Jordyn’s face darkened when she saw the gifts I had sent—each worth tens or even hundreds of thousands.
She yanked my wrist and snapped, “I don’t believe any of this is real! Don’t you dare leave—wait until I’ve had everything verified. I won’t be labeled as someone who bullies others!”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I calmly pulled my arm free.
“Everything I gave you is authentic. And I expect the items you return to be just as real.”
With that, I walked away without looking back.
I figured once she opened those gift boxes and saw the labels for herself, she would realize just how ridiculously wrong she had been.
But instead, she blew up my phone with back-to-back calls in the middle of the night.
When I didn’t answer, she lost it completely—sending dozens of 60-second voice messages filled with rage.
“Wayne! What the hell did you do behind my back?! How else could you afford all this?!”
She demanded answers, obsessively chasing down the truth.
Obviously, she had already confirmed everything I gave her was genuine.
And now that she couldn’t deny it, she was trying to turn the tables.
I shut off my phone and went to sleep.
But the next morning, when I turned it back on, it was like the sky had fallen.
Jordyn had gone nuclear—she posted our story online, framing me as a gold-digging scammer.
With my photo in hand, she went on a public hunt, looking for the “wealthy sugar mommy” who was supposedly bankrolling me.
In no time, I became the number one trending topic online—the infamous “kept man” everyone wanted to spit on.
My name, ID, phone number, even my address were dug up and plastered all over the internet.
My phone nearly exploded from the flood of hate messages.
But it didn’t stop there.
Somehow, my photo and number ended up on shady adult sites. The comments were disgusting.
Even worse, someone photoshopped my face onto naked male models and listed the images for sale—9.9 per download, complete with the tagline: [Guaranteed satisfaction or your money back.]
I didn’t hesitate—I went straight to the police.
But despite their best efforts, they couldn’t track the original source.
And because the incident had gone so viral, shutting down one shady site only caused the photos to spread to others like wildfire.
Even though I knew the images were fake, the whole thing made me feel sick to my core.
There was no doubt in my mind—this was all Jordyn’s doing.
Disgusted, I forced myself to call her.
But she’d vanished.
Before disappearing, though, she made sure to finish what she started—pulling every string she had in the industry to blacklist me.
Every résumé I sent out disappeared into a black hole. Not a single interview. Not a single call back.
At the same time, Jordyn was flaunting Garrett all over the place, taking him to high-profile events, business banquets, and media appearances.
On social media, Garrett even posted a photo of his new limited-edition sports car with the caption.
[Forever touched by the kindness of my sweet childhood love~”]
The location tagged was an exclusive private members-only club.
Jordyn commented below.
[Baby, you deserve only the best.]
That same night, I got a text from her.
[Wayne, if you want to keep living comfortably, pay back the five hundred thousand first. Then sign a contract agreeing to be my kept man and loyal lapdog.]
[As long as you behave and don’t start drama with Garrett, I’ll take care of you for life. Otherwise, forget about ever finding a job again.”]
I stared at the screen—and suddenly laughed.
Did Jordyn really think she could buy me?
Did she really believe that, with my background and capabilities, she was doing me a favor by “keeping” me?
The arrogance was almost amusing.
I didn’t bother arguing. I replied with a single word.
[Scram.]
I thought that would be the end of it.
But that night, Jordyn showed up at my apartment—with four bodyguards.
I was in the study, admiring a newly acquired antique blue-and-white porcelain vase, when the doorbell started ringing like an air raid siren.
I checked the security monitor—and there she was.
Her expression stormy, her arms crossed.
Behind her stood four men in black suits, radiating aggression.
