Despite my forced agreement with Nicole to avoid further trouble, she went ahead and posted about me the next day. The malicious commentary paired with a picture of her red-rimmed eyes twisted the narrative further against me.

To make matters worse, she shared step-by-step details of my work managing the official account, dragging me unwillingly into the public eye.

The fallout was swift and devastating. Fans of the drama I worked tirelessly to promote turned against me. The account I nurtured for years lost 100,000 followers in no time, erasing my hard work as if it had never existed.

Yet, no one saw Nicole’s actions for what they truly were. Instead, I was blamed—labeled the obstacle standing in the way of her youthful dreams.

The messages read, “Why can’t you just support her? She’s young and passionate!”

A message from my boss popped up on my phone that evening, dragging me further into despair.

[Skylar, come see me tomorrow. I need to talk to you.]

A chill settled in my chest. I knew the meeting would bring more bad news, but I couldn’t have anticipated the depth of it.

When I met with Manager Lee, his expression was grim and he spoke in a slow, deliberate tone. "Skylar, this is the media business. Audience approval is everything. How can I let you continue in this position after all this?"

His words hung heavy in the air.

My chest tightened as I realized the implication. "Do you mean to demote me? You’re asking me to work under the newcomers now?"

I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Around us, my younger colleagues whispered and snickered, their barely concealed delight cutting deeper than Manager Lee’s words.

"That’s right, Skylar," one of them jeered, feigning sympathy. "You’re not young anymore. Maybe it’s time to step aside."

"Pretending to be young while opposing youth culture? It’s embarrassing. Makes me sick to watch you."

Their mockery, mingled with laughter, echoed in my ears. It snapped something in me. Years of stress and suppressed anger surged to the forefront. I turned sharply and hurled the nearest object to the floor. It shattered with a loud crash, silencing the room.

The office, once my domain of dedication and success, now stood still, drenched in humiliation and tension. Manager Lee’s darkened face showed his disapproval.

"Go home, Skylar," he said coldly, thrusting a stack of documents toward me.

I sneered, refusing the papers and stormed out without a backward glance. Fired over a video.

When I stepped outside, the weight of what had happened hit me fully. My career was in ruins, my reputation dragged through the mud and even the accounts I built painstakingly were reported and taken down, leaving nothing behind.

I arrived home, seeking solitude, but was met with an eerie silence.

The house was dark, yet the distinct sound of rummaging came from inside. A cold dread settled over me as I realized an intruder was there.

The noises grew louder—panicked, impatient movements as the thief searched for valuables. I crept into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, clutching it tightly.

If it comes to it, I won’t go down without a fight, I thought bitterly.

These past weeks had stripped me of so much; what else was there to lose? If it came to life or death, I would make it count.

I inched toward the master bedroom, my heart racing.

Turning on the light with a sudden burst of courage, I charged in—only to find myself face-to-face with Nicole.

She froze mid-motion, clutching my money in her hands. Her eyes widened with shock and her grip faltered. The cash fell to the floor in a fluttering cascade.

"Nicole? You’re stealing from me now?!"

My voice trembled with rage and the knife in my hand felt heavier with each passing second. Anger surged through me, obliterating the fear that had gripped me earlier.

Nicole flinched and dropped to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She sobbed theatrically, just as she always did when caught in the wrong. Her voice rose in a wail, full of false victimhood. "Skylar, please don’t hurt me! I didn’t mean to—!"

Her crocodile tears were infuriating. "You think you can pull this act again? Enough, Nicole! This ends here!" I grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.

She twisted, trying to free herself. "What are you doing?! Let me go!"

"No," I growled through clenched teeth. "You’re coming with me to the police station. This is theft, Nicole and I won’t let you wriggle out of it this time."

Nicole’s cries turned into high-pitched wails as she thrashed wildly. Just then, the sound of the front door creaking open filled the house. She froze for a moment before screaming even louder, her voice shrilled with desperation.

"Mom! Help me! She’s trying to kill me!"

I tightened my grip as she writhed and called out for her mother, using every ounce of her manipulative energy to twist the situation once again.

My mother-in-law and husband froze at the sight of Nicole and me in a heated struggle, the tension between us palpable.

I turned toward them, my voice breaking under the weight of suppressed anger. "Look! There's a thief in this house. Today, I’m going to..."

Slap!

Before I could finish, my husband struck me across the face, silencing me. The sharp sting reverberated through my cheek, leaving one side of my face burning and my ears ringing.

I stared at him in shock, unable to process what had just happened.

He didn’t offer an apology, nor did he show remorse. Instead, he rushed to Nicole’s side, pulling her toward my mother-in-law while glaring at me with venom in his eyes.

