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 7
Three minutes remained on the PK timer. Rowan's blue health bar stretched across eighty percent of the screen, a crushing, undeniable lead.
In Rowan's chat, her regular middle-class sponsors were steadily dropping fifty-dollar gifts.
Rowan winked at her camera, blowing kisses. "Thank you so much, daddies!" she squealed, throwing a smug, sideways glance at Chelsi's side of the screen.
Chelsi's red bar was pitifully small. A few new fans were tapping the screen to send free hearts and one-cent glow sticks.
Chelsi kept her head bowed. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her white t-shirt into tight knots. Her stomach churned violently as her brain desperately tried to figure out how she was going to survive a three-minute sexy dance without dying of shame.
Rowan was already celebrating. She reached over and blasted a heavy, provocative club track through her speakers.
Suddenly, a default grey avatar appeared in Chelsi's chat box. It had absolutely no VIP badges.
Millet: Noisy.
Before anyone could process the single word, a deafening, earth-shaking digital roar blasted through the audio feed of both streams.
Ten massive, golden virtual dragons-the second most expensive gift on the platform-burst from the bottom of Chelsi's screen. They spiraled upward, their golden scales flashing blindly.
System: Millet has gifted 10 Golden Dragons! ($10,000.00)
The ten-thousand-dollar nuke hit the health bar. Chelsi's red bar shot forward like a bullet, instantly obliterating Rowan's lead and pushing the blue bar into the corner.
Rowan's provocative club music abruptly stopped as her hand slipped off her mouse. Her jaw unhinged. Her eyes bulged out, staring at the screen in pure shock.
Chelsi physically jumped in her chair. She threw her head up, staring at the name Millet. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
Before the chat could even react to the mystery billionaire, a familiar streak of golden lightning flashed across the screen.
Channel Moderator AlphaRoach was online. And he was not happy about losing his spot as the top dog.
AlphaRoach didn't say a word. He simply dropped five Interstellar Black Holes.
System: AlphaRoach has gifted 5 Interstellar Black Holes! ($10,000.00)
The red bar extended even further.
In his Manhattan penthouse, Kamron glared at the iPad screen. He saw AlphaRoach's name and let out a vicious sneer.
"Old man," Kamron muttered, his jaw clenched tight. "You want to fight me for her?"
Kamron's fingers turned into a blur. He violently tapped the iPad screen.
Twenty more Golden Dragons roared into existence.
The two billionaires locked into a brutal, silent war. AlphaRoach threw Black Holes. Millet answered with swarms of Dragons. They completely ignored Rowan's existence.
The sheer volume of top-tier animations overloaded the platform's servers. Both video feeds began to drop frames, turning into heavily pixelated mosaics of flashing gold and purple light.
Rowan sat paralyzed in her chair. Her blue bar was completely invisible, crushed under hundreds of thousands of dollars in points. Her sponsors had gone dead silent, absolutely terrified to step into this war zone.
Because of the global gift broadcasts, Chelsi's viewer count shattered the 100,000 mark. The chat was moving so fast it looked like a solid white blur.
Chelsi leaned into the microphone, her voice frantic. "Millet! AlphaRoach! Stop! Please, that's enough! Stop spending your money!"
Kamron couldn't hear her over the sound of his own ego. He kept tapping until his bank's fraud department finally triggered the daily limit on his Black Card. He finished the war with one final Luxury Yacht.
The timer hit zero.
The massive VICTORY banner exploded on Chelsi's screen, glowing brighter than ever. She had won by a margin of several hundred times.
Rowan slumped back in her chair. Her perfectly styled hair looked slightly messy. She knew she had just been humiliated in front of a hundred thousand people.
A single line of text cut through Chelsi's chat box.
Millet: The penalty. Now. Stop wasting everyone's time.
Chelsi blinked. She stared at the aggressive, arrogant tone of Millet's message. A strange, prickling sensation ran down her spine. The way he spoke felt incredibly, weirdly familiar.
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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.