After getting my cartilage pierced, I went to wash my hair at Haven Hair Studio. I specifically told the stylist to avoid my ear. But not only did she smudge half the foundation off my forehead, she deliberately aimed the sprayer directly at my ear. The pain brought me to tears. When I stopped her, she sneered, “If you can’t even handle this pain, how do you have the guts to go after someone else’s man?” I was dumbfounded. Then she accused me of being “a fake, acting all innocent like a two-faced dove.” I’d had enough. I grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and shoved it into my brother Ashton’s arms. “You’re the boss—your turn!” Content 1 After getting my ear pierced, I remembered there was a family dinner tomorrow. Too lazy to wash my hair at home, I decided to head over to my brother Ashton’s salon, Haven Hair Studio. He wasn’t there, but he thoughtfully arranged for a stylist who, he said, had a gentle touch. The stylist walked over with an irritated scowl and muttered under her breath, “So now I’m washing some side chick’s hair? What a filthy man.” I raised an eyebrow at her and simply reminded her, “Please don’t get any water on my ear.” The skin around the fresh piercing was still sensitive, and getting it wet could lead to an infection. “Got it. But let me make one thing clear—I hate being interrupted while I work. So zip it!” she snapped, her tone brimming with hostility. Her sudden outburst left me stunned. Was she mad at me? “What’s with your attitude?” Before she could respond, a sharp pain shot through my ear. She had deliberately sprayed water directly onto the freshly pierced cartilage. “Ahh!” I clutched my ear, tears streaming down as the pain throbbed relentlessly. “I told you not to get my ear wet. You even said you heard me—so what’s your deal?” “Oh, my bad,” she replied with mock indifference. “Didn’t mean to. But seriously, you’re so fragile. It’s just water; you won’t die from it. Stop being so dramatic.” I was speechless. “I’m paying for a service. You’re treating me like this, and I’m not allowed to complain?” “Oh, please. You’re probably spending someone else’s money anyway. Girls like you who chase other people’s men? You deserve it. If you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least toughen up. What would you do if the wife came looking for a fight? Let her kill you?” She sneered at me, clearly imagining me as some desperate mistress. “What nonsense are you spouting? Who’s a mistress?” Her words lit a fire in me. Anyone would be furious if they were wrongly accused like that. “Oh, so you’re not a mistress? Then you must want to be one. No respectable woman gets her cartilage pierced. Stop pretending. What, you think I can’t see through your act, you two-faced little dove?” Her ridiculous logic made me laugh. “If you don’t want to wash my hair, get someone else to do it.” I didn’t want to waste another word on her. Her worldview was obviously warped. But she yanked my hair back and started lathering shampoo aggressively. I tried to sit up, but her grip was too strong. The sound of blow dryers filled the salon, drowning out my attempts to call for help. Helpless, I clutched my ear protectively and grimaced through the entire ordeal. When I finally sat in front of the mirror, I noticed something horrifying—half my foundation near my hairline was completely gone. Can someone explain where the makeup on my forehead went? 2 I glanced at the nametag on her chest. “Tiffany Carraway.” “Miss Carraway,” I said, pointing at my forehead. “Care to explain why half my foundation vanished while you were washing my hair?” She blinked, her expression unapologetic. “Oh, you were caking. I did you a favor and washed it off. No need to thank me—it was nothing.” Then, as if to top off her masterpiece, she yanked a towel around my hair, pulling out several strands in the process. I winced in pain, watching as she picked up the blow dryer. “You don’t need to dry my hair—” She pretended not to hear me. The dryer roared to life, and she aimed it at my scalp, holding it so close that the heat scorched my skin. I quickly grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and turned it on her face. “Oh, you like blowing? Here, let me help you!” Just then, Ashton walked in. “What’s going on here?” Tiffany quickly launched into her sob story, looking pitiful. “This customer seems unhappy with my service. