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Chapter 7: Dropping the Bomb

I logged into my old, private Reddit account. The secondary account had been abandoned for a long time, known only to a few close university friends. It used to be a little, quiet corner where I recorded my student days, like a digital diary to confide my feelings.

Among the many forgotten fragments, there was a post from three years ago, when I had just started dating Harrison. It was the very first time I went to an art exhibition with him. Harrison had “accidentally” spilled champagne, staining my white dress. At that time, I was so embarrassed I wanted to disappear into the ground.

Right below that day’s post, Harrison, using his verified personal account, had left a comment.

Sorry. The moment I saw you bowing your head to adjust your white dress, I suddenly remembered an old acquaintance who had passed away. I lost my focus.

That day, I didn’t think much of it and foolishly, sweetly replied, It’s okay! It’s an honor for an old acquaintance to be remembered by a senior like you.

A tiny, seemingly insignificant interaction, lost among hundreds of random posts. But at this very moment, it was the first, lethal stab straight through the deceptive, perfect mask of Harrison Sterling.

I took a high-definition screenshot of the entire post, keeping both his comment and my naive reply. The timestamp from three years ago was undeniably, permanently clear.

Then, I dug out the encrypted files from the portable hard drive. I opened the documents from the Sterling Charity Foundation regarding its massive, continuous funding for the congenital heart disease research project. I meticulously blurred out the sensitive patient information to protect the innocent. I only left the fund name, the project name—The Madeline Heart Research Initiative 2.0—along with Harrison’s official signature and the date of his authorization.

The date of the signature coincided exactly with three years ago, which was also the very beginning of our relationship.

Finally, I pulled out a screenshot of the original, vicious text message that Chloe had sent me at the altar. The phone number and cruel content were clearly visible. Next to it, I attached a few photos my private investigator had just acquired, showing Chloe’s gambling-addicted younger brother squandering hundreds of thousands of dollars in an international casino in Macau. The casino’s sign and his face were undeniably sharp.

After preparing all the lethal evidence, I opened a new post. Using the small, long-abandoned account, I drafted a very long, meticulous, flawless article.

The title was: The Truth About the “Infidelity,” the Slap at the Altar, and the Sterling Family’s Ghost.

Content:

Hello everyone. I am Vivienne Hayes, the wealthy bride who was falsely accused of infidelity before the wedding and slapped the groom in the face. I apologize for occupying public space with my private drama, but there are a few things I absolutely must clarify against a billionaire’s PR machine.

One, regarding the fake infidelity photos. The picture of the man sitting opposite me in the cafe is my licensed psychologist, Dr. Evans. Before the wedding, I was dealing with severe anxiety and sought professional counseling, which is completely legal, normal, and compliant. The second picture shows a man in a hotel uniform simply helping me pick up my fallen wedding bouquet. The hotel’s unedited surveillance cameras can prove this interaction lasted three seconds. I have submitted this irrefutable video evidence to the police and my lawyers; those malicious individuals hired by the Sterling PR team who spread the rumors have been scheduled for a court appearance for defamation.

Two, regarding the slap that day. The main reason I slapped him is the attached screenshot of a comment from three years ago by Harrison Sterling: ‘Looking at you as you lower your head to adjust your dress reminds me of someone from the past.’ The fourth picture attached is a photo of the Sterling charity fund’s document sponsoring a heart disease research project named after his dead ex-girlfriend, with his clear signature and date. The absolute, sickening truth is, he married me only because my side profile physically resembled his deceased lover, Madeline. Three years of deep love turned out to be just a psychotic charade. On the wedding day, when I learned the whole truth, I couldn’t control my emotions and slapped him. I admit that slap. I deserved to give it, and I decided to slap him.

Three, regarding the person who sent the anonymous text to ruin the wedding. Attached are five photos of Chloe’s original text messages. The sender of the malicious message is my former best friend of 10 years, Chloe. The motive for her actions is clear when viewing the six attached photos showing Chloe’s younger brother gambling at a foreign casino. Chloe, did you really think you could hide the fact that you embezzled your company’s corporate funds to let your brother gamble?

And finally, Harrison used a massive charity fund to treat his ‘White Moonlight’s’ illness, while polishing his feelings using me as a substitute. It is truly ridiculous. Hiring an online troll army to smear me, trying to suppress public opinion to silence a woman you abused.

Sorry, Harrison. Now that I’ve overturned this table, no one will have peace. I am no longer playing the role of a substitute.

After the draft was complete, I proofread the wording one more time. No hysterical incitement, just presenting the cold, hard truth clearly, backed with absolute, complete evidence.

I pressed ‘Send’ on the long article. I closed my laptop.

The whole house was silent for a moment. I knew exactly how fierce the media storm would be out there. I didn’t need to look at the comments; I just needed to wait. Waiting for the people I targeted to burn. Waiting for my nuclear weapon to explode at the exact right time.

Chapter 8: Checkmate

The first person to fall, predictably, was Chloe.

Less than half an hour after I posted the article, my phone rang. She called my old, original number, and I answered it, putting it on speaker.

Her voice was shrill, almost breaking, trembling with absolute fear and despair.

“Vivienne! Are you crazy?!” Chloe shrieked. “Why did you post pictures of my brother?! Where did you get those pictures from?! Do you want to force me into a corner?! I will go to prison!”

“I was wrong, Vivienne, I was really wrong!” she suddenly started sobbing hysterically, changing her tune. “I shouldn’t have sent that message to you at the altar. I was blinded by jealousy. It was Harrison who hinted at it to me! He said that if you knew the truth, you would leave him. He said he had had enough, didn’t want to be tied to a substitute anymore, and wanted to get rid of you without looking like the bad guy! That’s why I did it!”

“Shut up,” I coldly cut off her desperate, pathetic cries.

