"Look, chat! The rich guy who lives in this fancy apartment is secretly a pervert who gropes college girls!"

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, my neighbor Yvonne Shaw cornered me at the door.

She tugged at her collar while crying to the camera.

"Chat, this is where the guy lives! Just now in the elevator, he covered my mouth and groped me all over... If the elevator door hadn't opened in time, he would have dragged me back to his place!"

The comments section exploded, the screen filled with curses aimed at my husband.

But later, in court, when they saw my husband who had lost both arms saving someone five years ago...

They were all dumbfounded.

The day I moved into Riverfront Residences, I became public enemy number one in the entire community.

It all started with my neighbour, the influencer "Sexy Innocent Yvonne" who had over a million followers on Tok Tik.

Right now, she was holding a phone stand right outside my door, crying her eyes out, making people sympathize with her.

"Chat, I can't take it anymore! I thought there were only good people in this community, but it turns out there's a right animal living here!"

Yvonne tugged at her collar, which was already as low as it could go, showing off loads of skin and some pretty shocking red marks on her neck.

She pointed at my tightly shut door, yelling, "The man who lives in this apartment looks like a nice guy, but half an hour ago, he molested me in the elevator!

"He knew there was no signal in the elevator, so he not only verbally harassed me, he also pinned me to the wall. He used his hand... used his hand to clamp my mouth shut, and with the other hand he tried to rip my dress...

"If the elevator door hadn’t opened just in time, I would've... I would've..."

At this point, she seemed overwhelmed with emotion. She squatted down and started bawling.

The livestream's viewer count skyrocketed to over a hundred thousand.

Comments flooded in, filled with outrage.

[What the heck! How can he be so brazen in broad daylight?]

[Rich people like that are the worst! They think they can do whatever they want just because they have a bit of money!]

[Call the police! You must report this! Lock that pervert up!]

[The wife can’t be any good either, letting her husband get away with this. She's just hiding inside like a coward!]

Outside, Yvonne’s mother, Jenny Shaw, turned up too.

This old lady could act even better than her daughter. She banged on the door and wailed into a megaphone.

"Open up! You have the guts to do bad things but don't have the guts to open the door?!

"Look, everyone! This is the animal living in unit 2801! He harassed my daughter who just turned twenty! What a scumbag!

"If you won’t come out, I’ll kill myself at your door!"

The noise was giving me a headache.

I put down the hot towel I was holding and looked at my husband, Chris Gomez, who was lying on the physiotherapy bed and hooked up to a breathing machine.

Though he could not speak, his eyes were full of worry. He seemed to have heard the commotion outside and was trying hard to turn his head.

I gently patted his shoulder and said softly, "It’s alright, just a few barking dogs. I’ll handle it."

Chris's body trembled.

A pang of sorrow hit me.

Five years ago, in that mall fire that shocked the whole country, he went in and out of the mall three times as the fire brigade captain.

The last time, to save a trapped little girl, he was hit by a falling beam. It not only ruined his face but also took both his arms.

For the past five years, we've been living a peaceful and comfortable life with the compensation money and the money I made from earlier investments.

To provide him with a better rehabilitation environment, I specifically moved to this large apartment with a river view.

Who would have thought that on the very first day we moved in, we would be framed like this?

Molest? Pin against the wall? Hands all over?

I smirked, my eyes turning cold.

If they want to make a scene, then they better be ready for the consequences.

I went to the entrance and swung the door open violently.

The crying and shouting outside came to an abrupt halt.

Yvonne did not expect me to open the door. She froze for a second, then shoved the camera in my face.

"Chat, look! This is the pervert's wife! She finally shows herself!"

Jenny lunged at me like a mad dog, pointing at my face and shouting, "You shameless wench! Get your pervert husband out here! He touched my daughter! We won't let you off until you pay us a million dollars for emotional trauma!"

Yvonne, sobbing, added, "Girl, you're a woman too; how can you protect your husband after what he did to me? Look at the marks on my neck! They're left by his fingers when he choked me!"

She stretched out her neck to give the camera a close-up shot. The red, swollen finger marks were clearly visible.

"Look closely! This is evidence! This is undeniable proof of his wrongdoing!"

The neighbors pointed and stared, their eyes full of disgust.

Seeing the girl's greedy and scheming face, I did not panic; instead, I could not help but laugh.

"Evidence? Finger marks?"

I crossed my arms and looked down at the pair of clowns.

"Your name's Yvonne, right? You're saying my husband choked you and ripped your clothes with his hands?"

Yvonne straightened up and said with unwavering confidence, "That's right! His hands were shockingly strong and covered in calluses. They hurt so much! I'll never forget those hands!"

"Good."

I nodded, a glint of coldness in my eyes.

"Hopefully, when we get to court, you’ll still remember what those hands look like.

"Because my husband lost his hands in a fire five years ago.

"You said he choked you? With what? His imaginary hands?"

Hearing my mockery, Yvonne’s expression froze.

But only for a moment.

