The chat logs were put on display.
Photos and messages Cecilia had once sent to Emma appeared on the screen.
Things like: “Hurry up and get a divorce. Stop clinging to him like a leech.”
“What do you have to offer him? Can you sleep with him? Can you give him children?”
“Guess where we are right now? In the new apartment Theo bought for me! And guess who bought me that even more expensive purse, that luxury watch…”
Alongside Cecilia’s taunting texts, there were also Emma’s own deliberate provocations—her messages to Cecilia, pointedly reminding her that she and Theodore were married, that Cecilia was the intruder. She’d spelled it out: Theodore was her husband. They’d been married for five years, registered at city hall, legally protected.
Cecilia’s replies only made it more obvious what kind of woman she was.
Things like, “Theo loves me. No matter how long I’m gone, I’m always the one closest to his heart.”
“At the office, who doesn’t treat me like Mrs. Whitman? All of Theo’s friends call me ‘sis-in-law.’”
And, “Go ahead and show Theo these messages. He’d never blame me. He understands me—he never will.”
Every last message had been recorded, preserved by Emma, and now they were projected onto the big screen for everyone to see—exposed online, impossible to deny.
Originally, Emma had kept these records just in case she needed proof for a messy divorce. If things went smoothly, she’d never planned to use them.
She hadn’t expected they’d become so useful now.
At the same time, photos sent by Cecilia circulated—one of Theodore shirtless, Cecilia draped across his shoulder in lingerie.
Other people paid for PR; Larson could do the same.
Others bought trending topics; so did Larson.
Within moments, their response shot straight to the top of the trending list.


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