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough.” Ashton nodded, ever the straightforward one. “Riley’s picky. You’re still new; it’s normal that she’s not satisfied. Go take a break.” Tiffany looked like she’d been slapped. She clearly expected some sympathy, but Ashton’s bluntness left her on the verge of tears. I tossed the blow dryer into Ashton’s arms and smiled sweetly. “Big bro, her skills are awful. Why don’t you take over?” Tiffany’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ashton, personally drying my hair? And I’d even called him “big bro” so affectionately—something she’d never done. From the mirror, I caught her hateful glare. It was immensely satisfying. When it was time to pay, I pulled out my phone to scan the code, but Ashton stopped me. “Why are you paying? This is my salon—just head home.” I smirked at Tiffany. “But your stylist seems to disagree?” Tiffany forced a smile. “I just didn’t want the books to get messy…” Ashton frowned. “Put it on my tab, then.” Her face turned even paler. Humming a tune, I left in high spirits, only to be stopped by Tiffany just outside the door. “You little tramp! Stay away from Ashton!” Ashton—my brother. I turned to her with an amused smile. Her overly delicate makeup and colorful highlights clashed with her faux-innocent vibe. She looked exactly like a TikTok E-girl trying too hard. “And what authority do you have to warn me? You’re out of your depth.” “He’s my man! You’ll never have him. He’d never choose someone like you!” “Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Keep dreaming.” As I turned to leave, she stepped in front of me and slapped me hard across the face. Caught off guard, I stumbled, scraping my palm on the concrete. “Ah!” I stared at the blood trickling from my hand. My ear throbbed from the impact of her slap. Furious, I stood up and returned the slap, hard. I’d wanted to do this ever since she sprayed water on my ear. “You’re insane!” I snapped and walked off without looking back. Behind me, she yelled, “Try going after Ashton again, and you’ll regret it!” 3 The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed early and went to Bayside Medical Center. My ear was inflamed from all the torture it had endured and hurt so badly I couldn’t sleep. After picking up my prescription, I ran into Harper Winslow, an old high school friend who was there for a prenatal checkup. With the family dinner set for later that afternoon and nothing urgent to do, I decided to keep her company. The clinic was bustling with people. Early pregnancy could be risky in such a crowded place. While waiting outside for Harper, I suddenly heard a shrill voice: “It’s you!” I looked up. Of course, it was Tiffany Carraway, the crazy stylist from yesterday. I rolled my eyes and turned away, not in the mood to engage. But Tiffany, true to form, wouldn’t let it go. “What are you doing at Gynecologist? Oh my God, are you pregnant? Whose kid is it? You’re out here having a baby and still chasing Ashton? Have you no shame?” How could someone jump to such insane conclusions? “You’re nuts! Whatever I’m doing has nothing to do with you!” I shot back, annoyed. Her eyes darted around before she turned and began shouting for attention. “Everyone, look over here! This woman was flirting with my boyfriend yesterday, then hit me when I called her out. And now she’s here, probably carrying some random loser’s baby. Maybe she’s even selling herself!” As she ranted, she jabbed her finger at my shoulder and gave me a hard shove, making me stumble back. People began gathering, eager to witness the commotion. “She looks so pretty, but she’s doing this? The world is going downhill,” someone muttered. “Pregnant and still causing drama? Some women just love attention,” another sneered. I was shaking with anger. This wasn’t just slander; it was public humiliation. “What the hell are you even talking about?” Harper’s voice cut through the noise as she walked out of the exam room. “You’re committing defamation. Do you realize that?” “Oh, so now you’ve got backup?” Tiffany sneered. “You know your behavior disgusts everyone, so you brought a friend to defend you? Where’s the baby daddy? Or are you two part of some organization? Gross! Stay away from me; I don’t want to catch anything from you!” “Tiffany, enough! Don’t think I won’t call the police!” I pulled out my phone and dialed 91
