Chapter 3

To humiliate me, Rosalie started a livestream across all major social platforms.

The headline was jarring—"Tracking Down the Runaway Scammer: The Pathetic Reality of the Langley Family Heir".

The second the stream went live, the viewer count spiked. After all, Rosalie was now a rising tech mogul, while I was the legendary ex-boyfriend who had allegedly run off with her money.

The narrow hallway of the rundown complex was soon packed with neighbors and live-streamers looking for a spectacle.

The old woman living next door, who never missed a chance to take advantage of me, was now spitting into the camera lens just to suck up to Rosalie.

"Oh, that Theodore boy has always been a mess!" she crowed. "He's always bringing sketchy girls back here, and they often cause a ruckus in the middle of the night."

The chat overflowed with comments calling me a "scumbag", a "con artist", and a "piece of trash".

"I feel so bad for Ms. Vaughn. He almost got her killed back then."

"Doesn't he have an older sister? Who knows where she ended up? She probably ditched him ages ago!"

"Honestly, if it wasn't for this jinx, would the Langleys have lost everything? Would his sister have gone missing?"

I couldn't understand a word they were saying. It just felt like thousands of bees were buzzing through my head.

Acting like he owned the place, Sebastian ordered the bodyguards to tear my closet apart.

He fished out a few pairs of tattered underwear, threadbare and yellowed from too many washes. With two fingers, he dangled them in front of the lens, his face twisted in disgust.

"Take a look, everyone. This is what Mr. Langley has been wearing," Sebastian mocked. "Honestly, calling these rags thrift-store leftovers is a compliment. But wait, what are these weird stains on them? Looks like he's been living quite an eventful life, huh?"

He was strongly implying that I was the type to sleep around and might even be working as a gigolo.

Rosalie sat on a high chair like a presiding judge, coldly observing the scene.

"Theodore, spill it. Where did that 500,000 dollars go? You stole the money meant for my life-saving surgery. How do you sleep at night?"

I clutched my head, my memories a tangled, chaotic mess.

Only disjointed, fragmented scenes flashed through my mind—white hospital walls, bright red blood, a signature on a surgical consent form, and a doctor's cold, indifferent expression.

My lips trembled as I tried to defend myself.

"Money…. Gave it to the doctor… To save… Rosalie…"

At those words, Rosalie's expression darkened.

She stormed over, grabbed me by the hair, and forced me to face the camera.

"You gave it to the doctor? Are you trying to tell me you saved my life?" Rosalie growled. "Theodore, there's a limit to your lies! Sebastian was the one who saved me back then. You took the money and ran off with some woman, and now you're trying to steal his credit?"

She was utterly convinced that I was lying to steal someone else's credit, and the disgust in her eyes was impossible to hide.

"I guess you aren't crazy enough yet."

She flicked her wrist. "Wake him up."

A bucket of ice-cold water, the rancid water from just mopping the floor, was thrown directly over my head.

In the dead of late fall, I could feel the chill in my bones.

I was drenched from head to toe, my wet hair plastered against my face, looking like a mess. One of those tattered pairs of underwear landed squarely across my face, obscuring my vision.

Laughter and the clicking of camera shutters erupted all around me.

I shivered and curled into myself like a pathetic animal.

Once upon a time, I was the precious son of the Langley family and the apple of their eyes.

How did I end up like this?

I couldn't understand it, and my head ached terribly.