"That’s my sister," he barked. "I’ve never laid a finger on her since she was a child. Who do you think you are?"

I stood there, frozen, my disbelief mixing with the pain coursing through my face.

This was the man I had married, the father of my children—and now, my assailant. His eyes held no trace of the affection I once believed in, only the instinct to shield everyone in the family except me.

My mother-in-law, stunned at first, quickly regained her composure. Seeing that my husband offered me no support, she doubled down, embracing Nicole and sobbing theatrically.

"Do you know how hard it was to give birth to Nicole after ten months of pregnancy?" she wailed, rubbing her daughter's hair as though to shield her from some great injustice.

I felt a bitter chill seep into my chest. It was as if I had been cast out of my own life, reduced to an outsider. Memories of all I had done for this family surfaced—paying Nicole’s tuition, buying gifts for my mother-in-law—and suddenly, it all felt meaningless.

I should’ve fed that money to the dogs; at least they would’ve been loyal.

Nicole, emboldened by the spectacle, lashed out at me with renewed fury. "She’s lying! My sister-in-law just wants to smear my name and keep the money for herself. She even threatened me with a knife!"

Her lies flowed effortlessly, her face the perfect mask of innocence.

I knew her accusations were baseless, but what did the truth matter in this house?

Nicole, seeing her dramatics losing momentum, stormed off to her room in mock outrage, slamming the door behind her.

My husband sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and stepped out onto the balcony to smoke.

"That’s enough," he muttered, smoke curling from his lips. "Nicole is just a child. Can’t you just give her some money and let it go?"

I shot him a glare, the icy fury in my eyes unrelenting.

"Eli, how much is your salary this month?" I asked sharply. "Why don’t you hand it over to your precious sister, then?"

His face darkened instantly.

I had hit a sore spot. He knew his salary barely covered anything; it was my earnings that had propped up this household for years. Yet, here he was, chastising me while protecting Nicole.

We stood there in the living room, glaring at one another, the tension suffocating. Neither of us was willing to back down.

From upstairs, a sudden, shrill cry shattered the silence. "Ah, Nicole! What will happen to your mother if you die?!"

I frowned, the sharpness of her mother’s voice jarring me from my thoughts. What now?

Nicole had gone to the extreme. She had taken pills in a bid for attention and her act plunged the house into chaos.

I stood there, my face darkened with suppressed anger, as my mother-in-law shrieked and rushed to her side.

At the hospital, the hysterics continued.

My mother-in-law cried loudly enough to shake the walls, pointing her finger at me in condemnation. "It’s all your fault! You wronged her and now she’s like this!"

She even pretended to call the police, bellowing to anyone who would listen that I was a murderer.

By this point, the neighbors had gathered, drawn out of their homes by the noise. Seeing the audience grow, my mother-in-law's performance became even more theatrical.

She clung to one of her old friends, sobbing dramatically. "Skylar pushed her to this! Call the police—she needs to pay for what she’s done!"

I stood there, torn between anger and disbelief, watching her smear my name in front of the entire neighborhood. "What nonsense are you spouting now?" I finally managed, my voice trembling with restrained fury.

But their eyes told me everything—they believed her.

Before I could defend myself, someone hurled a rag at me. It hit me squarely, the stench nauseating. My breath caught in my throat and for a moment, I was too stunned to react.

The hostility in their faces was undeniable. Whispers quickly turned to outright accusations.

"A disrespectful daughter-in-law like her would have been beaten to death in the old days."

"I heard she stole money from the family, too. What a disgrace!"

The words hit harder than the rag. These people, whom I had shared a community with, now looked at me as though I were filth.

I clenched my fists, swallowing the sharp retorts on the tip of my tongue. This wasn’t just Nicole’s doing—it was this family’s rot infecting everything.

I knew one thing with certainty: this slap, this humiliation, this moment—I would never forgive or forget.

The crowd of neighbors, enjoying the escalating drama, huddled closer, their faces alight with morbid curiosity. Their fingers pointed, their laughter unkind, as if my humiliation were the evening’s entertainment.

In the center of it all, my husband stood motionless.

Silent.

A bystander in my life, indifferent to the chaos unraveling before him.

"My daughter is dead! Just wait—she’s going to pay for it!" My mother-in-law wailed dramatically, her words as cutting as the winter wind.

Nicole had swallowed a few sleeping pills in her bid for attention, yet here I was, accused of murder.

I turned to my husband, but his only response was a weak gesture of kindness—a tissue held out like a peace offering. The sight of him pretending to care broke something inside me.

I smiled through the pain, took the tissue and wiped my tears. Then, as though possessed by a different spirit, I approached my mother-in-law with an uncharacteristic calmness.