Just because I peeled some shrimp for my husband, I was secretly filmed by Harper Sloane, a massive "feminist" influencer, and framed as a "brainless trad-wife" with no self-respect. Before I knew it, thousands of filthy comments flooded my social media. My husband, Liam, was heartbroken. He wanted to mobilize his legal team to get justice for me, but I stopped him just in time. In my past life, we did exactly that. We used the weapon of law to defend ourselves. But just as we were about to win, Harper livestreamed her suicide attempt. Instantly, public opinion flipped, and we were branded as murderers. In the end, the pressure of online mobs destroyed Liam's law firm. His parents died of heart attacks induced by the stress. And I was pushed into oncoming traffic by one of her fanatical followers. After I died, Harper miraculously "survived," gained six million followers, and became the queen of the livestreaming platform. Only then did I realize it was all a calculated stunt to gain clout. And she only picked me because earlier that day, the guy she liked rejected her, using me—a stranger passing by—as his excuse. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I did was put on my best "battle armor"—a soft, hyper-feminine dress—and apply the perfect "no-makeup" makeup look. I was going to be the ultimate "fragile wife." This time, I’m going to use her as my stepping stone to the top. ...... 1 When I got home, my social media notifications were blowing up, just like in my previous life. The same filthy comments, filled with insults involving my mother. Liam was furious. He wanted his lawyers to demand justice immediately, but I stopped him. He looked confused. "Babe, this influencer, Harper Sloane, is clearly using us for clout at the expense of our reputation. Are we really going to do nothing?" I smiled and shook my head. "Of course not. But we can't get defensive. We need to do the exact opposite." Seeing his confusion, I threw together a compilation of clips where I looked my absolute best. In every video, my skin looked like a peeled hard-boiled egg—smooth and glowing. I looked soft, delicate, the kind of woman who triggers an immediate protective instinct. "Explaining makes us look guilty. Instead, we lean into the aesthetic. Beauty is justice. I am the ultimate Trad Wife." Liam didn't get it, but he trusted me. I didn't waste time. After he left for work, I set up the best lighting, made sure I looked ethereal, and started a livestream. Because of the controversy, people flooded in. Some I didn't know at all immediately started typing, calling me a "gold digger" and a "disgrace to women." I didn't get angry. I just apologized softly, constantly emphasizing that I was sorry for "embarrassing other women." I adjusted my angle to show my best side, sniffled, and said through tears that I shouldn't have served food to the man I loved. The aggressive comments instantly slowed down. Half the viewers lost their steam. Many started commenting, telling me not to cry, saying that peeling shrimp wasn't a crime. Of course, there were still haters. I saw a familiar burner account spamming hate and immediately recognized it as Harper. I leaned closer to the camera, maximizing the impact of my teary eyes. Seeing the comments shift to praising my looks, I choked back a sob and read a hate comment aloud. "This... princess... I don't know you... You can insult me... but please... don't talk about my family..." My face, stained with tears like a flower in the rain, sparked pity. The netizens turned their fire on Harper, throwing the insults she had incited back at her. I waved my hands frantically, crying out: "Guys, please don't be mad for me. She thinks she's doing the right thing. If you get angry because of me, then it's my fault." Being this understanding made people love me even more. Countless comments flooded in, saying I wasn't a "brainless wife," but a soft, sweet angel. I widened my eyes, red as a rabbit's, and pouted. 2 "Ah, thank you everyone... thank you for believing in me... To thank you, I..." I paused deliberately, looked around, then pattered away to fetch a plate of shrimp. "I like peeling shrimp for people I like... Can I peel them for you guys?" The internet was charmed. They started teasing me just to see me smile. The "Shrimp Peeling Wife" scandal had unknowingly become the stepping stone for my own traffic. One livestream, and I gained 100,000 followers. Looking at the numbers, the smile never left my face. I was so stupid in my last life. Why fight force with force? Water can float a boat, but it can also capsize it. If I used the traffic Harper sent me correctly, it would become the weapon that destroyed her. The next morning, I went viral again. Marketing accounts clipped my livestream, and I looked simply too beautiful in them. Anyone who saw me couldn't help but follow. My DMs were filled with a few haters, but mostly girls asking how my skin was so perfect. To engage with them, I posted my first video, introducing my skincare routine. I studied medical cosmetology, and combined with my naturally good skin, the video quickly surpassed 300,000 likes. The niche skincare products I recommended sold out instantly. Seeing my purchasing power, brands started reaching out for sponsorships. I didn't rush. I declined them for now. But to piss off Harper, I took screenshots of all the offers and posted them. Caption: [All the products I use are ones I bought myself! If I ever do a sponsored post, I promise to tell you guys. ❤️] Seeing this, Harper went insane. Her burner account went on a rampage in my comments. [You slut, it's not enough to seduce men, now you want to steal everything else? You really look like a fox.] [Don't get cocky. The higher you climb, the harder you fall!] [Just you wait. I will ruin you. I'll send you and your family to hell.] ... In my past life, I would have argued back. Now, I just screenshotted everything as evidence. When Harper starts to crumble, this will be the lethal blow. She was furious. She posted two videos emphasizing that my act of peeling shrimp was "self-degradation," putting myself in a lower position for a man's love. She also claimed my love for