Chapter 3

3

I didn't release the recordings right away.

In my last life, I was too impulsive. The moment I was wronged, I would scream and try to explain everything at once. I wanted everyone to see the truth immediately.

But that life taught me that people believe what they see with their own eyes, not what you shove in their faces.

So, I posted a photo on Instagram first. No text, no audio, no bank statements. Just a photo of me in my new small apartment with a cup of hot tea and a book.

The caption was one word: “Peace.”

Within half an hour, the comments exploded. Some said I “moved on too fast,” asking if I ever loved Marcus at all. Others DMed me asking if the rumors were true.

I didn't reply to anyone. I was waiting for the perfect moment.

The moment arrived on the fourth day.

Marcus’s cousin posted a long, nasty rant on Facebook. The title was “Some People Have No Shame.”

She spun a tale about an ungrateful gold-digger. She didn't use my name, but every detail pointed to me. The wedding scene, the “wasted” money, and the “stolen” thirty thousand.

The post was shared hundreds of times. That was the momentum I needed.

When the post reached its peak, I shared a link on my own profile.

“I wanted to keep things civil for both our sakes. But since some people are telling fairytales in public, I have to respond. The evidence is all here. See for yourselves.”

I attached a cloud link.

Inside were three things: transcripts of the recordings with timestamps, screenshots of bank transfers labeled for Leo, and the key audio file.

I didn't write a single opinion. Not one word of commentary. I let the evidence speak for itself.

Within thirty minutes, the tide turned completely.

First, Marcus’s cousin deleted her post. Then, several relatives who had insulted me started apologizing. They weren't actually sorry; they just didn't want to be exposed next.

The Rhodes family group chat went silent. Someone leaked their private messages to me. Martha’s last message was “Stop talking in the group,” followed by a dozen read receipts.

The story of the “devoted fiancé” crumbled into dust.