Chapter 1 – Part One: A Chaotic Workplace
My life working in a retail store has always been an adventure. From dealing with difficult customers to surviving the weirdest staff members imaginable, no two days are ever the same. But at the end of the day, we're all there for one reason—to earn money so we can turn around and spend it again.
My name is Layla, and this is the story of how I ended up with the strangest job experience in the world.
It was a quiet Tuesday morning when I found myself slowly walking through the empty hallways of a store called Pick Your Product—Whatever You Need, We've Got It. The store sat in a local area known as Old Bridged Town, a place most people passed through without a second thought.
Pick Your Product wasn't famous, or even particularly popular, but we still got our fair share of customers. The higher-ups, however, constantly insisted that the store wasn't making enough money—even though, most days, it felt like we had to fight customers just to get them to leave. The stress alone was enough to give me a headache.
I was on my feet every day due to my position as a shelf packer, constantly restocking, reorganizing, and fixing messes that customers somehow created within minutes. I rarely worked early shifts, which meant I was late more often than I liked to admit. On top of that, I served as a stand-in supervisor whenever the real one was off.
Closing the store at night was a nightmare.
Getting customers to leave was nearly impossible—they'd wander around endlessly, mess up the shelves I had just finished fixing, and somehow fail to buy the exact thing they came in for. Seriously—just get to the point already.
…Sorry. I get worked up sometimes.
Anyway, one thing that never stayed the same was management.
Workers constantly tried to take advantage of the system, and eventually the higher-ups decided enough was enough. They wanted someone strict—someone who could turn the budget around and stop Pick Your Product from closing its doors for good.
So once again, a manager was demoted.
Mr. Rudolph.
He did his absolute best, and honestly, he was a genuinely kind man. Seeing him leave was hard. But that's just life—no one stays forever.
As time went on, rumors began to spread about a new manager joining us.
When the staff heard who it was, faces turned pale. Some of the older employees—those who had been around long enough to remember—fell into uneasy silence. They knew him.
And they weren't happy.
An intense quiet spread through the store as whispers and murmurs slithered through the aisles.
Is he really coming here?
I stood there, listening to the panicked voices of my colleagues, a strange feeling settling in my chest.
One of my colleagues—and close friends—approached me with a serious expression. Her voice trembled with nervous energy as she leaned closer.
"Layla," she whispered, "did you hear the news? We're getting a new store manager."
I sighed. "Yeah, I heard."
She swallowed hard before continuing. "Vincent Adams. He's coming here. You better prepare yourself—that man is evil." Her tone was exasperated, almost fearful.
"Well," I said carefully, "we have to give him a chance, right? Evil or not, the higher-ups are sending him to save the store. And honestly, it's better than the place shutting down and all of us ending up broke, jobless, and unemployed. Right, Jess?"
Jess didn't smile.
Instead, she placed both hands on my shoulders and looked at me with a strange mix of sadness and concern. "Layla… I don't know how someone with such a sweet soul ended up in this store."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "I'm going to pray—for us and for this place. That man is going to cause damage. He's going to break this store down."
On our way to the canteen to make some tea, we noticed the rest of the staff already gathered together. A crowd had formed near the tables—voices overlapping, tension thick in the air.
They were signing a petition.
A woman named Shannon spotted us and waved urgently.
"Layla! Jess! Come sign it!" she called out. "We're getting him transferred before he even starts."
Jess didn't hesitate—she was already stepping forward.
I wasn't so sure.
My eyes scanned the paper, my thoughts racing. I understood the fear. I really did. But all I could think about was my job—my paycheck, my stability.
I slowly backed away.
"I can't," I muttered, turning and leaving the canteen in a hurry. I needed air. I needed the bathroom. Anything to escape the pressure closing in around me.
That's when I ran into Lance.
Great, I thought. This guy.
Lance worked alone in the non-foods department and always—always—had something to complain about. Still, I forced a smile.
"Hey, Lance."
His face lit up immediately. "Hi, Layla! How are you?"
"I'm good, thanks. And you?"
His smile faded, replaced by a deep frown. "Honestly? Not great. I'm having car problems, I overslept, got to work late, and now everyone's accusing me of mislabeling stock. Can you believe that? Why do I always get blamed for everything?"
He looked genuinely miserable.
Before I could respond, another colleague—Isha—appeared out of nowhere.
"Are you complaining again?" she snapped. "The entire store is stressed about Mr. Evil Adams, and somehow you still find a way to whine about things nobody cares about."
I felt the tension spike instantly.
Not wanting things to explode, I grabbed Lance by the hand and pulled him toward the stockroom. "Come on," I whispered.
Behind us, Isha sighed loudly.
"Yet another victim of his complaints," she muttered. "Layla, what have you gotten yourself into?"
As Lance and I made our way toward the staff room, we suddenly stopped.
Someone stood in our path.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Muscular. His purple work shirt was neatly ironed, his posture stiff, hands tucked calmly into his pockets. His expression was unreadable—cold, controlled.
I had no idea who he was.
Lance, however, froze.
Then, slowly, he extended his hand.
"Good morning, Mr. Adams."
My heart dropped.
No…
I looked up in shock. Is this him?
This is Vincent Adams?
I thought he was supposed to arrive tomorrow. Why was he here now?
My thoughts shattered when he spoke.
"Good morning," he said evenly. "Lance… is that correct?"
Lance blinked. "Uh—yes?"
"I'm reading it from your name badge," Mr. Adams replied coolly.
"Yes, Mr. Adams," Lance said quickly.
Then those sharp eyes turned to me.
"And you," he said. "Where is your name badge?"
His tone was commanding—unquestionable.
My hands fumbled as I quickly clipped my badge above the right pocket of my shirt. "S-sorry, Mr. Adams. My name is Layla. Good morning."
He stared at me for a few seconds.
Then he nodded.
Without another word, he continued walking through the store.
Moments later, his voice echoed over the intercom.
"All staff of Pick Your Product, please report to the staff room immediately."
From that day on, everything changed.
Some say it was for the better.
Some say it was for the worse.
But one thing we all agreed on—
The store was never the same again.