The next second, she acted like she had heard the funniest joke ever and shouted even louder into the camera, "Guys, listen to this! As expected of a pervert's family member! To defend the rapist, she's cursing her own husband to not have hands! Are you saying I was fighting with a ghost in the elevator?"

Jenny spat on the ground. "Ptui! Shameless! Making up lies to dodge responsibilities! I saw him downstairs with my own eyes. Your husband was wearing black. He had his hands in his pockets when he entered the elevator. How can he not have hands?"

I laughed instead of getting angry, leaning against the door to watch their performance. "Oh? You saw him with his hands in his pockets?"

"Of course!" Jenny said confidently, "Both hands were in his pockets! Quit acting like he's disabled!"

Yvonne helped by crying to the police.

That's right, the local police had arrived.

"Officer, don't listen to that woman's lies. That man was so strong back in the elevator!"

She gestured wildly, sobbing as she described the details, "His palms were so rough. His fingers were full of calluses. It hurt so much when the calluses scratched my thighs... and his left hand was especially strong. When it grabbed the back of my neck, I felt like my bones were gonna break!

"I fought back desperately and managed to scratch the back of his hand. There must be my fingernail marks on the back of his right hand! That's the proof!"

The police officer frowned as he took notes. When he looked at me, his gaze was laced with suspicion. "Ma'am, please ask your husband, Chris Gomez, to come out and assist with the investigation. We can find out the truth by just inspecting the injury."

I stood in the doorway, not budging.

"Officer, my husband’s physical condition is a little unusual. He’s undergoing sterile treatment so he can't be exposed to the outside air or be stimulated right now. You can investigate, but I request a lawyer to be present, and..."

I coldly swept my eyes over Yvonne and her mother. "I want the entire questioning process to be recorded with a bodycam."

"You’re guilty! You’re feeling guilty!" Yvonne screamed while pointing at me. "You're afraid the officer will see the scratches on the back of his hand, aren't you?"

Looking at Yvonne's face that was twisted with excitement, the last bit of sympathy I had disappeared.

If I just let them go inside to have a look, this farce would be over.

But they were too greedy, too eager to solidify the "molestation" charge and too desperate for the so-called emotional trauma compensation.

Since they were so confident, even making up details like "calluses on the hands", "left hand grabbing the neck" and "scratches on the back of the hand", then I would help them.

I turned to the officer and said, "Okay, I'll cooperate with the investigation. But like I said, my husband can't move right now. I'll go to the police station with you to make a statement. As for the injury verification..."

I smirked mysteriously. "You can examine him as much as you want in court."

-

Being a famous influencer, Yvonne was a pro at editing videos.

That evening, a video titled "Rich Man Molests Innocent College Girl In The Elevator, The Wife Arrogantly Says: Sue Me If You Dare!" went viral.

In the video, she cut out all the parts that did not fit her narrative, only keeping the scenes where I laughed coldly and stopped the police officer from entering my apartment.

The caption was even more sensationalized: "So this is the power of money? Even the police can't go in! How can a weak woman like me protect her rights?"

The comments section exploded. Tens of thousands of negative comments flooded in.

[They're so arrogant! We have to dox them!]

[The man's hiding in his shell like a turtle. He must have the scratch marks!]

[That woman's no good either. She looks like a spiteful witch!]

[They need to be put behind bars! Stay strong, girl, we're all behind you!]

Even worse, someone dug up my phone number from the community's homeowner group.

My phone was instantly bombarded with all sorts of vile and abusive text messages.

Someone even photoshopped my husband's funeral photo and sent it to my phone.

Yvonne took advantage of the popularity and started a livestream.

In the livestream, she lay weakly in a hospital bed with a thick bandage around her neck, although the background was clearly a hotel. Jenny was next to her, wiping her tears.

"Thank you for all the well wishes... the doctor said I'm traumatized, I might... I might have depression..."

Yvonne choked up, "We don't want to take things too far. As long as they publicly apologize and pay us the emotional trauma compensation we ask for, we'll consider dropping the charges... After all, we should always be merciful when we can."

Watching all the donations and subscriptions pouring in on the livestream, I was so furious that my hands trembled.

Chris was lying on the bed. Although he did not have hands, he used his face to gently rub my cheek.

There was pain in his eyes, but there was also encouragement.

I took a deep breath, held his face and kissed the scars that had healed yet remained hideous.

"Don't worry, honey. If it's popularity they want, I'll give them a big boost."

I opened the X app, formerly known as Twitter, and registered a new account with the handle "Chris Gomez's Wife".

No nonsense, no sob stories.

I tagged Yvonne and posted a short tweet:

"Stop playing the victim. Forget a million dollars. If you can prove in court that those hands actually exist and have touched even just one of your fingers, I'll give you both my properties, both my cars, and 15 million dollars in cash on top."

This tweet exploded online.

[What the hell! 15 million?]

[This woman's crazy! She's giving away money for free!]

[She's betting that the man didn't leave fingerprints. So sneaky!]

[Can't wait to see her get humbled! Go for it, Yvonne! Take everything she has!]