makeup and skincare was "serving the male gaze," a severe form of objectification, turning myself into a tool to please men. 3 Listening to her jealousy dripping through the screen, I just found it laughable. In my past life, on International Women's Day, she was exposed for getting a nose job at a clinic, accompanied by a sugar daddy ten years her senior. Back then, the trending topics were suddenly removed. She cried and claimed she was framed, eventually winning her fans back. It was March 5th now. Only three days left. I was going to watch her destroy herself, and then pour gasoline on the fire. But before that, I had to get close to the man she was obsessed with—her crush, Tyler. The other murderer who sent my family to our deaths. The first time I heard of this man was the day my family was ruined by Harper. I asked her why she wouldn't let me go. She said I stole the person she loved. I explained I didn't even know him. She paranoidly asked why, if I didn't know Tyler, he would say I was beautiful and that if he got a girlfriend, she had to look like me. I couldn't answer. It wasn't until my soul was fading after death that I heard Tyler's friend ask him why he used me as an excuse to reject Harper. "She's insanely jealous. She hates when I say other people are prettier than her. If I reject her like that, she won't blame me, she'll blame the girl. And she won't ask me to pay back the money I owe her." His friend called him smart. I shook with rage. Just because of this random disaster, my family ended up dead or insane. The intense unwillingness to accept this fate made me want to tear that trash apart. But I could only watch as my soul dissipated. Thank God the universe gave me a second chance. This time, I wouldn't just punish Harper; I'd drag Tyler down to hell with her. Harper fell in love with Tyler at her lowest point when he "saved" her. She spent money on him endlessly, granting his every wish. Tyler was a master manipulator. He used her money to play the rich heir outside, mixing with the wealthy crowd and sleeping with different women. Harper was too afraid he'd get mad to monitor him, obeying his every word. But now, to guard against me, she had people watching me. I was going to use that. I would deliberately appear in front of Tyler, forcing her to see who he really was. Let them destroy each other. The location was The Midnight Lounge. Tyler was known as "Young Master Tyler" here, often picking up the tab for everyone. Every night, he booked VIP Room 302. Harper knew this, but she didn't know what Tyler actually did inside. So when I appeared at the bar, she automatically assumed I was there to seduce Tyler. Half an hour later, hearing the roar of a Porsche, I handed a red receipt to the bartender. "If anyone asks where I went, make sure to tell them Room 302." The bartender took the tip and nodded. When Harper asked, she stormed over and kicked open the door to Room 302. 4 When the door flew open, Tyler was making out with the women next to him. Not one. Five of them. Harper had a mental breakdown. She grabbed a glass and smashed it against the sofa. Alcohol splashed everywhere. Tyler's degenerate friends looked furious. "Tyler, where did you find this psycho? She has no manners!" "Yeah, how can we let a woman ride on our heads? If you're this whipped, we can't hang with you anymore!" Harper exploded at the word "psycho." She grabbed a bottle and threw it at the man who said it. Luckily, Tyler pulled him away just in time. From a distance, recording everything, I sighed. A pity no one got seriously hurt. "Have you caused enough trouble, Harper?!" Tyler raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face, his voice cold. "If you keep acting like this, you never need to see me again." That slap brought her back to reality. She lowered her head and apologized meekly. Tyler's friends whistled, praising him for being a "real man" who knew how to control his woman. To regain his dignity, Tyler pushed Harper to sit next to Damon, the man she had almost hit. "Toast him. You can leave when Damon forgives you." The woman who preached independence and female empowerment in her videos didn't say a word. She tilted her head back and drank. After downing three full bottles, she ended up hugging the toilet, vomiting and having diarrhea. But this didn't earn her a shred of Tyler's sympathy. While she was passed out, he shoved her into Damon's car. Watching the car drive away, I felt nothing. This is what she owed me. What she owed my family. I smiled coldly and anonymously sent the photos I took to Damon's fiancée. The next day, Damon's fiancée, Miss Cao, stormed a villa to catch the mistress. The video hit #1 on the trending list. The mistress's face was captured clearly—it was a terrified Harper. A feminist blogger who taught women self-love and independence was exposed as a homewrecker. The irony was suffocating. The internet exploded. Her fans felt humiliated and demanded the truth like a pack of mad dogs. But Harper vanished. She didn't dare respond. It's a common internet tactic: assume silence will make people forget. She thought she could make a comeback after the storm passed. But she underestimated how many enemies she had made this year, and how terrible her character really was. Soon, other bloggers came out to expose her, one after another. Stories of her getting plastic surgery, stealing other people's boyfriends, and maliciously body-shaming other influencers piled up. She stank to high heaven. I also released the screenshots of her burner account abusing me, adding "cyberbullying a civilian" to her list of sins. But she had plenty of paid bots. They flooded the comments claiming she was framed. They even listed the charity work she had done over the years. Many netizens commented: [I don't believe someone who loves charity can be that bad.] [Exactly. We need to trust her. We refuse to tear down another woman.] [Always remember: Girls help Girls.] I scrolled through the comments, feeling a pang of sadness. The rise of feminism is already hard enough. But there are always people like her who exploit the movement for traffic.
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