Chapter 11
Chapter 11
The third week’s livestream was a hit, and the producers decided to focus on my city for week four.
But that would just be rehashing the previous week – nothing new to offer.
“Where did you go to college?” one of the show’s staff members asked, trying to brainstorm fresh
angles.
“University of Florida,” I replied simply.
“Hold on – isn’t that where Caspian went to school?” The producer’s voice rose with excitement.
At the mention of this, Jax, sitting up front, glanced back. His expression shifted, betraying an
unusual tension.
The fourth livestream was scheduled to coincide with the finale of Jax and Vivienne’s new show.
According to Jax’s original scheme, social media should have been flooded with hate comments about me during this promotional push.
Reality played out differently. Thanks to my indifference and the show’s unexpected turns, the unlikely pairing of Caspian and me had gained considerable momentum, quietly beginning to eclipse Jax and Vivienne.
@NotYourEx: “Even though Daisy and Caspian barely interact in public, you can tell there’s something deeper there.”
@TunnelVision: “Right? The energy in the car during episode two was intense. Something’s definitely going on.”
@JaxIsTheProblem: “I must be sick – I get this weird rush of joy whenever Jax suffers.”
Jax’s manager panicked, immediately purchasing trending topics on Twitter:
#DaisyIsAwful #DaisyWastedJaxsBestYears
Various hashtags featuring my name flooded Twitter’s trending section.
A burner account appeared, posting a single statement:
“They’re actually divorced.”
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Chapter 11
Within an hour, the tweet garnered thousands of likes.
In the comments, the account endorsed every pro–Jax and Vivienne message, attempting to manipulate public opinion.
Thirty minutes later, the account posted my photo.
I was wearing a rumpled pajama top, face drawn and pale, hair disheveled, looking completely
drained.
The caption read: “No wonder he didn’t want you.”
That photo was taken when Jax had a nasty cold.
Despite battling menstrual cramps, I’d made him chicken soup – the only thing his picky palette would tolerate when he was sick, and he insisted I make it.
“Let’s take a picture, come on,” he’d urged once he started feeling better, ever the drama queen.
I felt awful and resisted, but he insisted on documenting how well I’d cared for him, pulling me into
the frame.
Later, while reviewing his phone records during divorce proceedings, I discovered he’d sent that photo straight to Vivienne right after taking it.
“She’s so ugly.”
“I can’t stand it.”
Surprisingly, the comments beneath the photo weren’t uniformly against me.
More level–headed users began questioning the poster’s identity and condemning their actions.
@CommonSense: “Is doxxing necessary? This is clearly a private photo. You’ve gone too far!”
@StopTheHate: “This photo is way too personal. Starting to wonder who’s really behind this
account!”
@NoFilter: “Show me someone who doesn’t look like this at home. Nothing to mock here.”
The burner account frantically deleted comments, but seeing it was futile, eventually removed the photo entirely.
“Did you create a fake account to attack Vivienne?”
Chapter 11
Jax called the night before the livestream, his tone accusatory.
He sent a screenshot of an account I recognized one of his former super–fans who’d recently turned against him and Vivienne.
Jax was at his career peak, and image was everything. To the public, it appeared he’d cheated on me and was using this reality show to promote his relationship with Vivienne. The optics were terrible.
Many assumed I was orchestrating his downfall, like some avenging spirit.
While his partnership with Vivienne resonated with casual viewers, he was losing his core fan base rapidly.
What nobody realized was that he was trying to sanitize his affair while casting me as the villain.
“That’s one of your former stan accounts, remember?” I stated matter–of–factly.
He paused before asking, frustration seeping into his voice, “You’re sure it wasn’t you?”
“Of course not,” I replied, finding the suggestion ridiculous, and tried to end the call.
He pressed on, “Either way, Vivienne’s upset about this, and you’re at the root of it.”
“Daisy, you need to apologize,” he demanded impatiently.
“What’s really bothering you, Jax – Vivienne’s feelings, or losing your die–hard fans?” I shot back, cutting through his pretense.
That struck a nerve. His tone turned defensive and angry: “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this nonsense about you and Caspian?”
“Why don’t you just go pine after Caspian instead,” he sneered, his arrogance showing. “Just get over me already, you’re such a pain.”
In the past, I would have caved and apologized. Now, I simply stated, “Done.”
“I knew you’d be difficult, you’re just…” He was running on autopilot, only registering my response mid–sentence. “What did you say?” he asked, thrown off guard.
He’d heard me perfectly well. I didn’t give him the chance to respond – I just hung up.
