Chapter 121
A sly smile tugged at the corners of Felicity’s lips as she issued her command. “Make all of Selene’s private tweets public. Let everyone see what kind of person she really is!”
“On it. I’ll get it done right away.”
Within moments, the hacker flipped every single one of Selene’s private tweets–all those posts she’d hidden over the years–out into the open for the world to see.
Felicity wasn’t done. She reached out to a handful of marketing agencies, the kind that managed Twitter accounts with millions of followers. Soon enough, those massive accounts were retweeting posts from Selene’s secondary account, dragging her most private musings straight into the spotlight.
Screenshots and reposts flooded the internet. Every tweet Selene had ever marked “for my eyes only” was now basking in the harsh glare of public scrutiny.
“This is proof Selene abused her son!” one influencer with over a million followers declared, retweeting a post where Selene had shared a photo of Damien’s body covered in red rashes.
In minutes, tens of thousands of users swarmed Selene’s account like locusts. The fastest typists were already hurling accusations her way.
But then, more voices chimed in, replying to the angry comments:
“Are you people blind? It’s obvious from this picture the kid’s having an allergic reaction!”
Another user, digging through Selene’s archive of over two thousand tweets, unearthed a photo of a tearful little boy sitting on the floor, a bandage stuck to his
knee.
“Here’s proof Selene beats her son! She hit him, then posted a photo of it on Twitter–what kind of twisted woman does that?”
A more level–headed commenter pushed back: “If you look at her previous post, it’s clear the little guy just fell off his bike.”
Selene’s Twitter painted a timeline of her life: pregnancy, childbirth, raising her son–every detail, every milestone lovingly recorded.
Now, users scoured her posts, hunting for any photo that might show her feeding her child something unfit to eat.
10:16
But every meal Selene shared turned out to be mouthwatering. The photos of her food left people hungry just looking at them.
“If this is what she calls ‘slop, I’d eat it every day!” someone joked.
“If Selene’s cooking is pig food, then what have I been eating all my life–dishwater?”
One user found a tweet with a photo of a steaming bowl of seafood chowder.
“Just tried out a new seafood chowder recipe. My daughter finished hers, but my son insisted it was ‘pig food‘ and refused to eat any. Guess I’ll have to find a way to make the soup look and taste even better!”
That post exploded with hundreds of comments in seconds.
“I want to smack that reporter, smack Young Master Vaughn twice, and give Harrison a taste of his own medicine!”
“If the child is out of line, the father’s to blame. Her ex–husband deserves a good beating!”
“Anyone who’s ever made this chowder knows it takes seven types of seafood, and you have to stir gently for forty minutes to stop it sticking. Selene pours her heart into this, and her son calls it pig food?”
“If anyone dared call my chowder ‘pig food,’ I’d dump the whole pot on their head!”
“I’ve gone through thousands of Selene’s tweets. All I see is a mother loving and caring for her child!”
“How could someone who spends every waking moment with her kid ever be accused of abuse?”
“Her son’s lying! That recording proves nothing! Who knows–maybe the reporter told a five–year–old exactly what to say for the interview!”
Harrison stepped out of his office building and slid into the back seat of his car.
Secretary Burnett met his gaze in the rearview mirror, looking like he had something to say but hesitated.
Harrison shot him a chilly glance. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”
Burnett spoke quickly. “Selene’s tweets have been leaked. The tide online’s turned again.”
10.16
Chapter 121
He hurried to add, “Mr. Vaughn, you should really avoid social media for a while–it’s all bad press about you up there.”
Harrison’s expression remained cold and unreadable. He cut straight to the point. “Did you find out how that reporter got to Damien?”
Damien was receiving an elite education; he wasn’t the type to give interviews on a whim. Someone had to have made the introduction, earned Damien’s trust, and set up that conversation.
“We’ve already got a lead,” Burnett replied. “It was Reporter Hollis from Platinum 818–brought in by Miss Felicity.”
10:16