“Chloe, I gave you a chance. A generous chance to shut your mouth,” I said evenly. “Now it’s too late. As for your massive embezzlement of public funds, just wait for the federal prosecutor’s summons. And as for your brother, if he can’t pay his massive gambling debts and gets his hands and feet broken by the casino mob, that is his own retribution. Take care of yourself.”

After saying that, I completely ignored the hysterical crying on the other end of the line and hung up. I blocked her number forever.

The second person who couldn’t sit still was Harrison.

He went directly to the new mansion. This time, he didn’t bring any massive bodyguards; he was entirely alone.

The violent banging on the front door was so incredibly loud it felt like it would tear down the entire building.

“Vivienne! Open the door and explain this to me!”

I calmly stepped out from the living room and looked at him through the security peephole.

Harrison’s perfectly styled hair was disheveled, his dark eyes were bloodshot, and his expensive, elegant clothes were wrinkled as if they had been violently crumpled. He no longer resembled the confident, dignified, untouchable young billionaire master he always was; he looked exactly like a cornered, rabid beast.

“Mr. Sterling, what’s the matter?” I asked through the heavy door’s intercom, my voice perfectly calm.

“Delete that post immediately!” he growled, his voice hoarse and desperate. “And those screenshots too! What are you planning to do?! Destroy me?! Destroy my family?!”

I chuckled softly into the intercom. “It was you, Harrison, who tried to destroy me first. You used dirty, pathetic PR tricks to dump garbage on me, wanting to kill my reputation. I was only acting in legitimate self-defense.”

“Legitimate self-defense?!” Harrison was furious. He sounded as if he’d just heard a terrible joke. He slammed his heavy fist against the thick wooden door. “Vivienne! Do you know what it means that article was published?! The Sterling family’s stock has started to plummet! The board of directors is calling me non-stop, threatening to oust me! My father was so angry he had a minor heart attack and had to go to the hospital!”

“That’s the Sterling family’s business,” I replied calmly. “It has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“It has nothing to do with you?!” His voice rose, filled with insane, toxic hatred. “Vivienne. You’re so ruthless. You’re so determined to ruin me. Fine! If you want to play dirty, I’ll play along!”

“Do you think the pathetic things you hold in your hands can bring me down? Dream on!” he snarled, enunciating each word. “That prenuptial agreement? I have the best lawyers in the country. I can sue you for extortion anytime. And those photos and documents? I will accuse you of stealing trade secrets and trespassing!”

“And that hard drive too.”

His voice suddenly became very low, carrying a dark, terrifying, threatening tone. “I advise you to hand it over, Vivienne. That’s not something a little girl should touch. Holding it in your hands, you might bring lethal trouble upon yourself. You won’t come back alive if those men find out.”

The hard drive. He knew it was missing, and he was clearly, viscerally terrified of it being exposed.

My heart skipped a beat, but my voice remained absolute ice. “What hard drive? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Don’t pretend!” Harrison gritted his teeth. “I know exactly what disappeared from my study! Give me that hard drive, Vivienne. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise what?” I interrupted harshly.

My voice suddenly turned as cold as liquid nitrogen. “Let me remind you of something, Harrison. Now get off my property immediately. If you dare bother me again, or pull any more dirty, pathetic tricks online, I guarantee the entire, unencrypted contents of the hard drive hidden behind the safe in your study will be on the desk of the federal economic investigation and IRS tax inspection team tomorrow morning.”

“By the way,” I added sadistically, “I’ll make a copy and send it directly to your father, the Chairman, and every single member of the board of directors of the Sterling Corporation. You decide for yourself whether you’ll be ruined in federal prison, or if you want to test if I’ll bring trouble upon myself first.”

Suddenly, there was a deathly, heavy silence outside. The aggressive knocking stopped. The gasping breaths ceased. Leaving only a heavy, suffocating silence that seemed to drain the air from the porch.

It wasn’t until more than a full minute later that Harrison’s voice rang out again. It was hoarse, hollow, and filled with absolute despair and fear, like someone whose life force had been completely, violently drained away.

“Vivienne,” he called my name, each word grinding painfully from between his teeth.

He had lost.

“Speak. What do you want?” I finally heard the surrender.

I opened the door, just a tiny crack, leaving the heavy chain lock engaged. Through the crack, I looked straight at the disheveled, broken man. His eyes were gray and dead, no longer possessing the haughty, billionaire air he once had.

“It’s very simple,” I said. “I will state every word, every condition clearly. You will obey them.”

“First. Immediately publish a public, official statement correcting all platforms. Admit that the prenuptial infidelity rumors were maliciously fabricated, slandered, and defamed by your PR team. Publicly apologize and commit to not continuing to use any form of harassment, threats, or public attacks against me and my family.”

“Second. Sign the divorce papers. We’ve already registered legally. Even though the wedding ceremony is not yet complete, according to the appendix in the prenuptial agreement, you are at fault. The mansion, registered in my name, has already been sold. The money belongs entirely to me, along with a massive, one-time payment of compensation for emotional distress that will make even my wealthy father blush.”

“Third.” I finished speaking, seeing his body tense up immediately in anticipation of the final blow. “I request the medical fund under the corporation’s jurisdiction. Over the next three years, the Madeline Project to help children with congenital heart disease will receive double the current funding from your personal accounts.”

Harrison suddenly looked up at me intently, his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” I scoffed, staring straight at him. “Do you regret having to use the expensive altar you built for your dead girlfriend to actually save living children?”

His expression changed repeatedly. His fists loosening and then tightening helplessly. Finally, he collapsed against the doorframe as if his spine had been removed.

“Okay,” he hissed, a pathetic sound of complete humiliation and absolute helplessness. “I agree. To all conditions.”

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