I'm a rich second-generation from Shanghai.
I went to look at a home for our marriage with my husband, but the saleswoman spent the whole time hovering around him.
She didn't even spare me a glance, leaving me out in the cold.
When my husband told me he'd picked a place, I held up the contract, still warm from the printer. "I've already signed."
The saleswoman shouted at the new hire who'd signed the deal with me: "How dare you steal my client!"
I shielded the young woman behind me and sneered. "I've always been her client. There's no stealing involved, since you've never even helped me."
The saleswoman turned and looked at my husband with pitiful eyes. "Big Brother Song, it's your house, so you decide. Do you want the one she showed you or the one I showed you?"
I folded my arms and smiled at my husband.
Whenever anyone bullied me, he always gave them a thorough scolding.
This time, though, he said nothing harsh. He just took my hand and smiled as gently as ever. "Since we've bought the place, let's go eat."
After we turned to leave, the saleswoman asked anxiously, "Sis, the last time you came to look at a marital home, I think you were with a different guy. So which one is your fiance, exactly?"
