Ophelia had been waiting for this moment, playing it over in her head like a sick fantasy. How she’d twist them to her will, how they'd beg—beg—for mercy. Her sadistic grin was barely contained as she sat with her legs crossed, her eyes glinting with dark pleasure. “You should thank your brother for this… he was so helpful.” Her tone dripped with condescension.
Her right hand gripped her phone, the screen showing an unplayed video. The thumbnail alone told the story. An old video, once thought lost to time, now resurrected—but not like this.
Her thumb hovered over the "publish" button, the power of it hanging in the air. If she clicked, it’d be victory. Their fame would collapse in an instant, the pathetic fans reduced to nothing.
“What do you think would happen to your precious follower count if I—just—” Her voice was slow, quiet, and dripping with contempt, as her finger inched closer.