Chapter 3

"Get the hell out of here, you shameless home-wrecker!"

"Who knows what kind of STDs you're carrying? You're probably sleeping with every guy in the neighborhood and turning this place into a damn cesspool!"

As I wiped the filthy water from my face, I realized that the internet had exploded overnight.

A headline was already circulating everywhere: [Broke College Girl Creeps into Dunn Group CEO's Bed, Desperate to Land a Wealthy Sponsor.]

Someone had taken photos of Vincent wrapping his arms around me inside my apartment and leaving late at night. Those pictures had quickly become the centerpiece of the scandal.

Worse still, people had dug up my old college photos and twisted my past into something sordid. They claimed that my tutoring gigs and part-time jobs had merely been a cover for soliciting wealthy men.

As the accusations spread, the neighbors outside my door joined in, hurling insults and throwing trash in my direction. Unable to bear it any longer, I slammed the door shut and frantically called Vincent.

The moment he answered, he spoke before I could get a word out. "I saw the trending topics. Don't panic. I'm handling it. Don't open the door for anyone, and make sure you stay safe."

Although his voice carried an unmistakable edge of anxiety, he still spoke in that familiar, gentle tone, as if reassuring me were enough to make everything all right.

Choking back my tears, I whispered, "Vincent, let's break up..."

Floriane's panicked voice cut through the receiver. "Vincent, the board of directors is calling an emergency meeting!"

The rest of my words died on my lips as the call abruptly disconnected.

Half an hour later, instead of hearing from him, I saw a new video explode across social media and immediately dominate the trending page.

Floriane stood before the camera with tears glistening in her eyes, looking every bit the wronged fiancée. "Nancy Daniels was a disadvantaged student Vincent sponsored.

"He helped her purely out of the goodness of his heart, but we never expected her to develop wild fantasies about their relationship."

She looked directly into the lens, her voice hardening. "Here's some advice for certain people: if you're a rat, stay in the gutter where you belong!"

Her statement left little room for doubt about whom she was targeting. Within minutes, the comments turned vicious, and I was branded a shameless home-wrecker by strangers who knew nothing about me.

Then Vincent's official press release appeared, driving the final nail into the coffin of my reputation.

[The leaked photos have been manipulated and taken out of context. Floriane and I are deeply in love, and we will pursue full legal action against anyone spreading false rumors.]

The internet erupted into a feeding frenzy.

[I knew it was fake news! No sane man would cheat on an elite heiress with some penniless college student.]

[Is she seriously trying to play the mistress card to force a breakup? College students are getting a bad name because of clout-chasers like her.]

Before long, my personal information was leaked online, and my phone was flooded with a relentless barrage of abusive texts and hate mail.

As if that weren't enough, my university advisor called soon afterward.

"Nancy, the international board in Europe has just contacted us," she said solemnly. "They're demanding a formal explanation for the online scandal. If they don't find your response satisfactory, your doctoral fellowship offer may be revoked."

One blow after another left me completely numb. I didn't know how to defend myself.

Then a text from Vincent appeared on my phone.

[Nancy, don't hold this against me. This was the only way to minimize the fallout.]

I stared at the message for a long time before he called.

"Just hang in there a little longer," he said, sounding deeply exhausted. "Once this storm blows over, I can give you everything you've ever wanted, except the legal title."

Even now, he still believed that I would accept whatever scraps of affection he was willing to offer.

But I'd finally had enough.

"Vincent, stop lying to yourself," I said quietly. "It was never just the title you couldn't give me. It was love."

Before he could respond, I hung up.

I then logged into a blogging app and began drafting a post detailing our seven-year relationship. I carefully gathered the receipts, photos, and messages that could prove we'd been together all those years.

But just as my thumb hovered over the Publish button, an incoming call flashed across my screen.

I answered, and Gail's frantic voice came crashing through the speaker.

"Someone told your mom you're a rich man's side chick! She just had a stroke and was rushed to the ICU!"