He Used Our Sex Tape To Blackmail Me Out Of Harvard Chapter 06
Preston’s pupils shook.
He held his breath, scrolling through comment after comment.
“Tsk. This bitch, dragging poor sweet Chelsea’s name through the mud. Turns out *she’s* the real slut. Absolutely vile.”
“Didn’t even bother to pixelate it. God knows what STDs she’s carrying.”
“Chelsea, poor thing—actually a hardworking Harvard scholarship girl, and she gets stuck with a psycho sponsor. Bet this whole thing was some catty Upper East Side pissing contest from the start.”
“She’s dead now. Go on to hell already.”
His cold fingers began to tremble.
Preston tapped, again and again, before he managed to close the comment section.
But every platform, every app.
Instagram. Twitter. TikTok. Reddit. Snapchat group chats.
They were all playing that video—the private, humiliating video—on an endless loop.
Even as the content moderation teams scrambled to take it down, reposts multiplied faster than they could keep up.
Users were already remixing it. Ugly photoshops. Funeral portrait edits. Meme templates.
Everywhere.
The phone slipped from his hand and thudded onto the floor.
The blackened screen reflected Preston’s face, drained of every drop of color.
How could this be happening?
He’d been about to delete the video. How had it ended up online?
He hadn’t posted it. He would never have posted it.
Luna was the woman he was going to marry. How could he possibly let the entire internet gawk at their most intimate moment?
The threat—it had only been a threat. Just to scare her. Just to teach her a lesson.
He hadn’t meant to actually send it.
Then he remembered that comment.
The blood in his veins seemed to freeze all at once.
He snatched up the phone and pulled up the comment again.
Each word was a poisoned needle, sinking neatly into his heart, which had all but stopped.
Into the Charles River?
Dead?
His knees buckled. He collapsed against the wall behind him.
By the time he came back to himself, he was already sprinting toward the elevator like a man possessed.
Chelsea, hurrying out of the exam room, seized his arm.
“Preston, where are you going? I’m scared Luna’s going to send someone after me. Stay with me, please?”
Preston wrenched around. His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to weep blood.
“Get off!” He shoved her aside.
Chelsea gritted her teeth, unwilling to give up—but one look at the predator in his eyes and her hand shrank back on its own.
Preston laughed, low and terrible. “How did that video end up on the entire internet? After we left Luna’s, you were the only one who touched my phone.”
Rationality returned in a single breath.
The lies, the schemes—they’d been full of holes. They couldn’t survive a moment’s real scrutiny.
Preston hated himself. Hated that he hadn’t deleted the video the second he had the chance.
He remembered the dead look in Luna’s eyes. He wanted to kill himself.
But not yet.
He pointed a warning finger at Chelsea. “You’d better pray this has nothing to do with you. If anything happens to my little moon, I’ll take your life for hers.”
Preston lost count of how many red lights he ran.
By the time he reached Tobin Bridge, there was only the churning brown current of the Charles River and a rescue team preparing to pack up for the day.
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