Seeing this, Tiffany lunged for my phone. “You’ve already thrown your dignity out the window by being a homewrecker. What’s the point of pretending now?” “Stop!” During the scuffle, Tiffany pushed Harper, who was holding her stomach. Harper fell to the ground with a cry of pain. “My stomach… it hurts…” Harper’s face turned pale as blood pooled beneath her. “Harper! Someone, get a doctor!” I shouted, rushing to help her. The crowd backed away, not wanting to get involved. Thankfully, we were already at the hospital, and a nurse quickly wheeled Harper into the emergency room. I turned to Tiffany, furious. “I already called the cops. If anything happens to Harper’s baby, you’re done.” Tiffany collected herself and scoffed, “That’s her problem! Not like she’s some saint. The kid would’ve been a bastard anyway.” When the police arrived, Ethan Garrison, Harper’s husband, came with them. The first thing he asked was, “How’s the baby?” When the doctor explained the situation, Ethan turned to Harper with a scowl. “Useless woman!” he snapped. Meanwhile, Tiffany stood before the police with her usual arrogance. “She fell on her own. Don’t even try to pin this on me.” Ethan stormed toward her, but when he saw her face, he froze, staring dumbly. 4 I watched Ethan’s reaction, frowning. The officers, seeing Harper’s husband had arrived, suggested resolving the matter privately. Noticing Ethan’s fixation on her, Tiffany’s expression shifted from disdain to faux innocence. With teary eyes and a trembling voice, she looked up at him like a fragile dove caught in the wind. “I didn’t mean to push your wife. Please forgive me,” she pleaded. Ethan’s expression softened immediately. “Okay… okay…” “What?! Harper could lose her baby, and you’re forgiving her?” I demanded. Ethan waved me off impatiently. “If the baby’s gone, that’s Harper’s fault. I’m her husband, so I get to decide. You don’t have any right to interfere.” “You—!” I started, but Tiffany cut me off. She grasped Ethan’s hand and murmured, “Thank you.” Ethan’s face flushed as he squeezed her hand, his thumb grazing her skin. “No problem,” he said, leering. I was speechless. Harper married this guy? It made sense, though. What kind of husband lets his pregnant wife come to the clinic alone? The police, clearly uncomfortable, prepared to leave. “Her public defamation of me—surely you can press charges for that?” I asked. One officer hesitated. “Do you have any recordings or videos? Without evidence, it’s hard to proceed.” I sighed, wishing I’d slapped Tiffany harder earlier. Tiffany, smirking triumphantly, threw Ethan a flirtatious glance before strutting off. Ethan remained, staring after her, completely unaware that Harper had already been wheeled out of the operating room. Realizing Ethan had no intention of helping Harper recover, I arranged for a reliable caregiver to assist her during her recovery. Later, I recounted everything to Harper, urging her to consider whether Ethan was worth staying with. The Harper I remembered from high school was bold, strong, and decisive—the kind of woman other girls aspired to be. Ethan wasn’t her match, and she definitely wasn’t the type to settle for someone like him. I trusted she’d figure it out. That evening, during the family dinner, I shared all of Tiffany’s antics with Ashton. Ashton listened, stunned by the sheer drama and venom Tiffany brought into his salon. “I mean, seriously. Her attitude’s awful…” As I finished recounting the story, I reached for my glass of water, but before I could drink it— SPLASH! Cold water drenched me, and I looked up to see Tiffany standing there, trembling with rage. “You b*tch! I told you to stay away from Ashton! How dare you get close to him again?” Everyone at the table froze in shock. “Who is this woman? Ashton, get her out of here!” a family member finally said. Ashton, just as stunned, stood and grabbed Tiffany’s arm to drag her out. But Tiffany wasn’t done. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend! You must be his family, right? Is this some setup to marry him off? Let me tell you, Ashton already has me! And this woman you brought here? She’s nothing but a tramp. I saw her at Gynecologist earlier, probably pregnant with someone else’s kid, hoping Ashton will play stepdad!”
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