I had already come across an obsessive fan online who fantasized about my husband all day and even went so far as to photoshop a marriage certificate.
Initially, I thought about letting it go for the sake of Ryleigh, but you've sunk to a new low that's just disgraceful.
I took out my phone and showed a screenshot.
It was a social media account using my name, with my daughter's school photo as the profile picture. The content was filled with explicit fantasies about Mitchell.
The most outrageous post claimed that as long as Mitchell spent a night with me, I'd be willing to degrade myself in every possible way.
"Would your daughter and husband still want you if they knew how shameless you are?"
Hearing these false accusations made me tremble with rage. But given the sensitive nature of my job, I knew it was best not to engage in a public scene.
I forced myself to calm down and opened my phone to clear my name by showing my own social media account. Just as I was about to do so, Jemma swatted it away.
"You've managed to snag such a wealthy husband; no wonder you’re holding on tight," she sneered. "No wonder you claim your job is inconvenient; turns out, you’re just the mistress."
She jabbed her finger into my forehead, pressing hard. "If you don’t admit you're the mistress, I’ll bring out more evidence."
She led the way to the luxury car I arrived in. Other parents, misunderstanding her intentions, started throwing insults.
"Even if Mr. West had a lapse of judgment, it doesn’t mean he’s interested in you," one scoffed.
"Exactly! Why else would the car be a model no one's ever seen? It just proves you're out of your league."
"Could it be a fake car? Brought here just to show off and ended up embarrassing yourself."
The vehicle was a custom design, waterproof, bulletproof, and explosion-proof. As the crowd belittled me, I was about to defend myself when Jemma suddenly slapped me across the face.
I dodged quickly, but she still managed to scratch my skin.
Staring wide-eyed, she shouted indignantly, “This car is real because it’s mine! The license plate letters ‘M’ and ‘J’ stand for my husband Mitchell and me, Jemma.”
I frowned, recalling how Mitchell had mentioned swapping all-zero plates for ones with his and my initials. It seemed he had found a convenient excuse to appease his mistress.
Unwilling to engage further, I went to retrieve the vehicle registration. But Jemma tore it to shreds as soon as I opened it.
"You witch, don’t think you can fool me," she growled, raising her hand to slap me again. This time, I was ready. I grabbed her wrist and flung it aside.
Caught off guard, Jemma fell to the ground, tearing the hem of her Victorian-style dress. Trembling with anger, she pointed at me and screamed, "You home-wrecking tramp! Want to know what my husband says about you? He says you’re like a dog in heat, spreading your legs at the mere sight of him."
"But he finds you disgusting and wouldn’t touch you."
The surrounding parents quickly rallied to Jemma’s side, hurling insults at me.
I took off my coat, letting their verbal abuse roll off me and flinging it back into the crowd. Watching them scatter like clowns, I coldly spoke, "You accuse without knowing the facts?"
"Jemma, I'm formally letting you know: you're the mistress."
"Call off the wedding now, and you might still have a chance to redeem yourself."
Jemma, however, remained undeterred. "When my husband comes to get me, you’ll regret this."
Pointing to the car behind me, she continued smugly, "You hussy, I’m officially notifying you: wash the car immediately and compensate me five million for emotional damages."
I laughed in disbelief at the absurd demand.
"And why should I?" I asked.
Jemma narrowed her eyes and shifted to the side, her face filled with triumph.
"Why?" she taunted, "Because of her!"
