On our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted a photo of my husband and me dancing. Who would’ve thought that such an innocent picture would spark a nightmare? My husband’s goddaughter mistook me for some kind of homewrecker. She brought along a mob of her girlfriends and cornered me in my own home, screaming phrases like “beat the mistress” and “teach the gold digger a lesson.” “It’s this old hag who’s seducing my godfather at her age! Disgusting! “Today, I’m going to make sure you never try to climb into another man’s bed again!” They weren’t just words. These girls were vicious, hurling insults and smashing precious antiques worth millions of dollars. My husband’s goddaughter slapped me so hard that I felt my front teeth crack. The pain was unbearable, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She started a live stream, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. “Hit her harder! Smash everything! My godmother is a top lawyer worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Even if I kill this old woman today, she’ll get me off scot-free!” By the time my husband returned from work, armful of gifts in hand, I was lying on the floor, broken and barely alive. Through cracked lips, I whispered, “I’m afraid I won’t be recognizing her as my goddaughter anymore.” ***** Earlier that day, my husband, Richard Duncan, mentioned that he was bringing his goddaughter over for dinner and that I’d love her. To make a good impression, I went out of my way to retrieve a precious bracelet from my childhood home to gift her. As I was about to leave, the doorbell rang. Years had drifted by since my father’s passing, leaving this place steeped in solitude. So, who on earth would venture out to this forgotten corner to seek me out? Confused, I checked the surveillance camera, only to see Rachel Moore, Richard’s goddaughter, standing at the door. Richard had shown me her picture before, so I recognized her immediately. “Did Richard send her?” I wondered, but still, I opened the door with a warm smile. The moment I opened the door, a slap hit me so hard that my head reeled. Rachel’s sweet facade was gone, replaced by a venomous glare. She grabbed my hair, yanking me toward the camera she’d set up outside. “Everyone, take a look at this old hag! She’s old enough to know better but still acts like a gold digger! Today, I’m going to give this shameless bitch a lesson she won’t forget, and I’m doing it live for all to see!” A group of girls, holding filming equipment and phones, emerged behind her, ready to broadcast the entire ordeal. I was stunned. A gold digger? Me? I was fifty years old, swamped with work, and hadn’t had a single inappropriate conversation with another man besides Richard and our son, Jeremy Duncan. And as for money? I had more than enough; there was no reason for me to be some “gold digger.” I was old, weak from two surgeries in the past six months, and had no strength to fight back against this violent mob. I curled into a ball, protecting my head, trying to reason with them. “Rachel, please. This is a misunderstanding! I’m not a mistress or anything you think I am!” Rachel let go of my hair but not before pulling out her phone, waving a screenshot in my face. “Did you post this on Facebook?” From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her phone screen, and there was the very photo I had sent just a few days ago, now captured in a screenshot. This photo was snapped by my son when Richard and I ventured out to join the lively swirl of dancing. I thought the photo captured the moment beautifully, especially with the backdrop of a stunning sunset. So, I shared it on Facebook with the simple caption, [The sunset is so beautiful.] “Yes, I posted that photo, but…” Before I could finish, Rachel cut me off rudely. “Everyone, did you hear that? This bitch admits it! “She knew my godmother has neurasthenia and deliberately sent these photos to irritate her! She’s trying to curse her to death! “I trailed her all the way to her doorstep today, determined to get justice for my godmother!” I finally realized what was happening. My own husband’s goddaughter thought I was some homewrecker! It was absurd. Why would I post a photo cursing myself? The irony was almost sickening. But Rachel wasn’t interested in the truth. She wanted a villain, and I was the unfortunate woman who had been cast in that role. I felt a deep sense of betrayal and disgust. All my previous kindness toward her seemed wasted. I had always yearned for a daughter, but fate didn’t bless me with one; I only ever had my son. Richard had spoken of Rachel with such high praise. “She’s beautiful, kind-hearted, and well-educated,” he had said. “She’s the whole package, intelligent, polite, and respectful.” He thumped his chest with confidence, assuring me that I would absolutely adore her. But the girl standing in front of me, broadcasting my humiliation to the world, was none of those things. She was a rude, violent stranger, a far cry from the gracious young woman Richard had led me to believe she was.
