Chapter 11

“You can let her go now,” Wilson said, settling into the center seat on the couch. He raised a hand in satisfaction, signaling the others. The group laughed and took their seats. Yvonne sat beside Wilson. He peeled an orange with practiced ease, then, after removing the pith, gently offered a segment to her lips.

“If anyone bullies you again, no matter who it is, don’t hesitate to fight back.”

Yvonne nodded sweetly. “Got it. With you by my side, Mr. Farrell, I’m not afraid of anything.”

“You’re still calling me Mr. Farrell?”

“W-Will,” she corrected, her smile becoming bashful.

Zoey, disheveled and angry, tugged on Daphne, who glared at Wilson. “Daph, let’s just go.”

Daphne lightly pushed Zoey’s hand away. “Wait here.” She wasn’t finished.

Bending down, she picked up a beer bottle that had rolled to her feet during the earlier scuffle. She walked toward Wilson and Yvonne with deliberate steps. A moment later, the bottle shattered against Wilson’s head. Bright red blood streamed down his face, stark against his striking features. The room erupted into chaos.

“Daphne Yeager, are you insane!” Yvonne shrieked, shoving Daphne away. “Call an ambulance! Will, Will, are you okay?”

Wilson didn’t move. Two drops of blood fell into his eyes, staining his vision red. Looking up, his hawk-like gaze locked onto Daphne’s face. He curled his lips into a chilling smile. “Daphne, you’ve got guts.”

Daphne smiled back. “Didn’t you say my sister hit Yvonne with a bottle? Well, it didn’t smash on Yvonne’s head, so I’ve decided to smash it on yours. Seems fair, no?”

Yvonne glared at Daphne, venom in her eyes. “This is typical behavior for someone from the countryside—no manners at all! How could you resort to violence, you shrew! Is this how your parents raised you?”

The phrase “from the countryside” no longer fazed Daphne. To her, it wasn’t an insult but a badge of honor.

“Yeah, I’m from the countryside. My sister and I both are. But so are the vegetables you eat every day. Those are grown in fields fertilized with rural manure. And you used violence too, didn’t you? What makes you any different from us?”

“You—” Unable to out-argue Daphne, Yvonne turned her attention back to Wilson’s injury. “Will, let’s call the police. She attacked you on purpose! I want her in jail for the rest of her life!”

“No need,” Wilson raised a hand to stop her. “We’re still married. They’ll consider this domestic violence between couples at most. As long as she doesn’t touch you, I don’t care about the rest.”

Daphne felt a piercing pain spread through her body. How touching! He didn’t care that she’d bashed his head in, but he was ready to retaliate if she touched his “precious darling.” She hadn’t realized Wilson was such a romantic fool.

“Well, you’re about to be disappointed, because I’m going after her next,” Daphne said coolly.

In a blur of movement, Daphne landed several swift slaps. Before anyone could react, Yvonne’s lip was split, and blood trickled from her mouth.

Wilson’s expression darkened. He shot to his feet, grabbing Daphne’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing, Daphne Yeager?”

“What’s with the yelling?” Daphne replied casually, digging at her ear with her free hand. “Is my name so lovely you have to shout it?”

It was such a pity—she had seven more slaps to go.

“What’s the matter? Are you planning to make Yvonne hit me back again? That’s fine. Go ahead and hit me. Remember, whatever you do, I’ll make sure to settle the score on your beloved Yvonne, so long as you don’t kill me. Let’s see if you’re willing to let her suffer more for your sake!”

Yvonne didn’t get a chance to retaliate because Wilson’s bleeding worsened, and the ambulance arrived. As he was taken away, he left Daphne with three cold words: “Just you wait.”

Having vented her anger, Daphne and Zoey felt better, but neither wanted to continue their night out. In the parking lot, Zoey noticed someone following them.

“Daph, I think there’s a paparazzo nearby,” Zoey said.

For Daphne, a highly recognizable A-list celebrity, paparazzi were nothing unusual. But this paparazzo seemed different. Daphne recognized her—the fan site manager for Wilson and Yvonne’s “ship.” This was the woman who had first exposed Wilson’s affair with Yvonne, sending Daphne photos of Wilson visiting Yvonne on set.

“She’s not here for me. She’s here for Yvonne and Wilson. Go and pretend to be a shipper and feed her a tip. Tell her Yvonne went to the hospital with Wilson. Wear a mask. Don’t let her recognize you.”

Daphne’s mind was already working. Those seven remaining slaps? She’d get her revenge another way. Given the current public sentiment, more evidence of Yvonne and Wilson together would solidify Yvonne’s reputation as a mistress. Daphne didn’t even need to write an exposé; the internet’s collective imagination would do the job.

By the next day, news of Yvonne caring for Wilson at the hospital spread like wildfire. Daphne had always thought fandom site managers were a fascinating breed. Despite layers of glass windows, the woman had snapped clear photos of Yvonne tenderly changing Wilson’s bandages. Wilson’s profile was visible in one photo; his strikingly handsome features were unmistakable. The Wilson-Yvonne shippers recognized him instantly. The hashtag #YvonneTheHomewrecker quickly trended.

Days passed. The internet was flooded with criticism, but Yvonne’s team remained silent. Daphne thought something was off. Based on Yvonne’s usual manipulative tactics, she would have responded by now. Why the silence?

Daphne monitored Yvonne’s activity. Unexpectedly, it was Wilson, not Yvonne, who responded. He released a statement using his company’s official account, explaining that he and Yvonne met only after his relationship with Daphne had ended. He claimed Yvonne earned her position as Story brand ambassador through merit and that online rumors were lies. He issued a stern warning, stating that further defamatory remarks about Yvonne would result in legal action.

Daphne’s chest tightened. Was this the same man who had always been indifferent to public opinion? When Wilson and Daphne were first caught by the paparazzi, the media painted her as a “kept woman.” Wilson’s only response had been, “The truth will speak for itself.” Daphne had endured years of playing minor roles to recover her reputation. When they announced their marriage, people ridiculed her, saying she didn’t deserve him and was only after his money. Wilson had dismissed the criticism, telling her to ignore the masses and buying her jewelry to placate her.

Daphne had believed his refusal to publicly defend her stemmed from his status. She had tried to be understanding and bore the burden silently. Now, it was clear. He simply hadn’t loved her enough. Perhaps he had loved her once, pampering her deeply, but that paled in comparison to what he now showed Yvonne. The difference was staggering.