Page 1 of The Bratva's Secret Twins

Chapter 1 – Vivian

“Thank you for shopping at Solenoir!”

I flashed my most brilliant smile at the bleached blonde whose card I’d just swiped and handed her the bag of dresses she’d purchased, even as she turned her nose up at me.

My smile dropped the moment her back was to me, and I sighed, massaging my temples in an attempt to soothe the aches that plagued my head.

This job is hard….

Retail jobs were always hard, but I didn’t work in any old shop. I was a saleswoman at Solenoir, one of the most thriving stores in the heart of the bustling city—a sanctuary for luxury and style…or at least that was their tagline. They upheld that standard with high, vaulted ceilings and gleaming gold accents. Even the uniform, a form-fitting black dress, made someone like me look expensive.

I’d been smiling all day. It didn’t matter that my jaw was hurting like crazy. A sunny smile was part of the uniform, even when dealing with the most devilish customers—and God, were they devilish. Why wouldn’t they be? Solenoir was a well-known brand whose customers were mainly the rich and powerful.

Working at Solenoir had taught me to be more patient and welcoming. It wasn’t like I had a choice anyway; I either learned that or lost the job. I couldn’t lose my job, so I learned.

Now, it was second nature to smile at all the spoiled brats who came in with their daddy’s Amex and threw tantrums over the littlest things. They were arrogant and treated staff like servants.

You’re doing good, Vivian. It’s just a matter of time.

I sighed softly, trying to tell myself that this would soon be over.

I had no plans of doing this forever. It wasn’t like my passion was to be a retail worker. I was great with numbers, so going to college to study finance was my goal. Life had just dealt me a difficult hand….

With no one to support me, I had to put my college plans on the back burner and work to survive and save up. I wasn’t fretting about it, though. I was only twenty, so I hadn’t fallen behind too much.

Two years ago, I’d left my mom, who was wrapped up in her awful boyfriend and never even had time for me. With how distant we were, I’d sometimes wondered if I was really her daughter.

Regardless, I hadn’t wallowed in self-pity. No, I’d taken a bold step to better my life; since I couldn’t go to college after high school, I’d taken the time to leave home, work hard, and gather the money to chase my dreams.

Solenoir was the best place to do that, considering how well they paid compared to most other places.

I was so lucky to get this job; I never forgot that. There were many applicants, but Solenoir had hired me specifically because I had adequate knowledge of fashion, spoke well, and looked good…at least that was what they said when they’d hired me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the familiar sound of heels clicking against fine marble floors, prompting me to jerk my head toward the approaching customers.

It was a man in his thirties, dressed in an expensive suit, with a beautiful, classy woman—probably in her mid-twenties—by his side.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Solenoir.” I plastered on my customer-friendly smile, maintaining politeness as I asked, “How can I assist you today?”

The man ignored me entirely, instead glancing around the luxurious Solenoir showroom with something resembling disdain on his face, his brows furrowed and his lips curled into a scowl.

His companion gently hit his arm, seeking to draw his attention to me. “Babe.”

His eyes settled on the meticulously arranged handbags in the showcase behind me.

“This place certainly doesn’t live up to the hype, babe,” he said to his lady, turning to face her. “I expected much better from a store of this supposed caliber. They even have riffraff running the front desks.”

Excuse me?

I was careful not to let the words fall out of my mouth, but I was pissed. I could tell the lady with him was also uncomfortable with his reaction—her mouth falling open—but he didn’t seem to care.

“I should take you to the store where my boss’s daughter works next,” he continued, lightly tucking the lady’s hair behind her ear. “It’s so classy that even someone like her is happy to work there.”

Right…. Worse than the spoiled princesses were these types: arrogant, nouveau-rich men with beautiful girls on their arms who they sought to impress with a show of wealth and power. Since they had limited amounts of both, it was often unfortunate retail workers like myself whom they used to show off.

Just my frickin’ luck.

I wondered what he would say if I told him his boss’s daughter had probably applied to Solenoir, too.

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