Her pretty face looked trivial and fake under the harsh lighting of the live broadcast. My cheeks throbbed from the swelling, and my makeup was long gone. All I wanted was some ice. But they were standing between me and the refrigerator, blocking my only escape to some relief. I took a couple of steps back, trying to create some distance. But Rachel, seeing my embarrassment, only turned up the heat. “How dare she seduce my godfather! “My godmother’s this high-caliber, top-tier lawyer, but this woman? She wouldn’t even spare a glance at her own reflection if she had any sense!” She was aware of my standing and that I possessed both position and influence. Yet, she was blind, ensnared by her own fanciful illusions. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I was done trying to argue with someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t see reason. But Rachel was on a roll. She stood there, acting all righteous and dignified, getting more and more worked up as she spoke. “My godmother worked so hard to build her fortune, and now this woman thinks she can waltz in and take a slice of it! “I even saw her bring her son to see my godfather, hoping to use that relationship to get my advisor to guarantee her son a spot in graduate school. It’s a violation of academic fairness!” I thought, “A guaranteed place for postgraduate study? Was she under the impression that Richard and I were trying to use our connection to secure our son’s future in graduate school? Was this whole attack just some twisted excuse because she thought we were competing for admission?” I felt a deep pang of sorrow for Richard. How could he have trusted such a ridiculous, vile person? Our son was studying in their department, but we had always told him to keep a low profile. Not many people know about their father-son relationship. And what’s more crucial, I had already clinched admission offers for him from the most prestigious Ivy League institutions. He was in no need of any guaranteed graduate program spot! I didn’t care who Richard wanted to give the admission quota to. My son’s future was already set. The live cameras clicked and whirred, their lenses pointed at my face, zooming in on my every expression. But instead of cowering, I felt a cold sense of satisfaction. As a leading attorney, I had witnessed spectacles far grander than this pitiful charade. A handful of inexpensive live cameras didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Now, their sole concern seemed to be drawing in viewers and grabbing attention, nothing more. In fact, every second they kept this up was another second closer to a defamation charge. Once the viewership hit 500,000, they’d sealed their fate. The higher the view count, the heavier the sentence. Defamation on this scale was no joke; it carried serious legal consequences. And when the time came, whether it was Rachel or her little gang of sycophants, they’d all be kneeling in court, begging for my forgiveness. Rachel could sense I wasn’t shaken, and that only seemed to infuriate her more. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the silk-covered wooden jewelry box resting on the sofa. “What’s this? Packaged quite fancy. Could it be a gift from my godfather?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. Before I could stop her, she lunged forward, ripping the box open in seconds. Her fingers grasped the bracelet inside, pulling it out with a sneer. That bracelet wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was one of the few keepsakes my mother left me. It carried deep heritage significance, passed down through generations. I hadn’t worn it because, given my profession, flashy jewelry wasn’t practical. But I had kept it safe and treasured it. Richard had once mentioned that Rachel came from a poor family and that she was frugal in her daily life. Out of pity, I’d chosen an expensive gift, hoping to show her how much we cared. But now, she has forfeited any right to my genuine regard. In a cold voice, I warned her, “Rachel, you’d better put that down. That bracelet is an antique, worth at least three million dollars. If you break it, you won’t be able to pay for it even if you sell everything you own.” The words “you won’t be able to pay for it” seemed to strike a nerve. Her already fragile ego bristled at the implication. She held her chin even higher, her expression dripping with sarcasm. “What kind of junk is this supposed to be? Looks like glass to me. Millions, you say? Give me a break. In your world, does everything just magically turn into hundreds of millions? Do you guys print your own money or what?” Before I could react, she raised the bracelet high above her head. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she slammed the bracelet down onto the hardwood floor.
