Chapter 4
The digital fallout was swift, merciless, and absolute.
Within two hours of the engagement party's abrupt termination, the video recording of Ashlyn Watson drenching me with a garden hose had gone viral across multiple social media platforms. Netizens dubbed the incident "Brentwood Bridezilla," and hashtags like #JusticeForElenaCross and #BeggarsAndQueens trended worldwide at the number one spot.
By midnight, the Watson family name—once synonymous with elite real estate development and high-society philanthropy in the region—had become a universal symbol of elitism and cruelty.
I sat in my private study on the third floor of the Brentwood mansion, sipping a cup of steaming chamomile tea while watching the live news coverage on the wall-mounted flat-screen. Reporters were swarming outside the Watson family residence downtown, shoving microphones toward closed gates while flashing headlines scrolled across the bottom of the screen: Watson Real Estate Shares Plunge 34% Following Viral Humiliation Video, and Corporate Partners Sever Ties with Scott Watson Amid Public Outcry.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Kaleb walked in, holding a thick leather-bound portfolio.
“Mom,” he said quietly, walking over to my desk and placing the folder down. “The legal team just sent over the final dissolution papers for the engagement contract, along with the asset audits.”
I looked up from my teacup and gestured for him to take a seat in the velvet armchair across from me.
“And how is the Watson family handling the reality check?” I asked, taking a slow sip.
“Not well,” Kaleb replied with a dry, humorless smile. “Scott’s primary investors pulled out before the stock market opened this morning. Their commercial real estate portfolio is facing massive defaults because three major municipalities just canceled their public-private partnership contracts due to 'moral clause violations.' In short, they are facing financial ruin.”
“Power built on arrogance is like a house constructed on quicksand,” I murmured, setting my teacup down on its saucer. “It looks solid until the first heavy rain arrives.”
“What about Ashlyn?” Kaleb asked, his expression softening with a mixture of lingering shock and sadness. “She’s tried calling my phone at least fifty times today. Her friends have all blocked her on social media. Even her country club revoked her membership this afternoon.”
“She is experiencing the exact reality she tried to inflict on others,” I said firmly. “She wanted to cast me out into the cold with nothing, believing that social status grants immunity from basic human decency. Now, she is discovering what it truly feels like to be treated as an outcast.”
Just then, my secure desk phone chimed. It was the estate’s front gate security desk.
“Mrs. Cross?” the head guard’s voice crackled through the intercom. “We have Mr. Scott Watson and his daughter Ashlyn at the main gates. They are demanding entry, claiming they need to speak with you and Mr. Kaleb directly. The press has followed them there, and they are causing a scene.”
Kaleb frowned, standing up immediately. “I'll tell security to turn them away—”
“No, wait,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. Let them in.”
Kaleb blinked in surprise. “Mom, why would you want to subject yourself to them again? You don't owe them a single second of your time.”
“I don't owe them anything, that’s true,” I replied, standing up and smoothing down my cardigan. “But a wise leader always watches how defeated opponents behave when they realize the war is lost. Come along, Kaleb. Let’s go down to the foyer.”
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors opened to admit Scott and Ashlyn Watson.
The transformation in both of them was staggering. Scott’s expensive tailored suit looked wrinkled and disheveled, his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying the weight of the world. Gone was the arrogant, threatening corporate executive who had sneered at me hours earlier.
Ashlyn looked even worse. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, devoid of makeup, and her eyes were swollen and red from endless crying. She was wearing a simple, unbranded gray hoodie and jeans—ironically, the kind of casual, understated clothing she had mocked me for wearing earlier that morning.
As soon as they stepped into the foyer, Kara was nowhere to be seen—likely hiding inside their own shuttered mansion—Ashlyn did something that stunned both Kaleb and me.
May you like
She dropped straight to her knees on the cold marble floor.
“Please,” Ashlyn choked out, her voice cracking with raw desperation as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please, Mrs. Cross... Elena... I am begging you.”
