CHAPTER SEVEN

As my account was taking time to verify, I stood up and paced aggressively around the room. After some time, the account was finally verified. A sudden stillness came over me as I had just crossed a line I should never have. It was now asking for my username and profile picture. I stared at it for a while, then I sat on the floor and breathed.

I glanced at the wall clock. It was past ten. The apartment was a mild disaster from my morning rush to work. The couch pillow was on the wrong side of the room, a magazine was hanging off the edge of the coffee table, and my work bag lay scattered on the floor. I had not eaten, but somehow I felt full.

I finally stood up and sat in the chair in front of my laptop. The screen was already sleeping. I touched the touchpad to wake it. I stared at the screen for a little while, then I put in my username: henrybhater.

For a moment, I sat still, my fingers raised and hovering over the keypad. Every word came out faster than I expected, like they had already been written somewhere inside me and were just waiting for a screen to land on. Then I typed:

“Henry Brown isn't what you think he is. He's a liar, a scum, and a fraud. He acts like he loves his fans, but he does the complete opposite behind the scenes. The humble celebrity is all an act. He has done very shameful things, things that would change everything you think you know about him. Follow this account. Evidence drops on Saturday, 10 pm prompt.”

I read it back twice. Then I posted it.

I lifted my phone and put it face down on the table without looking at the screen. Then I sat back and let the silence of the apartment close in around me. The laptop screen glowed faintly in front of me as the only source of light in the room. Outside, I could hear the distant sound of a car passing on the road below, life moving on normally while mine sat perfectly still. I could barely feel happiness or relief. The only word I could use to describe the emotion was fear.

I wanted to be the woman who finally stood up for herself by speaking out, but now I had to do that by making someone else suffer first.

It's all for the greater good, I reflected. I have to put him in shape so that no one outside will hurt him. If people already hate him so much, it's only right that I do this much for him. I love him, and nothing can change that.

I sat there for a long time. The room was dark except for the laptop screen and the thin strip of light coming from under the kitchen door. My hands were still in my lap, my phone still face down on the table. I had expected to feel powerful, or to feel like a woman who had finally decided to change things for herself and her family. Instead I just felt tired and sleepy.

Saturday was four days away. I had to look for evidence to scandalize him. The only thought I had was love for him. I thought of how he might become gentle when he sees himself in trouble. Although I wanted him to pass through pain, I still wanted him to know how far I would go for him, even if it meant punishing him.

I thought of how Henry wants us to attend the Stellar Awards as a couple. I knew he wanted to use me for one night to maintain his perfect image while spending the rest of his time with someone else on that flight to Hawaii.

While I was refreshing the page to see if anyone had seen the post, a new thread popped up. It was a compilation of Henry's most romantic interview moments — clips of him talking about his wife, blushing, saying he would do anything to protect her, and clips of him talking about how much he loved his fans. The thread already had ten thousand likes and four hundred comments. People were calling him husband goals, saying that his wife was the luckiest woman alive.

Who would ever think that the same lucky wife was the one planning to destroy him?

I commented on the post: "Henry is not who he seems. I have proof. Check my page." I spammed this across every comment section I could find on posts about Henry, creating as much awareness as I could from my dark apartment. 

By the next morning, the page had already been viewed by more than a hundred people, and I had twelve followers. I checked through them; some were Henry's fans, others were random. I opened the post. There were already three comments and seven likes. I opened the comment section to read the comments.

@prisca_456: Piss off bi**h. Stop trying to chase engagement with Henry's name.

@lolapita: Lol. Clout chasers.

@pinkpen0: Your DM, please!

I stared at the screen for a moment. Two of them were exactly what I expected. The over-obsessed fans who always protect their idol like they actually know him at all. The third one was different. I was very curious, so I tapped on the message request. My thumb hovered over the Accept button for exactly two seconds. Then I pressed it.