The bracelet shattered into a dozen tiny pieces, scattering fragments across the floor. But Rachel wasn’t done. With a vicious sneer, she stepped forward and stomped twice more on the remnants with the sharp tip of her high heels. Her destruction didn’t stop there. She marched over to my wall, yanked down my baseball bat, and raised it high above her head, aiming it straight at the delicate vase sitting on my desk. I sneered. “That vase hails from the Renaissance,” I stated. “It’s valued at over two million dollars. You might want to think twice before you shatter it. But if you’re set on doing so, go head.” Rachel didn’t even flinch. As if she hadn’t heard a word I said, she swung the bat with full force. The vase exploded against the wall, shards flying everywhere. But even that wasn’t enough for her. She turned her fury on the priceless porcelains that had been carefully displayed on my antique shelf. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing? You pretend to be cultured, displaying all this fake garbage, but it’s just a trick, isn’t it? A way to lure men in!” With the fragments of her actions scattered on the ground, she scrambled to muster a defense for herself. “Even if some of these things were worth a little money, it’s all my godparents’ money, not yours. So what do I have to fear? Guys, isn’t that right?” The friends she had brought with her, a gang of vicious, eager followers, searched the room for anything they could get their hands on. They picked up fragile objects, laughing as they smashed them to bits. They were smashing items and yelling simultaneously, a chaotic symphony of destruction and rage. “She’s not just seeing your godfather; who knows how many old men she’s been with! “Haven’t we already snapped countless photos of her sneaking into hotels? That’s hard evidence right there. A picture’s worth a thousand words! We’re doling out her punishment, and honestly, it’s like we’re delivering justice!” My father, a well-known entrepreneur in this city, had passed away ten years ago, leaving me with a considerable inheritance, including several hotels. I had never had the time or energy to manage them personally, so I hired professionals to take care of them while I checked in occasionally. Once it passed through their lips, everything just got twisted into something so vile! Was this the face of a girl about to enter graduate school? I glanced at the live camera pointed directly at me and spoke through gritted teeth, “Let me make one thing clear. Richard and I were originally…” But before I could even say the word “married,” a short-haired girl lunged at me. She shoved me so hard that I stumbled backward, crashing into the corner of the table. Pain exploded in my mouth, and a metallic, sweet taste filled my senses. Suddenly, I sensed something off in my mouth, so I spat into my hand, only to find two of my front teeth mixed with blood. Upon seeing my teeth knocked out and my mouth brimming with blood, Rachel and her clique erupted into triumphant laughter. “Well done! That’s how you deal with that old bitch! “Let’s see if she can still seduce men without her teeth!” Blood filled my mouth, and I pressed my hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth. My anger was boiling over, and I yelled, “We live in a society ruled by law! You broke into my house, smashed my things, and assaulted me. Don’t you realize you’re going to jail?” But Rachel was completely unfazed. She simply smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug to the live camera. “The law? Don’t even start with me about the law. My mentor’s wife is this top-tier lawyer, her net worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. She’s my godmother, by the way. “My godmother has dedicated her entire life to the law. She loathes those mistresses who tear families apart. I’ll present you to her as a testament to my loyalty. And when I do, she’ll surely reward me handsomely! “Then we’ll see who ends up behind bars! I’m here on behalf of my godmother to take down the mistress. Even if I have to beat you to a pulp, she’ll back me up. My godmother never lost a case in her entire career!” I stood there, stunned into silence by her sheer blind confidence in the face of such blatant criminal behavior. I could never have imagined that this band of lawless thugs would storm into my home, yelling and threatening violence, all while claiming I was their patron! “Rachel,” I said through clenched teeth, “you’d better call your godfather, the professor, right now. Because if you don’t, there will be consequences.” Rachel’s smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched my face turn red with anger. “Oh my, you still think Richard’s going to back you up? Let me tell you, it’s pointless!” She threw a provocative glance my way and then deliberately winked at the live camera, taunting me. Discreetly, I slid my hand into my pocket, fumbling to dial Richard for help. Rachel was completely oblivious. She swung the baseball bat with a swagger and kicked my bedroom door open with an air of cool defiance. Inside, on my bedside table, was a photo of my father and me. We were smiling, with my arms wrapped around his neck. The moment Rachel caught sight of it, she thrust the camera towards the photo. Her face contorted with contempt and disgust, as though she’d laid eyes on something utterly repulsive and filthy. “Look at this! This old hag is so shameless, so intimate with him. Disgusting!” Before I could move, she