Spoiling The Unfiltered Goddess With My Wealth
Chelsi was down to her last fourteen dollars. After a humiliating job rejection for being "too low-class," the threat of eviction forced her to try live-streaming. Terrified of her exhausted, tear-stained face, she cranked the AR beauty filter to the max, morphing into a bizarre plastic alien.
She was immediately dragged into a forced streaming battle with Kamron, the platform's most arrogant top streamer. Seeing her distorted filter, Kamron sneered, unleashing fifty thousand fans to flood her chat with toxic insults.
Kamron set a ruthless penalty for her inevitable loss.
"You're going to take a bar of soap, scrub your face completely clean, and shove your bare face right into the camera."
Desperate to keep the fifty dollars she had just earned for rent, Chelsi begged for a different punishment, but Kamron coldly refused. With her heart pounding, she walked to the freezing bathroom, her hands shaking as she scrubbed her skin raw, bracing for the cyberbullying.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly humiliated by the cruelty of the internet. Why did she have to be stripped of her dignity just to survive? She clicked off the filter, waiting for the tidal wave of disgust to destroy her.
But the insults never came. The high-definition camera revealed a breathtakingly delicate, flawless face that no algorithm could ever replicate. The chat went dead silent, Kamron was so stunned he dropped a ten-thousand-dollar virtual yacht, and a silent war between two mysterious billionaires was about to begin.
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Chapter 3
A massive red and blue health bar materialized at the top of the split screen.
Within the very first second, Kamron's blue bar surged forward, eating up a huge chunk of the screen as his fans tossed in small, rapid-fire donations.
Kamron leaned back into his leather chair. He pulled a limited-edition metal lighter from his pocket and began flipping the lid open and closed with a sharp click, click. His dark eyes locked onto Chelsi's screen with predatory amusement.
He cleared his throat, leaning toward the mic.
"Here is the penalty," Kamron announced loudly. "When you lose, you are going to turn off every single one of those AR beauty filters."
Chelsi's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Her hands flew up, instinctively covering her cheeks. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Kamron saw her terrified reaction and let out a dark, satisfied chuckle.
"I'm not done," Kamron added, his voice turning even colder. "You're going to take your phone into the bathroom. You're going to take a bar of soap, scrub your face completely clean, and shove your bare face right into the camera."
Kamron's chat exploded.
Yes! Expose the catfish!
Make the alien show her real face!
Get the makeup wipes ready!
Chelsi's breathing turned ragged. She leaned closer to her cheap microphone, her voice trembling violently.
"Please," Chelsi begged, her throat tight. "Can we change it? I can do push-ups. I can sing a song. Please."
"No negotiations," Kamron cut her off instantly. His tone was brutal. "On Apex, you accept the PK, you accept the terms. Unless you want to delete your account right now."
Chelsi thought of the fourteen dollars in her bank account. She thought of the fifty dollars she desperately needed to keep.
She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she gave a stiff, jerky nod. She accepted the humiliation.
Kamron whistled sharply. "Alright, boys. You heard her. Let's push."
The moment the words left his mouth, the blue bar skyrocketed. It shoved Chelsi's red bar almost entirely off the screen.
Chelsi squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the timer to end.
Suddenly, the center of the screen erupted in a blinding flash of digital lightning.
The system broadcasted to the entire room: AlphaRoach has gifted 10 Thunderstorms! ($5,000.00)
The red bar jolted like it had been hit with a defibrillator. It violently pushed back, slamming Kamron's blue bar right back to the dead center of the screen.
Kamron's lazy posture vanished. He shot straight up in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests. He stared at the ID AlphaRoach in absolute disbelief.
Kamron's fans went feral. They saw this as a direct insult to the Morningstar army. Thousands of small gifts rained down on Kamron's side, trying to overwhelm the red bar with sheer volume.
AlphaRoach didn't type a single word. He didn't engage in the chat.
Exactly ten seconds later, another digital lightning bolt struck. Then another. And another.
The flashing lights illuminated Chelsi's dark bedroom in chaotic bursts of color. Her jaw dropped. Her hands gripped her knees so tightly her muscles ached. She couldn't process what was happening.
With two minutes left on the clock, Chelsi's red bar miraculously overpowered Kamron's. She was winning.
Kamron's face turned a dark, furious shade of red. Losing to a filtered rookie would make him the laughingstock of the entire platform.
Just as the panic set in, the VIP entrance channel on Kamron's side flashed with a blinding platinum light.
A user with the highest VIP badge on the platform entered the room. The ID read: Southwind.
Kamron's tense shoulders instantly dropped. He let out a loud, relieved laugh and pointed at the camera. "Welcome in, brother!"
Southwind didn't say hello. He just typed three words in the public chat.
Southwind: This is boring.
A second later, a massive, screen-shaking virtual Star Cruiser slowly floated across both screens. The system notification flashed: Southwind has gifted a Star Cruiser! ($5,000.00)
The massive influx of points instantly shoved Kamron's blue bar all the way to the edge. Chelsi's red bar was completely crushed.
AlphaRoach tried to fire back. A brief pause stretched on his end, the red bar stalling dangerously. Then, instead of another barrage of gifts, a single line of text appeared in the chat:
AlphaRoach: An urgent call from the board. I have to step away.
The countdown timer ticked down. Three. Two. One.
