That necklace resting below her collarbone, it gleamed like a cruel joke, like it was placed there just for me to see.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear through the screen and throttle every one of them. But I couldn’t move.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine, soaking my back.
Then, that same user ID popped up again with another message. [More goodies waiting for you to unlock.]
Followed by a disgusting emoji.
Someone replied instantly. [Can we meet up? In-person?]
And the response came just as fast. [Only if you’re local.]
My chest tightened. The city he mentioned was ours.
Then, a new name appeared in the chat, “Wealthy Cyrus.”
[Neighboring city. I can head over now! I’ll even pay extra!]
Pay extra? Just to meet my wife?
My lungs burned. My teeth clenched. A low growl escaped my throat. “Bastard.”
My finger dug into the screen so hard I nearly shattered it. I wanted to report it, destroy it, quit the group, wipe it all from existence.
But something stopped me.
I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I needed proof.
My hands shook as I began screen recording, snapping screenshots one by one, every photo, every filthy comment, every username.