raised the baseball bat high above her head and brought it crashing down on the crystal frame. “No!” I screamed. I was trembling, every inch of my body shaking with rage and grief, as I let out a desperate cry. That photo was the only picture I had of my father! My father had been a busy man his whole life, but he had never neglected me. After my mother passed away, he chose not to remarry because of me. We shared a deep, unbreakable bond. That crystal frame, encasing the last memory of him, wasn’t just any frame. It was a piece of pure, natural flawless crystal, one I had spent a fortune to have airlifted all the way from Madagascar. It was worth millions of dollars. Ignoring the humiliation and the excruciating pain from my missing teeth, I dragged myself toward the bedroom, screaming out in desperation. “Put it down! Please, just put it down! As long as you leave the photo alone, I won’t pursue any of this! I won’t press charges for the vase, for the porcelain, or even for what you did to me! Just don’t touch the photo!” Rachel turned to look at me, her eyes widening for a second as she took in my disheveled appearance: blood smeared across my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. For a brief moment, she seemed startled. But then, a viewer in the live broadcast must have recognized my father in the photo. [This old man looks familiar. Isn’t he the late famous entrepreneur, Sam Anderson?] At the word “late,” Rachel’s fear evaporated, replaced by a reckless boldness. “Oh, it’s your dearly deceased ex; no wonder you’re so sentimental!” Someone commented: [Ex? More like her sugar daddy. Look at her, living in this grand villa. The place is decked out so lavishly. She must’ve raked in quite the fortune!] And Someone else chimed in, mocking: [I remember reading a report about Sam Anderson. They said he was a devoted husband, and he never remarried even after his wife died. Guess he was living a double life, huh? What a lying bastard!] Rachel seized the moment, rallying her online army. “Sisters! Are we going to let this homewrecker live comfortably while she ruins families? Smash it! Smash it hard!” With a deafening crash, the crystal frame shattered into pieces, glass flying everywhere. The photo of my father and I fluttered to the ground. I lunged for it, but I was too weak. Rachel shoved me to the ground, her foot landing squarely on my hand, crushing it beneath her heel. The sharp crystal cut into my skin, and I felt the sickening crack of bone. But the pain didn’t register. All I cared about was reaching that photo. Rachel picked it up before I could. Right before my anguished gaze, she tore it to shreds with a cruel smile and cast the pieces into the debris before she spat on them! Grinning like a devil, she stuck out her tongue and made a V sign to the camera. “Sisters, take note: it’s not that the old have turned wicked, but rather, the wicked have simply aged! “This is what happens to a homewrecker! Sisters, are you enjoying this today? If so, smash that like button and follow! One click, triple the love!” I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, my body wracked with pain. But through the haze of agony, I forced out the words. “Sam Anderson is my father. Richard Duncan is my husband!” Rachel burst into laughter, a high-pitched sound that filled the room like shards of glass grinding together. “Husband? Why don’t you say they’re both your sugar daddies while you’re at it? “Do you really think I was scared? Mr. Duncan is my godfather. Do you think I wouldn’t know where he lives? He’s not even here; he lives in the neighborhood next door!” My heart sank. She was right; we did have a villa in the neighborhood next door, close to the school for Richard’s convenience. That’s where we usually stayed. But this was my home, too. She flashed a sweet smile right at the camera. “My godmother is making dinner for me right now. I bet she’s in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious as we speak.” I could feel my rage bubbling up, threatening to consume me. My voice cracked as I tried to speak, trembling with a mix of anger and grief. “You all deserve to die.” She paid no heed to my words. Instead, with an air of arrogance, she delivered two sharp kicks to my face. “You are the one who deserves to die, you old bitch! Look what I’ve done to the mistress! My godmother will reward me handsomely for this!” She struck a victorious pose, her hand waving in the air like she’d just won a trophy. “All of you deserve a share of the credit for tearing her down. When the time comes, everyone who helped will get something. My godmother is generous; a few expensive bags are nothing to her!” The live audience erupted in a flurry of envious comments, their words filling the screen with hate and jealousy. Just as I was teetering on the brink of death, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Richard rushed in with his briefcase still tucked under his arm. The door was ajar. As he stepped inside, he was taken aback by the chaos strewn across the floor. “What is going on?” he demanded. Rachel, for the first time since she’d stormed into my house, seemed taken aback. She quickly switched gears, sticking out her tongue and adopting an innocent, obedient expression. She craned her neck to look past him. “Richard!” she chirped, trying to sound as sweet and harmless as possible. “Why are you here? Where’s your wife? Isn’t she with you?”
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