A massive, glowing blue VICTORY banner slammed onto Kamron's side of the screen.
Dead silence fell over Chelsi's room.
Kamron leaned back, a devilish, victorious smirk spreading across his face. He tapped his fingers against his desk.
"Go wash your face, little liar," Kamron commanded.
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9.1
I stood alone at the marble altar, the silence of the temple pressing against my eardrums.
It was my Mating Ceremony, but the groom was missing.
My phone buzzed with a notification: a livestream of my mate, Alpha Cain, skipping our union to welcome my sister, Eris, home.
In the video, he held her like she was fragile glass, captioning it: "True power recognizes true power."
When I returned to the Pack House, humiliated, I wasn't met with an apology.
I was met with a slap from my mother.
Eris, feigning a powerful "Alpha Aura," claimed my mere scent was poisoning her.
To "save" her, my family locked me in my room.
But the true betrayal came when I overheard their hushed whispers through the door.
"Use Vera," my mother said, her voice chillingly practical.
"She recovers fast. We can drain her blood weekly for Eris. She can stay as a servant to raise Cain and Eris's pups."
My blood ran cold.
They didn't just neglect me; they planned to harvest me like livestock.
They thought I was the weak Omega they exiled to the North years ago to peel potatoes.
They had no idea that in the North, I wasn't a servant.
I was Commander V, a warrior forged in ice and blood.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my black tactical duffel.
"Screw the meatloaf," I whispered.
I wasn't just leaving. I was going to war.
8.3
Imogen Montgomery was the perfect billionaire heiress, deeply in love and ready to marry her fiancé, Clark Ellis.
That all ended the night her cousin Kathleen ripped the sapphire pendant from her neck and pushed her into a pool of toxic chemicals to die.
Two years later, Imogen's eyes snapped open. But she didn't wake up in a hospital. She woke up tied to a stained mattress, trapped in the battered body of Briana, a teenage girl from the slums who had just been sold to a local trafficker.
After violently fighting her way out of a cheap motel, she discovered the horrifying truth. Kathleen had taken over the Montgomery Group. She had locked Imogen's grieving parents away in a psychiatric facility as prisoners.
And worst of all, Kathleen was now flaunting her stolen wealth online, preparing to marry Clark.
A wave of pure, white-hot rage boiled in her blood. Kathleen had murdered her, stolen her family, and was playing the perfect grieving cousin. How was she supposed to fight back? She was just a runaway nobody now. If she tried to expose the truth, Kathleen's security would shoot her dead in the street.
She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed the one man Kathleen feared.
Covered in mud and blood, Briana intercepted Clark's car in the freezing rain. She was going to infiltrate his home as his vulgar, unhinged fake mistress, and she would drag Kathleen straight down to hell.
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.
9.5
My husband told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a social media influencer, a woman whose lies were as polished as her feed.
But when her baby was found with a small cut on her lip, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous monster who attacked an innocent child.
My husband, the man I had stood by through everything, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he ordered a guard to take a needle and thread and sew my lips shut.
"She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.
He then had me hung upside down in the lobby of my own wellness retreat, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.
As I dangled there, bleeding and broken, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I' d planted in the baby's room. And they had no idea that my family could crush his entire empire with a single phone call.
9.0
My fiancé, Jadon, proposed on the Fourth of July. It was the perfect moment I had dreamed of since we were kids. That night, he called me on FaceTime.
But the man on the screen wasn't him. It was a version of him from five years in the future, his face hollow with regret.
He laid out a horrifying timeline of betrayal. He was sleeping with my best friend and business partner, Kimberly.
She would use his venture capital to steal my architectural firm. She would sabotage my father' s life-saving kidney transplant, leaving him to die.
And she would maliciously cause a future pregnancy to end in tragedy, murdering our unborn child.
My entire world-my love, my friendship, my future-was a lie. The two people I trusted most were plotting my complete ruin.
This broken man from the future, desperate to atone, gave me a roadmap to escape. So I drove my car off a cliff and faked my own death, determined to rewrite the story they had written for me.
7.2
On our wedding night, celebrating a billion-dollar family merger, my new husband Coleton stepped out of the shower.
Suddenly, his phone rang. It was his dead brother's widow, Hana, crying that her five-year-old had a fever.
Without hesitation, Coleton shoved me hard into the wall to get out the door.
"Are you seriously jealous of a sick five-year-old kid?" he spat.
He abandoned me in the bridal suite. I immediately filed for divorce and leaked it to the press.
To save the merger and their stock prices, both our families rushed in to force me to back down.
My own father raised his hand to slap me for my "petty female jealousy."
Coleton's grandfather brutally beat him with a heavy wooden cane right in front of me, trying to use a twisted debt of honor to guilt-trip me into staying.
Through a hidden dumbwaiter shaft, I overheard their secret meeting. They were plotting to use Coleton's bloody photos to paint me as a cold-hearted villain to the media, trapping me in the marriage through public shame.
My own brother nodded along to this plot just to secure his CEO bonus.
Coleton only begged for my forgiveness because he was terrified of losing his trust fund to an illegitimate heir.
In their eyes, my dignity was just a cheap commodity with a price tag.
But I am a Pennington, raised in a world where trust is a liability.
I calmly saved the audio recording of their plot, packed my Hermes suitcase, and emailed the most ruthless divorce litigator in Manhattan.