Live Stream Slut No More

From the back cover

The fluorescent hum of the hospital room mocked the silence where my joy should have been. I had just given my son, Liam, a kidney, a piece of myself to save his life. My husband, Robert Sterling, texted me heart emojis, calling me a hero.

Then, a detective called, informing me Robert had been kidnapped. An unknown number sent a video: Robert, bruised and tied, a distorted voice demanding a humiliating live-streamed performance from me to save him.

For three nights, I became a public spectacle, the "Live Stream Slut," watching my hard-earned reputation, my mother's esteemed design firm, crumble into dust. Robert returned, weeping, promising forever, while the police found nothing, and the world condemned me. I lost everything, my life shrinking to a quiet existence, shielded by what I thought was their love.

Five years later, I overheard Liam and Robert. Liam's voice was cold, talking about Scarlett, my stepsister. Robert chuckled, a cruel sound, revealing the "kidnapping" was a fake, a brilliant scheme to destroy me, hand my company to his mistress, and give my precious kidney to her instead of our son.

My heart shattered, then hardened. They thought they had broken me. They were wrong. I quietly began to mend my wings, searching for jobs far away, connecting with the best divorce lawyer, and plunging into their meticulously crafted financial labyrinth. I wasn't just leaving. I was going to burn their world to the ground.