Chapter 158: Chapter 158: The New Vest Comes in Handy
Serious my ass!
Worried that people would spin this into another story, Claire Sinclair sent him a private message: "Mr. Kingsley, you must’ve seen the rumors online. Can you please be more serious? I don’t want to be called a mistress. If possible, please clarify that there’s absolutely nothing between us."
@EthanKingsley: How can you say there’s nothing between us? We have an employment relationship.
@MollySinclair: What’s the contract termination fee? If I sell everything I own, will that be enough? Is 2 million enough?
’Damn it. If her sister’s two-million-dollar compensation fund was enough to cover the termination fee, she would break the contract immediately!’
@EthanKingsley: Angry?
@MollySinclair: Cut the crap. What’s the termination fee?
@EthanKingsley: Hey, hold on. I’m going to make a post.
Sure enough, Ethan Kingsley went silent.
After a few minutes, Ethan Kingsley did indeed make a "clarifying" post—
"@SeleneHaw, the contract was crystal clear. You sleep with me for one month, and I fund three of your albums. The contract expired last night. We’ve both delivered on our promises, so can we just go our separate ways now?
And a reminder to everyone online: I do not have a girlfriend, so there is no mistress. You can all call me a scummy player, but Molly Sinclair is the goddess I yearn for but can never have. Even I wouldn’t dare defile her. I dare anyone to try and throw dirt on her name again."
FUCK!!!
’Is that guy an idiot???’
’No, how could a master player like him be an idiot? He’s absolutely doing this on purpose! The more he tries to ’clarify,’ the worse he’s making it!’
The moment the post was published, the entire internet practically exploded.
Major gossip accounts swarmed to repost it, each adding their own speculative analyses. While Molly Sinclair was temporarily "cleared" of the mistress accusation, the resulting scandal was even more severe than the original one.
Selene Haw, the award-winning rock goddess adored by millions, had apparently signed a sexual contract with business tycoon Ethan Kingsley just to release new albums. And now, the tycoon himself had exposed the whole affair.
This bombshell was enough to utterly destroy Selene Haw’s career and reputation.
As for Ethan Kingsley, he was a notorious playboy and scumbag. Netizens, who usually have zero tolerance for women seen as "degrading themselves," were quick to forgive the man. Some even commented, "Ethan Kingsley is so authentic! I’m a fan now."
Watching this farce explode across the internet, Claire Sinclair bitterly regretted not listening to Teacher Hartwell’s advice.
If she hadn’t pushed Ethan Kingsley for a clarification, none of this would have happened. In the end, her mental fortitude just wasn’t up to par.
Claire Sinclair hung her head in defeat, setting her phone down on the table. A crushing weight in her chest made her feel like she was suffocating.
’This is so frustrating...’
Claire Sinclair’s head snapped up. She opened her now-soggy instant noodles and took a few bites, but she couldn’t stomach it. She tossed the noodles into the trash can.
Just as she was about to shower and go to bed, her phone suddenly buzzed.
Henry Hartwell had sent her a message!
Claire Sinclair immediately opened it to look.
Henry Hartwell (Journalist): Looks like you’ll have to change that pen name of yours.
ScapegoatClaire: Teacher Hartwell, can you help me think of a new pen name? I can’t think straight about anything right now.
Henry Hartwell (Journalist): Mrs. Quincy.
*Pfft...*
Claire Sinclair almost coughed up blood. She replied: "Are you serious?"
Henry Hartwell (Journalist): It’s time to use that alias Young Master Quincy gave you.
ScapegoatClaire: How?
Henry Hartwell (Journalist): Just like that.
ScapegoatClaire: ...
’Her brain felt fried. She couldn’t fully grasp what Teacher Hartwell was saying, even when she focused all her mental energy.’
Henry Hartwell (Journalist): Ignore Ethan Kingsley. Don’t shoot the M2L commercial. Get the money for the termination fee from Young Master Quincy.
