Walking into the bridal salon, I felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. At 55, I never thought I’d be standing in a place like this, shopping for my dream wedding dress. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a golden glow over rows of breathtaking gowns, each one a masterpiece.

I should have been savoring this moment.

Instead, I felt the weight of judgment the second I stepped inside.

Two saleswomen, young and impeccably polished, eyed me from across the room. Their smiles were polite, but their gazes lingered a little too long, taking in my age, my complexion, my simple outfit. I knew exactly what they were thinking.

I didn’t belong here.

Still, I held my head high and approached the nearest rack, running my fingers over the delicate lace of a gown. Before I could fully take it in, one of the saleswomen, a tall blonde with a too-perfect smile, stepped forward.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake politeness.

“Yes,” I said, ignoring the condescension in her tone. “I’d like to try on some dresses. I love lace, but I’m open to different styles.”

Her eyebrows shot up, as if I’d just asked for a dress made of gold.

“Uh… these dresses are quite delicate,” she said carefully. “You might want to be extra careful when touching them. We wouldn’t want any damage.”

I blinked, surprised. “My hands are clean,” I replied, keeping my voice even.

She smirked slightly, clearly amused. “I just meant… these gowns are quite expensive. Maybe you’d like to look at something more affordable?”

Before I could respond, another saleswoman, a brunette with a painfully tight ponytail, joined her.

“We actually have some beautiful dresses in the clearance section,” she said with a forced smile. “They’re last season, but they might be more… in your price range.”

There it was.

The assumption.

They had already decided who I was. A middle-aged Hispanic woman in a high-end bridal salon? In their eyes, I didn’t belong.

I clenched my jaw but forced a smile.

“Actually,” I said, turning toward a mannequin, “I’d like to try this one.”

Their eyes widened.

The dress I had pointed to was breathtaking—an intricate lace gown with delicate beading, the kind of dress that made you feel like royalty.

The blonde let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Oh… are you sure?” she asked, voice sickly sweet. “That dress is over $10,000. It might be a little… out of budget for someone like you.”

I held her gaze, my smile never faltering. “I’d still like to try it.”

Just then, a deep voice cut through the tension.

“What’s going on here?”

The manager, John, had stepped into the room, his sharp gaze flickering between me and the two saleswomen.

Ashley—the blonde—straightened her posture. “Oh, nothing, John. Just making sure our merchandise is handled properly. This lady was eyeing some of the pricier gowns, and we were just… guiding her to more suitable options.”

She thought she was being clever.

John’s expression darkened.

“This lady?” he repeated. “You mean Ms. Morales? Soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd?”

The room fell silent.

Ashley and her coworker paled.

John took a slow step forward, lowering his voice to a steely calm. “She is the new owner of this salon.”

The blood drained from their faces.

Ashley’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Wait… what? I thought Mr. Thomas was the owner?”

“Mr. Shepherd,” John corrected. “Ms. Morales’ fiancé. He purchased this salon for her. If either of you had been paying attention to store updates instead of judging customers, you would have known that.”

They stood frozen, realization dawning on them.

I could see it in their wide, panicked eyes—they were replaying every word they had spoken to me, every condescending look, every dismissive sneer.

John turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Ms. Morales, if you’d like, I can fire them both right now.”

I took a slow breath, studying the two women in front of me. Their arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more satisfying.

Fear.

I let the silence stretch before shaking my head.

“Not yet,” I said.

Ashley and Matilda flinched.

John’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, turning back to them.

“Ashley,” I said, my tone steady, “for the next month, you’ll be my personal assistant. My fiancé and I have a lot to do before the wedding, and I expect you to handle every detail flawlessly.”

Her jaw dropped. “P-Personal assistant?” she stammered.

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “You’ll learn what this business is really about. You will serve customers, regardless of how they look, what they wear, or where they come from. You will understand that this job isn’t just about selling dresses. It’s about making every bride feel beautiful. We’re not just selling fabric—we’re selling dreams.”

Ashley swallowed hard, nodding frantically.

I turned to Matilda.

“And you,” I continued, “will study everything there is to know about bridal fashion. Materials, silhouettes, veils, alterations. You will be the expert in this store. Because clearly, you need to understand what you’re actually selling.”

Matilda’s cheeks flushed red. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

Both women nodded, their once-smug faces now filled with regret.

“Good,” I said smoothly. “Now, Ashley, get me some champagne and ask me what kind of dress I want.”

She nearly tripped over herself rushing to the back. Matilda darted to the racks, pulling the lace gown I had chosen.

As she held it up, I tilted my head. “What do you think, Matilda? Will it suit me?”

She hesitated before answering, carefully considering her words.

“I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, ma’am,” she said. “But… a sweetheart neckline might complement your shoulders better.”

A slow smile spread across my lips. “Much better, Matilda.”

As I sipped my champagne and studied my dress options, I knew I had my work cut out for me. These girls had a lot to learn, but they would.

And as for me?

I had a wedding dress to find.