“Huh?”
“So you want to drag everyone down with you, is that it?” Larson said flatly. “If you can’t get what you want, then you’d rather no one else does either? Is that what this is about?”
Emma honestly couldn’t understand that kind of thinking.
“I was trying to be considerate of you, truly. I wanted this dinner to be civil. But since they insist on turning it into a circus—and it doesn’t seem to bother you—then let them have it.” Larson looked down at her. “Are you sure you’re not upset?”
Embarrassment was out of the question; if anyone looked foolish, it’d be those two hypocrites, not her. What really worried him was whether Emma would be hurt.
Theodore, that jerk!
Emma shook her head calmly. “Larson, go ahead. Also, take my phone with you—I just organized a folder. Everything you need is in there.”
She slid her phone across the table to him.
Larson disappeared for a few minutes, then returned and handed her phone back.
Moments later, the ballroom’s big screen flickered to life.
There it was: the edited video.
As it played, the editor’s skill became obvious—every frame exaggerated Emma’s supposed arrogance, while painting Cecilia as the helpless victim.
Not everyone had witnessed the slap as it happened.
Rumors had spread, so people thought they knew the story. But now, watching the video, doubts crept in. Was the gossip wrong? Was it the opposite of what they’d heard?
Still, nobody spoke up; for now, everyone just watched, eager for drama.
Suddenly, someone shouted from the back, “We don’t need arrogant tycoons like that in Cresthaven! Take your money somewhere else—we don’t want your business!”
The outburst stirred only a low ripple of whispers; no one chimed in.
Almost as if in answer, the screen switched to a trending topics feed.
Every viral post, every nasty comment and repost aimed at Emma, scrolled across the screen for all to see.
It was clear this was orchestrated.
Everyone recognized this kind of smear campaign.


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