He Used Our Sex Tape To Blackmail Me Out Of Harvard Chapter 09
Preston knelt in front of our house every day, begging my father for a single thing I had left behind.
But my father treated him as though he didn’t exist. He wouldn’t have spared him a glance, even if he’d knelt there until he died.
Three days later, he collapsed at our door, and the Ashfords sent people to carry him home.
Everything, my father told me over the phone from across the ocean, in careful detail.
That day, the moment Preston and Chelsea walked out of my bedroom, our video hit every platform.
He had lied to me again.
The abuse became so unbearable I was afraid to turn my phone on. Some of the more rabid strangers began pounding on our doors and windows.
It was my father, rushing home in a panic and calling Boston PD, who finally scared them off.
But I knew. This wasn’t a scheme they’d walk away from.
Whoever had come to our door had come prepared. They weren’t going to let me go easily.
My father called my mother in London. Between them, they decided to use the moment to get me out of the country.
The crash into the Charles River was real. Only the woman in the driver’s seat wasn’t me—she was a professional swimmer my father had hired.
The instant the car hit the water, she’d freed herself and disappeared downstream.
And I—I was already on a first-class flight to London.
I enrolled at Central Saint Martins, the school my mother had arranged for me.
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