Framed by My Fiancée and Her Assistant

Notify all partners that maintaining close ties with the Hart Group will be regarded as an unfriendly act toward the Cole Group.

The orders went out late that night, and the vast machinery of the Cole empire began to move—efficiently, precisely, and without mercy. By morning, the Cole Group released a formal statement announcing the immediate and total termination of all cooperation with the Hart Group.

The effect was explosive. The news hit the market like a thunderclap, sending ripples across the financial world. By the time trading opened, Hart Group’s stock price plunged so fast that trading was halted within thirty minutes.

I sat in my office, silently watching the cascading green lines of their stock chart.

Before long, my phone vibrated. Selena’s name flashed on the screen.

The moment I answered, her hysterical voice erupted through the line—her tone eerily reminiscent of her “tragic performance” from the night before.

“Ethan! Are you insane? Do you know what you’re doing?!”

“Retract that statement right now—or I’ll make you pay!”

I didn’t answer. I simply ended the call and added her number to my blacklist.

A threat? She still hadn’t realized who held the power now.

But the Hart family’s retaliation came faster—and dirtier—than I anticipated. By noon, the online atmosphere had completely turned out.

A storm of slander flooded major social media sites and forums. Dozens of posts appeared almost simultaneously, each echoing the same narrative—a well-coordinated smear campaign.

The attacks focused on three fabricated themes.

First, I was labeled a tyrant and workplace bully.

An “anonymous former employee” claimed I ruled the Cole Group with arrogance, verbally abusing staff and driving a loyal veteran employee into depression until he resigned.

The post included a grainy photo of me entering the office, my expression conveniently grim.

Second, I was accused of moral corruption and a chaotic private life.

A so-called “insider” alleged that despite my engagement to Selena, I had maintained several mistresses in secret.

They even listed the names of young university women and described supposed encounters in lurid, imaginative detail—written as though they had witnessed them firsthand.

Third, they accused me of ruthless cruelty.

Posts claimed that out of jealousy, I had ordered Lucas’s legs broken to force Selena into submission.

The narrative was packaged as a story of twisted love—a man destroying what he couldn’t possess.

These lies were directly linked to the previous night’s spectacle at the Autumn Festival Banquet dinner. Combined with selective “eyewitness accounts,” the posts were deliberately designed to ignite outrage.

Within hours, armies of paid trolls flooded the comments, flooding every thread with uniform messages.

Phrases like “The stench of capital,” “Punish the abuser,” and “Support Ms. Selena and Mr. Lucas’s true love” trended across platforms.

The Hart family’s PR team had done its work well. They reframed a corporate fallout as a love-and-hate tragedy—casting the Cole Group as a heartless giant crushing two helpless lovers beneath its wealth and influence.

Then came the final act.

Selena and Lucas launched a live broadcast on one of the biggest streaming platforms.

On camera, her eyes were swollen from crying, her makeup faintly smudged for dramatic effect. She leaned against Lucas’s shoulder, the picture of fragile devotion. He, sitting in his wheelchair, appeared pained yet dignified.

Together, they recited their well-rehearsed lines—accusing me and my family of cruelty, of tearing apart a love “too pure for the world.”

Lucas’s performance was masterful. His voice trembled just enough, his expression balanced perfectly between grief and nobility.

“I don’t blame Young Master Ethan,” he told the camera solemnly. “I only blame myself—my lowly status, my unworthiness for Selena—that brought us to this tragedy…”