Three Years of Humiliation, Finally Got Revenge

On my way to pick up my child, I came across a post.

“What’s the most thrilling thing you’ve ever done in your life?”

The comments were all over the place.

Some said having an affair, some said streaking.

Everyone was debating wildly.

I scrolled past without much interest.

Until a familiar profile picture caught my eye.

She was saying she had ruined a girl’s life with just one sentence.

“That was my boss’s fiancée, young and beautiful.”

“She was kidnapped the night before the wedding, and my boss asked me to deliver the ransom.”

“I suggested waiting a few days, letting her suffer a bit so she’d learn her lesson.”

“But she was useless; the kidnappers tortured her until she went insane, and she was sent to a mental hospital.”

“This is her third year in the mental hospital.”

“And I finally married my boss.”

The word “finally” carried a smugness sharpened by years of planning.

Like a provocation arriving three years late.

——

The post went viral fast.

Her comment was soon pushed to the top.

Sophia Young posted a photo.

Hands clasped tightly.

Wearing the wedding ring, she designed for herself but never got to wear it.

“I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

“Even if I had a hundred chances, I’d still make the same choice.”

“After all, in this world, only I deserve him.”

“Not some spoiled, crying little girl.”

She recounted the hardships she shared with Lucas Lawrence.

She talked about how they propped up a company on the verge of collapse.

She talked about the nights they fought side by side, relying on each other.

But she never mentioned where Lucas’s startup capital came from.

Ethan hadn’t gotten out of school yet.

While waiting at the red light, more than a dozen comments had already appeared.

Some scolded her for being shameless, saying that harming someone would never end well.

Some said I just had a weak mentality, and it wasn’t her fault.

Even worse, some dug up her identity and found photos that once shocked the entire internet.

Seeing that blurry picture, I froze.

It felt like looking through a tear in time.

I saw myself three years ago, lost and desperate.

Stripped naked and thrown onto the street.

Walking bare into the media’s spotlight.

A brutal contrast to Sophia—glamorous, standing proudly beside Lucas.

Although Lucas later tried everything to suppress the trending topic,

those humiliating moments are still permanently carved into the internet’s memory.

As I sighed, the light turned green.

I sighed again and drove on.

By the time I reached the next intersection, the comments were gone.

But on my phone, there was a message from five minutes ago.

“Sophie, are you alright?” The number was unfamiliar, and there was no signature.

But in this world, only one person calls me Sophie.

That person, and only that one. I paused for a moment, then chose to delete the message.

That concern came far too late.

Three years have passed.

Whether I’m doing well or not is no longer his business.

The car kept moving; I no longer had time to look back.

Only sometimes, when leaves drift down,

would I think of distant memories.

Before I turned eighteen, I had never suffered even once.

I was the treasured daughter of the Carter family.

I had a chauffeur for everything, and a nanny to care for me every day.

Even my arranged fiancé was the handsome and arrogant rising star of Newport’s elite, Lucas.