"In the old days they'd drown her for shame! A used-up tramp and she still thinks she gets to be picky? She wants my son to clean up some other man's mess?"
The livestream comments were flying.
"I know that complex—notorious mistress den! Confirmed whore, case closed."
"Poor guy. Stuck with some tramp everyone else already had a turn with."
The screen was a cesspool, and reading it made my stomach turn.
But the bigger question gnawing at me was what the guards had said about the resident records.
I'd paid for this condo with money I earned myself, every last cent. My name was the only one on the deed.
From signing the contract to closing the transfer, start to finish, no one else had a hand in any of it.
So how could the registered owner possibly be listed as male?
Christine took my silence as fuel.
She shoved the phone screen right into my face. "Go on, say it to the camera!"
"What's your sugar daddy's name? How much did your father embezzle?"
"You don't come clean today, I'll turn you into the biggest disgrace on the entire internet!"
I pushed the phone away and stared at the group, ice in my voice.
"I've already called the police. What you're doing right now is harassment and defamation."