Chapter 2: Viral Humiliation

The moment I sent that message, the comments exploded:

[How can you be so heartless? The poor heiress will end up drowning her sorrows at a bar...]

[Sigh, the heiress is just a little proud and stubborn, but in the end she’s lost her true love.]

[It’s fine, the heiress will just bankrupt Marcus Reed’s family, and he’ll have to come crawling back to her.]

Marcus Reed. That’s me.

I stared at the on-screen comments, so angry I could only sneer.

Glancing sideways again, I met Rachel Sullivan’s eyes.

She arched her brows slightly, letting the pretty boy keep holding her, showing not a trace of guilt at being caught.

Noticing my dark expression, the curve of her lips only deepened.

The pretty boy Rachel kept is an Instagram influencer. Together, they look like a perfect couple—

Attracting a crowd of onlookers, snapping photos and videos on their phones.

The café I’m in has floor-to-ceiling glass. I wonder if I’ve been caught in someone’s shot.

This place is a West Loop favorite, with avocado toast and overpriced lattes. The place was packed with startup guys in Patagonia vests and girls in Blackhawks hoodies, all pretending not to watch. It’s the kind of spot where rumors take flight quicker than city pigeons. I cursed inwardly, stood up, and called for a rideshare. I changed my pick-up location.

Who could have guessed that as soon as I stepped out, I’d run right into Rachel.

"You were heading this way?" I forced a smile.

My voice came out lighter than I intended, like I was still trying to play it cool—old habits die hard.

"So concerned about me?" Rachel’s smile was dazzling.

She always had that perfect white-teeth, movie-star grin, the kind you’d expect from someone with an orthodontist on retainer since middle school. The pretty boy at her side eyed me warily, but didn’t dare speak up because of his status.

Thinking of those comments, a wave of irritation surged inside me.

It was as if the universe itself was mocking me, the way people slowed their stride, glancing between the three of us as though waiting for drama to break out on Michigan Avenue.

I tried to walk around them, but my wrist was seized.

Her nails pressed just hard enough to get my attention, not hard enough to hurt. Looking back, Rachel asked softly, "Are you upset?"

I sized up her and the man beside her. "Not at all. I wish you two a long and happy life together."

I tried to keep my voice even, but there was a bitterness at the edges, like too-strong coffee. But she still didn’t let go.

The pretty boy rolled his eyes. "What’s wrong, man? Mad ‘cause nobody’s flexing for you?"

His voice had that lazy Midwestern drawl, tinged with the smugness of someone who never had to worry about tuition. I replied coolly, "Do you know she’s engaged?"

He froze, then snorted. "It’s just a business arrangement. If Rachel really liked her fiancé, would she be with me?"

Rachel laughed softly, her beautiful hazel eyes fixed on me.

Her laughter cut through the tension, clear as a bell, but cold.

My expression didn’t change. I nodded, then glanced at her hand still gripping my wrist. "Let go."

Rachel didn’t move, looking at me sideways. "Find another date for the gala the day after tomorrow."

For a second, I almost laughed. As if it was that easy.

The pretty boy blinked, then looked me up and down. After a moment, he grinned. "Oh, so you’re her fiancé? So what? Rachel’s going with me to the gala."

The breakup agreement should reach the Sullivan family tomorrow, I thought.

I could almost picture the email landing in their in-house counsel’s inbox, the kind of thing that would send a ripple through every country club brunch for weeks. "Fine," I said. "Can you let go now?"

Rachel hesitated, her face darkening. "Who are you going to bring?"

A few eligible young women flashed through my mind. I answered sincerely, "I haven’t decided yet, but if I look around at home, I’m sure I’ll find someone."

There was an awkward pause, the air between us dense with things unsaid—passersby slowed, some pretending to tie their shoes just to eavesdrop. The comments popped up again:

[Oh my god, the heiress is going to explode!]

[Heiress, can’t you just be a little softer? Why do you have to make me so anxious?]

[Seriously, Marcus, stop being stubborn. Who knows what the heiress will do if she gets mad? Making your family go bankrupt is nothing to her. She’ll have you begging in no time, haha.]

"Marcus, well done." Rachel took a step back, her voice icy.

She was so angry her chest was heaving, her curves even more pronounced. Finally, she let go.

There was a hint of challenge in her eyes, but also something wounded. I stepped forward, glanced at the pretty boy’s watch, and looked deeply at Rachel.

"You said you’d give me that watch as a gift, once."

With that, I turned and walked away.

Rachel chased after me, her tone unreadable. "You still remember?"

Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement, echoing behind me.

"But I don’t need it anymore," I said.

"He’ll hold me every day, call me ‘wife’, bring me coffee and water whenever I want." Rachel stared at me.

So you gave the watch you promised me to him?

The realization twisted in my gut like a cheap shot to the stomach, the kind that left you winded. My throat tightened, my stomach churning.

The comments were going wild:

[She’s dropping hints!]

[The heiress can’t hold back anymore. Marcus, just call her ‘wife’ once and she’ll give you everything.]

[The heiress dreams of Marcus calling her ‘wife’—and then things get steamy under the covers...]

I stopped and met Rachel’s eyes, speaking each word clearly:

"Yes. From now on, I’ll hold other women, call them ‘wife’, pamper and spoil them. They’ll get everything from me. But it will never be you, Rachel."

I made sure she saw the resolve in my eyes—no more second chances, no more midnight phone calls, no more pretending.

"Say it again." Rachel’s eyes reddened, her voice colder than ever.

She gripped my arm tight, refusing to let go. "Marcus, say it again!"

At that moment, the pretty boy hurried over, confused. "Rachel, what’s wrong?"

Rachel ignored him, still staring at me.

The pretty boy pouted, glaring at me. "Did you upset Rachel? She’s never unhappy when she’s with me."

He sounded almost childlike, and I felt nothing but disgust.

Turning away, I didn’t say another word.

After a long moment, Rachel’s hand dropped. She closed her eyes in frustration, her whole body radiating gloom.

There was something almost tragic in the way she stood there, her dress clinging to her like armor she couldn’t take off.

"He knows how not to make me angry, Marcus." She left those words coldly, spun on her heel, and walked away.

The pretty boy hurried after her, coaxing her softly.

Their retreating figures looked for all the world like a perfect couple.

The comments rolled on:

[Marcus just refuses to give in, pushing away the one who loves him most.]

[Would it kill him to say a few nice words to the heiress? Instead, he’s giving that pretty boy a chance.]

[I can’t even… Check the trending topics, someone’s posted photos and videos online!]

A few phones lifted discreetly in my direction. My face felt hot, like I’d just walked onto the set of some reality TV show and the world was watching.