Chapter 577 Total Collapse
Oh, right–almost forgot to mention, Owen and Peggy tied the knot at Ocean Silverburgh just five days ago.
The ceremony had no blessings, only spectators waiting to laugh.
A few of the younger Terrance family members dragged Owen into a drinking contest, egging him on to show some dominance and “put his wife in her place." Fueled by alcohol and peer pressure, Owen—thinking Peggy would hold back since it was their wedding—actually called her out in public and slapped her across the face.
That blew up fast.
Peggy went ballistic, wrecked the wedding, and gave Owen a thorough public beatdown. She pinned him to the ground and rubbed his face into it.
That day, Owen’s dignity as a man was left in pieces at Ocean Silverburgh.
Even Yunice, who hadn’t attended, heard about the scandal that quickly became the talk of the town.
Her deliberate absence also robbed Owen of a chance to lash out at her.
And now, Yunice twisted the knife right where it hurt. Her words cut deep, leaving no blood.
Owen was so furious, it sounded like his blood vessels were about to burst through the phone.
Yunice listened to his strangled breathing with great satisfaction, then calmly hung up.
What a relief. Sometimes you just need a punching bag to let the frustration out.
No wonder Owen used to torment her so much back at the Saunders family–he never had to pay a price for it. Just like I’m doing now. Only difference is, I’m finally fighting back.
But Yunice wasn’t done. Since the pot’s already boiling over, might as well drink it hot and toss in another fish. She leaned back in her chair, fingers flying across her phone screen, typing up an article.
By the time her eyes lit up in satisfaction, Wyatt reached over, grabbed her phone, and saw what she’d been working on.
He snorted. “You spent half an hour writing an exposé on Paul just to post it on your little public account?”
Yunice didn’t have a PR firm–this was the only outlet she had.
Wyatt forwarded her article to his own phone.
“Scheduled for 2 a.m.,” he said. “That’s the prime time for clicks.”
It was a ruthless move.
That night, the Powell Corporation’s entire PR team was dragged out of bed and rushed to the office to delete posts and manage the damage.
But Wyatt’s firm wasn’t some backroom outfit. They were the best in the industry. If Wyatt’s team wasn’t number one, no one was.
Without even needing to boost it, Paul shot to the top of the trending topics, his name tangled up with the pseudonym “Yunice,” bringing a flood of attention with it.
The Powell Corporation couldn’t suppress it at all.
By morning, Yunice got another lovely call from Owen.
She let him shout to his heart’s content before lazily replying, “Every time you yell at me, I’ll leak another little story about Elsie. You curse me twice, I’ll leak twice.”
She was making one thing very clear: those days of venting anger on her without consequences were over.
Owen could only grit his teeth until they cracked. Then came another phone smash.
Things weren’t looking good on the Powell side either. The unexpected scandal had rocked their stock, and Jackson was furious. He dressed Paul down in front of the whole household.
Paul, of course, burned with humiliation–and stored that rage deep in his bones.
He clenched his fists, desperate to seize control, to grow stronger, to crush everyone who looked down on him.
Lately, he’d been trying to reach out to that mysterious number again, while also knocking on other doors.
But the people he could reach were more ruthless than ever. Folks who used to grovel at his feet now had the nerve to tell him no.
Some even had the audacity to eye the scar on his face and suggest he give up. Better to live out his days as a pampered idle prince than keep making a fool of himself.
Let’s be honest–behind his back, they all mocked him for the words carved into his skin.
Paul pushed back, arguing that Wyatt had been a cripple when he rose to power. If Wyatt could do it, so can I.
But instead of respect, all he got was louder, meaner laughter.
His pride shattered, Paul grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it over one man’s head.
The guy, clutching his bleeding scalp, ran straight to the old man to complain–and that was right before Paul’s name hit the hot search.
Bad luck came in waves. Pressure was mounting, and Paul’s mind was twisting further.
He kept switching numbers, calling that mysterious contact again and again, but no one ever picked up.
That drifting lifeline Yunice had dangled in front of him was driving him mad. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat–couldn’t think straight.
Meanwhile, Elsie’s case kept building momentum with Maine now involved, and public attention only