Chapter 3: Viral Fallout

After getting into the car, I turned on my phone. The interior was cool, the leather seats comforting. I let my head fall back as the Uber sped down the FDR, city lights blurring past. My phone buzzed relentlessly, the group chat blowing up with screenshots and sympathetic emojis. I fought the urge to just chuck my phone out the window.

By now, several friends had messaged me:

*Oh my god, why are you trending? Do you know the woman next to your fiancé is an influencer?*

*Are you okay, babe? Someone just sent me photos. How dare Brandon flaunt his girlfriend in front of you—what a jerk!*

*That influencer always brags on her livestream about a guy who loves her and buys her everything... turns out it’s Brandon.*

*Unbelievable! Brandon used to be so private—never even let a female mosquito near him. Now he’s suddenly keeping an influencer?*

I carefully replied to each message, then clicked into the trending topic. I forced myself to type measured responses, each one more difficult than the last. My thumbs moved on autopilot, numb.

Photos and videos clearly showed my tug-of-war with Brandon. There I was, front and center, my expression frozen somewhere between heartbreak and rage. The camera never lies, but it sure doesn’t care.

All the comments defended the influencer:

*I knew this woman couldn’t stand our Maddie being happy—she even tries to seduce her boyfriend.*

*Didn’t you see how her boyfriend treats her? He’s cold to the fiancée, but so sweet to Maddie.*

*This woman just keeps hanging around, staring after they leave, pretending to be deep and affectionate?*

*Ugh, homewrecker, get lost! Stop chasing other people’s boyfriends.*

Their words burned. I wanted to reply, to set the record straight, but what was the point? The mob had chosen its villain, and it was me.

Turns out my fiancé had already become someone else’s boyfriend. A wave of nausea hit me. The truth, so simple and so damning, was now public property.

I slumped in the back seat, my eyes vacant. The city outside felt like another planet. People were laughing, eating, living—none of it touched me.

That trending topic stayed up—and was even gaining traction. Brandon must have paid for it. That’s old money for you—one call to his fixer and the internet bends over backward.

Does he really like me, as the comments say? The doubt gnawed at me. I didn’t want to care, but part of me still ached for answers. Is this what love looks like—letting the internet twist the truth and insult me endlessly?

I closed my eyes in pain. My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall, and I wiped my eyes before the driver could see. A long while later, I called and croaked, “Take down the trending topic. Now.”

My voice shook, but I hoped it sounded firm over the line. My words felt like pebbles tossed into a hurricane.

The comments were lively again:

*My heart aches for her. If only she’d soften up and act sweet, things wouldn’t be like this...*

*These clueless netizens are just following the crowd. Maddie is the real homewrecker—so mad!*

*The CEO’s son is a bit much, but she’s too independent. He just wants her to rely on him, to need him.*

*This trending topic is hard to bury—someone’s started a hate account, people at Foster Corp have seen it, it’ll definitely affect the stock.*

I scrolled through them, numb. They didn’t know me, didn’t care—they just wanted something juicy to talk about over their iced lattes.

My gaze lingered on the last comment. My stomach dropped. I knew exactly what that meant. Corporate sharks circled at the first whiff of blood in the water.

Sure enough, my phone soon rang. The person on the other end sounded helpless: “Someone keeps paying to keep it trending. We’re trying to take it down, but it’s not working.” The PR rep’s voice was thin, stretched from too many all-nighters. I could hear keyboards clacking in the background.

I didn’t reply. The other person sighed. “Did you piss someone off? The trending topic keeps getting boosted—someone’s spending big. Isn’t your fiancé taking it down? Just watching?” There was an awkward pause. My silence told them everything.

Because the one buying the trending spot is my fiancé. It was a twisted flex—one only someone as privileged as Brandon would think of. But... soon, he won’t be.

I drew in a shaky breath, steeling myself for what came next.

My dad called next, his voice thunderous: “Rachel, what’s going on? If someone hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t even know!”

I braced for impact, gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles went white. Dad’s voice rattled through the speaker, as relentless as ever.

I steadied myself. “Brandon cheated. Is that my fault, too?” My voice was brittle, but I kept my tone even. No tears, no weakness—just the facts.

“Men cheat all the time, but how could you let this get out, and let that woman parade around in front of you!” my dad shouted.

I swallowed hard. He didn’t even care about the betrayal, just the optics. Of course.

I patiently explained, “Brandon paid for the trending topic. The girlfriend is his. Dad, this has nothing to do with me. I’m already trying to take it down.”

I kept my answers short, clipped. Years of experience told me not to give him an inch.

My dad sneered, “If you can’t keep a man, it’s your fault.” His words landed like a punch. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. With that, he hung up.

The call ended with a cold click. No goodbye, no comfort—just blame.

The car stopped. The driver turned and reminded me, “Miss Rachel, we’ve arrived at the house.” His voice was gentle, but I could tell he’d heard my conversation. He didn’t meet my eyes.

I opened the door and walked toward the dark two-story home like a ghost. The porch light flickered on, casting long shadows across the lawn. I fumbled with my keys, hands trembling.

My father’s words sounded so righteous. They echoed in my mind, drowning out the world. I felt like a child again, desperate for approval I’d never get.

Back then, when he cheated and kept women on the side, he blamed my mother for being old and unattractive. He forgot who used her inheritance to support his business, who gave everything behind the scenes.

I remembered the night Mom packed her bags, her eyes red but her back straight. She never let him see her cry. I swore I wouldn’t either.