Chapter 4

Guess this was me saying goodbye to the girl I used to be.

I was the one who lost everything in this marriage.

Just then, I got a call from the funeral home. They told me everything was ready, and I could come collect Caitlin's ashes.

As I stepped out of the funeral home, a bunch of people suddenly rushed out from the entrance, shoving their phones in my face and frantically snapping pics.

"Guys, spill some hot tea! I finally tracked down the side chick of the Fletcher Group's boss!" one of them shouted.

"Nah, she's not even a side chick. She's just some desperate woman trying to throw herself at Mr. Fletcher," another sneered.

"For real! Mr. Fletcher and Miss Johnston have been childhood sweethearts. How does she even have the nerve to butt in?" someone else chimed in.

I glanced at my phone, and the comment section was overflowing with hate directed at me.

That was when it hit me. Thanks to all the buzz around Trace and Lexie these past couple of days, I'd gotten dragged into the trending topics too.

The only photos that leaked were of me following behind him, gazing at him with obvious infatuation.

Trace was marching ahead, his face full of impatience.

Who would've thought even something like that could be twisted into evidence against me?

Since his company thrived on building up internet personalities and chasing hype, he always played up the persona of a single, handsome, and filthy-rich CEO.

With all this buzz swirling around, he was trending like a top celeb.

Annoyed by these gossip-mongers, I said coldly, "I'm Trace Fletcher's legal wife. Keep spreading rumors, and I'll call the cops!"

She pulled out her phone and flashed a photo of her marriage certificate with Trace Fletcher.

The crowd burst out laughing.

"Is this girl totally delusional? She actually dares to call herself Mr. Fletcher's wife," someone snickered.

"Wow, she's really putting on a show, and she even faked a marriage certificate," another person jeered.

The main streamer glared at me, eyes full of malice.

"Miss Johnston is sweet and dignified, she wouldn't bother stooping to your level. But here in our livestream, we're all about exposing side chicks and defending the real wives," she sneered.

"So, what should we do with a shameless woman like her?" she shouted.

"Smash her!" the crowd roared.

The viewers in the livestream were like they were on a rampage, shouting for them to tear my clothes off.

I tried to pull out my phone to call the cops, but it was snatched from my hand and shoved aside.

The pack rushed at me, kicking and punching, stomping on me over and over, re-injuring my already fractured ribs.

They tore off my clothes, chopped off my hair, and used a pen to scrawl words like "whore" and "slut" across my exposed skin.

My face was smeared with blood as she cried out for help, but nobody came to her rescue.

As soon as people realized it was a 'homewrecker' getting beaten up, everyone scattered like she was contagious.

Gossip-hungry bystanders even pulled out their phones, livestreaming the whole sordid spectacle.

That was the moment I truly tasted despair.

I shielded Caitlin's urn with her whole body, clutching it tightly beneath me as blows rained down on me. No matter how viciously they attacked, I refused to let go, even if it cost her everything.

I lost track of time; everything started to blur before my eyes.

I couldn't feel the pain anymore, just a strange, almost soothing sense of comfort washing over me.

I knew this was what it felt like to be on the brink of death.

I heard a shrill voice piercing through the chaos. "Mr. Fletcher's here!"

"Mr. Fletcher's here!"

With great effort, I forced my eyes open and saw the pair of leather shoes I'd spent a whole month waiting in line to get custom-made for Trace.

My heart, which had been pounding with fear, suddenly felt at ease.

Even if Trace hated me now, I was sure he'd never just stand by and let me die.

"Trace, please call the police!" I pleaded.

"They're spreading lies about me being your side chick and livestreaming it all online. Please, Trace, help me set the record straight!" I cried, my words barely holding back tears.

The streamer, who'd been so aggressive just moments ago, suddenly went pale, her voice stuttering.

"Mr. Fletcher, is she... is she really your wife?" she stammered.

Trace crouched down slowly, towering over me with that cold, superior gaze.

When one was at rock bottom, he or she would end up holding on to all kinds of unrealistic fantasies.

I slowly reached out my hand to Trace, all my pent-up grievances and pain spilling out.

Trace's eyes roamed over me, then his lips curled into a cold, mocking smile.

"Finally grew a brain, huh?" Trace sneered.

"Playing the victim to get attention? Interesting." Trace's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world just froze.

My lips trembled as I stared at Trace, unable to believe what I was seeing.

"I've been beaten like this, and you still think I'm just putting on an act?" I said, my voice raw with disbelief.

"What else do you think it is?" Trace replied.

Trace looked at me with pure disdain.

"You pulled this whole stunt just because Lexie and I have been blowing up online lately, right?" Trace sneered.

"Lexie's just a girl trying to make it online. If I don't hype her up, how's she supposed to get famous?" Trace said, mocking.

"Phoebe, your jealousy is getting out of hand. Is it really that hard for you to see Lexie succeed?" Trace scoffed.