4: 4
Every last one of them turned Max down.
One of them said it flat out. "Mr. Dickerson, you've got nerve. You went and crossed Gail Pruitt. Not even the gods can save you now."
Max lowered his phone and stared at me, baffled. "What did you do to make every geomancer in the country refuse me?"
Carissa Henson sneered beside him. "What do you think she did? Young thing like her, she sold herself for it. That's all."
"The same way you did when you were young?" I said mildly.
Carissa flew into a rage and raised her hand to strike me.
Max caught her wrist.
"I'll be blunt," he said in a low, cold voice. "To people like us, a geomancer is a toy. Nothing more."
"Play along, cooperate, and we'll keep you comfortable. You'll never want for food or clothes."
"But if you won't behave, crushing you is easy. And your death could serve a purpose. It would put the fear of God into all those other geomancers who don't know their place."
I laughed. "Mr. Dickerson, I hope you're still this confident when your family's in ruins."
His face changed.
He gave a cold grunt and turned to Carissa. "We're leaving."
On her way out, Carissa spat the words at me. "Gail Pruitt, I'll be waiting. When you're out of options, you'll come crawling back and beg us on your knees."
......
Max moved fast.
Two hours later, the smear posts flooded the internet.
"Fake master Gail Pruitt, famous so young. What exactly did she trade for it?"
"Sold her body to buy the title of master, dragging the whole geomancy world through the mud. A rotten apple, plain and simple."
"Villagers testify: they saw Gail Pruitt with all kinds of shady men with their own eyes."
Those villagers had obviously taken the Dickersons' money. They ran their mouths on camera, tearing me down without pause.
With their testimony, the netizens swallowed it whole.
Someone dug up my social media account and buried me in mockery and abuse.
Others messaged me privately, asking how much it would cost to meet me for a night.
Within a few days my name had become a dirty joke. Influencers cranked out videos using "Gail Pruitt" as a byword for a woman with no shame.
The abuse online lit a fire under a lot of people in the geomancy world.
They called me one after another, ready to step in and teach these people a lesson.
I shook my head and told them no.
I was playing a long game. The moment wasn't ripe yet. No need to rush.
That night, Max called. "Master Pruitt, you've seen what I'm capable of by now."
"I suggest we each take a step back. I'll clear up the misunderstanding, and you fix the Dickerson family's problem."
"We shake hands and make peace. Isn't that better than both of us getting hurt?"
"If this is all you've got," I said flatly, "then I'm truly disappointed."
Max hung up, furious.
Soon my real home address was leaked, and the netizens started massing outside.
The house I lived in turned into a landmark, people coming and going day and night without a break.
Plenty of streamers pointed their cameras at my windows, foul-mouthed the whole time.
One day I went out to run an errand. Even with sunglasses and a mask on, an influencer and his crew stopped me halfway there.
He shoved his camera into my face. "Gail Pruitt, own up to what you do. You did the dirty deeds, so what's with all this hiding?"
I frowned.
I recognized this one. He was on the Dickerson family's payroll. He'd shown up more than anyone these past days, and he cursed me hardest on his streams.
"What do you want?" I said mildly.
He puffed himself up. "You got the guts to do a livestream with me? Let everyone hear exactly what's going on in that head of yours."
"Sure," I said evenly.
I agreed, and it threw him.
Two seconds later he lit up. "Really? That's great. We're starting right now!"
Afraid I might bolt, he had his people box me in from every side.
I could see his stream had already boiled over. The viewer count had blown past a million and was still climbing.
A million people cursing me at once, the filth all but swallowing the screen.
He grinned, pleased with himself. "Gail Pruitt, let me interview you. Why did you sell your body? Just for the title of master? Does your face mean nothing at all to you?"
I asked him straight. "Who says I sold my body? You have proof?"
He froze.
The comments kept pouring the abuse on me. "Still putting on an act? The Dickersons are the richest family in the country. You think they'd frame you for nothing?"
"Oh?" I said. "So it was the Dickersons who said it?"
I dialed the police right then and there. "The Dickerson family is spreading lies about me and running a smear campaign. I want them to apologize and pay damages."
The netizens went quiet for a beat.
Someone said, "That's bold. She actually called the cops. What if she really was framed?"
But more of them kept calling me a fraud, saying I wouldn't cry until I saw my own coffin.
The influencer's eyes darted around, and he tried another angle. "Whether or not you actually sold your body, we're all curious about something else."
"The Dickerson family offered to work with you. Why did you refuse? Why go after them?"
"Is it that you're not good enough, and you don't dare take the job because you're scared they'll see through you?"
"Because they're rotten people," I said, plain and serious. "I don't want to work with them."
He smiled, smug. "You have proof for that? Because without it, the Dickersons could have the police come arrest you."
I looked into the camera and smiled, letting it linger. "I do. I have plenty. Want to see?"
