Chapter 3

Aaron's threat turned out to be a promise.

That same night, unknown numbers started calling my phone. Texts full of insults and threats began flooding in.

Aaron's work, obviously.

But I hadn't yet understood how far he was willing to go.

The next morning, a post appeared on a popular online forum. The title read: A Cry for Justice: Seven Years of Sacrifice, and a Poor Scholar Discarded Like Trash by a Wealthy Woman Who Used Him for Sport.

The account that posted it claimed to be a "fellow villager" of Aaron's. The writing was feverish and self-righteous — a modern retelling of the fable about the farmer and the snake.

In this version, I was the villain: a bored, wealthy executive who had preyed on a young man's emotions.

Aaron was the tragic hero — lured in by my money and false affection, strung along for seven years with promises, then tossed aside the moment I grew tired of him.

The post claimed that under the guise of charity, I had spent seven years "emotionally grooming" him. That I had fed him ideas about us being together after he graduated. That when he finally showed up, full of hope, I had coldly rejected him because I'd already found my next target.

Photos were attached. A few from my Instagram — carefully selected to make me look flashy and superficial. And screenshots of our messages, cropped to suggest something they weren't.

For example: his message, "Leah, I've been missing you," and my politely neutral reply, "Study hard. Take care of yourself." Presented as evidence of a secret romantic relationship.

Most damaging of all — he had included my company's name and my job title.

The post went viral within hours.

It hit every nerve: resentment of wealth, class conflict, emotional exploitation, a struggling young man crushed by someone with power over him. Every outrage button got pushed at once.

The comment section became an open season on me.

"This Leah person is disgusting. She treated a real person's feelings like a toy."

"Just because you're rich doesn't mean you get to ruin someone's life."

"Seven years. Seven years of that poor guy's life. I can't."

"Find out who she is. Let her feel what it's like."

They did find out who I was. My phone number, my home address, everything — exposed and spread around within the day.

My phone became unusable. Calls poured in constantly — harassment, threats, worse.

The company was hit too. The PR line rang nonstop. The official Instagram account was buried in demands to fire me.

The speed at which it escalated was something I had not been prepared for.

The next morning, the CEO called me into his office.

He set a printed media report on the desk in front of me. His face was tight.

"Leah, this situation has done serious damage to the company's reputation. The board has decided it's best if you take a temporary leave of absence. Go home, take some time."

I looked at him. "Mr. Brown, this is defamation. Every word of it is a lie. I—"

He raised a hand to stop me.

"I'm not going to get into what's true and what isn't. What I know is that our stock price has already started reacting. Leah, handle your personal situation. Don't let it become our problem any further."

Polite words. But the message was unmistakable.

The company didn't care about the truth. They cared about managing the story. And I was the piece being sacrificed to do that.

I walked out of the CEO's office with my suspension notice in hand.

Down every hallway, people moved out of my path or found reasons to look the other way. Even the colleagues I'd always been friendly with acted like they didn't know me.

I went back to my office and packed up my things.

Cyberbullying. Suspended from work. Abandoned by people I'd considered colleagues.

Aaron had gotten exactly what he wanted.

He'd used the most despicable tools available to him and dragged me down into chaos — and it had worked.

I sat alone in my emptied office and stared out the window.

Rage. Humiliation. Helplessness. Everything at once.

It was the first time in my life I clearly understood: when someone has no floor to how low they'll go, reason and restraint are weapons you can't use. They don't register as anything except weakness.

My patience had run out. My goodwill had run out. And defending myself through the proper channels — the police, the lawyers — I knew what that would get me. A cyberbullying case is nearly impossible to move quickly. A cease-and-desist letter is just paper.

Aaron was like a leech that had already latched on. You couldn't fight him head-on without making things worse.

So I stopped thinking about defense.

I started thinking about something else.

A plan began to take shape.

I picked up my secondary phone and found Aaron's contact.

For the first time since my suspension, I reached out to him.