The Secret Wife’s Gambit

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my lips when he declared we were from different worlds.

"And what about what I did for you five years ago?"

"It was just five million dollars! I can pay you back tenfold if you want," Axel said. He stood up, looking down on me with a dismissive glare. Then he snorted and turned to leave.

I moved to block his path, but he grabbed my arm, his grip so tight I thought my bones would shatter, and shoved me hard onto the velvet sofa.

"Stop bothering me!" he roared, then swept the entire crystal decanter set off the coffee table. Glass shattered, the sound sharp and piercing.

"Enough, Eleanor! Stop clinging to me like a leech. You're pathetic!"

Axel cursed and walked away without a second glance.

I pushed myself up from the sofa and slumped onto the carpet, my tongue pressed hard against the inside of my cheek, my anger a white-hot flame.

My mind raced with a thousand ways to make this bastard pay. No matter what, I was going to destroy him.

My mother was right. Handsome men are all liars. Complete and utter assholes.

The next day, the paparazzi somehow snapped photos of me arriving at his mansion in the middle of the night and leaving in a disheveled state moments later.

They even got a few shots of me through the window, collapsed on the carpet.

I was trending on X again. This time, it wasn't just Axel and Amber's fans, but also casual observers who joined in on the vicious comments.

"My god, is this woman some kind of parasite who can't live without a man? She actually knelt and begged him! So pathetic!"

"Not a fan, but she makes me sick. Does she not understand what a breakup is? Gross."

Soon, my personal information and a list of all my clients were posted online.

I started receiving all sorts of malicious mail: photoshopped obituaries, envelopes with unknown powders, and even obscene images with my face edited onto them.

Someone even found a photo of me talking and clinking glasses with a Silicon Valley investor. There was nothing inappropriate about the picture at all.

But the narrative quickly twisted, with people claiming I was some high-class escort for Silicon Valley tycoons.

I was trending for so long you'd think I'd won a trophy.

My name was everywhere, and the comment sections were a cesspool of false accusations from keyboard warriors.

"With so many tycoon clients, she must be loaded! Haha! So glad Axel dumped her!"

"Shameless! I wonder what her nightly rate is. No wonder she gets so many gigs! If it were me, I'd be a CEO by now! Hahaha!"

Even the small companies I worked with saw a significant hit to their stock prices.

Thousands of fans boycotted their products. Some crazy fans even tried to report me to the IRS for tax evasion.

It was a classic playbook for destroying a woman: spread vicious lies, turn the public against her, and bully her into self-destruction.

However, I wasn't one to stay silent.

I wouldn't let those who spread lies about me get away with it.

I would make them pay for every single word they typed.