still trembled, her face a mess of red and pale—shame, humiliation, and resentment all churning together into a pot of scalding porridge.
She had never been publicly humiliated like this. Never.
And what crushed her most was that she still didn't know who this woman was.
"Ms. Mellon?" She forced the name through gritted teeth.
Xiomara stood beside her, taking a deep breath.
She gently took Haven's arm, her voice soft. "Mom, let's go. We'll talk when we get home. Maybe that manager just knows her and was doing her a favor. It's not good to make a scene in the mall."
Her voice was soft as water, but the hand holding Haven's arm unconsciously tightened, her nails digging through the fabric into her mother's arm.
Haven winced and glanced at her. Xiomara's face still wore that obedient, gentle expression, as though nothing had happened.
Xiomara cast one last look back at the boutique. Felix was personally hanging each piece Valencia had selected into garment bags, his movements more reverent than if he were serving his own mother.