My fiancé offered his friends a $50M car to ruin me, completely unaware I was reading the translucent comments revealing his entire plot.

Derek tried to lunge forward, but his limbs refused to obey. His knees buckled, and he crashed clumsily against the marble floor, gasping as his motor functions shut down.

"You... poisoned me..." he choked out, his tongue already growing thick and heavy.

"Not poison. Just a sedative," I replied smoothly, crouching down beside him. I took out my phone and switched on the video recording in crystal-clear 4K. "You have about four minutes before you lose consciousness entirely. If you want me to call an ambulance before your respiratory system slows dangerously, you’re going to speak clearly into this microphone."

*YES! Queen, ruin him!*

*Record every single word! Lucas’s legal team can’t bury this if it hits the press.*

*Derek’s father sits on the city zoning board. This scandal will wipe out their entire family estate!*

The comments floated over Derek's pale, sweating face like digital subtitles.

"Sophia... please..." Derek whined, terror replacing his swagger.

"Tell the camera," I commanded softly, angling the lens toward his face. "Whose idea was it? What was the wager?"

Derek wheezed, his chest heaving. "Lucas... Lucas Vance. He said... he couldn't marry you because Emma is coming back next month. But his grandfather's will states he forfeits his inheritance if he breaks the engagement without cause."

"And the cause?" I prompted, keeping my voice chillingly steady.

"Infidelity," Derek stammered, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. "He promised his custom Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita to whoever slept with you, took photos, and leaked them to the board. I was just... I was just following along! Ryan Whitaker has a plan too! He’s working on your family’s logistics firm!"

"What did Ryan do?" I demanded, pressing the phone closer.

"He... forged delivery manifests... hazardous materials... to blackmail your father..." Derek's eyes rolled back slightly, his head lolling to the right. "Please... an ambulance..."

"Thank you, Derek," I said sweetly.

I stopped the recording, uploaded the file to three separate encrypted cloud servers, and sent a duplicate copy straight to my private safe. Then, I picked up Derek’s phone from his pocket, unlocking it using his limp thumb.

*Password for the group chat folder is 0418—Emma’s birthday,* a translucent note flashed helpfully in purple neon.

I keyed in the digits, and the hidden folder popped open instantly. Inside were hundreds of messages between Lucas, Derek, Ryan, and two other heirs of Vance Capital’s inner circle. They had discussed destroying my life as if they were trading baseball cards.

Lucas had written: *Make sure she cries on camera. Emma likes watching her cry.*

A cold, razor-sharp fury crystallized in my chest. I didn't dial an ambulance immediately. Instead, I posed Derek neatly against the base of my sofa, arranged his unbuttoned shirt to look completely ridiculous, and took three humiliating photographs.

Only then did I dial emergency services, reporting an unexpected allergic reaction.

By the time the paramedics carried Derek out on a stretcher, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a message from Ryan Whitaker.

Ryan: *Derek says he’s at your place. Everything okay, Sophia? Lucas and I are worried.*

I typed back with steady fingers: *Everything is fine, Ryan. Derek had to leave early. Actually... I was hoping to ask you a favor about my father's shipping contracts tomorrow?*