A week after breaking up with my long-distance boyfriend, someone suddenly barged into my livestream and called me a homewrecker.

At first, I didn't think much of it—figured it was just some troll sent by a rival.

But then she dropped my home address and personal info like it was nothing, and straight-up confronted me live.

That's when it hit me—my roommate actually got plastic surgery to look exactly like me... and she's dating some billionaire CEO?!

That night, during my usual livestream where I do makeup with fans, everything seemed normal.

Until one random comment popped up on screen.

"You're a filthy mistress! Seducing my husband and wrecking my family. I hope karma eats you alive!"

I rolled my eyes at first—probably just another hater.

But when she started spitting out my address like she owned it, things got real, real fast.

The chat exploded.

"Wait, what's going on? Is she actually a homewrecker?"

"Don't tell me this drama's all staged for clout?"

I was totally puzzled, staring at the flood of messages. Then I saw someone requesting to go live with me. I hesitated for a sec, then clicked accept.

The woman wasted no time. She pulled up a bunch of couple selfies.

In the pics, a super pretty woman with my exact face was all snuggled up to a tall, ridiculously handsome guy. They looked like the kind of couple you'd see in a rom-com poster—totally in love.

Only problem? I've never seen that guy in my life.

"OMG, isn't that Levi, the billionaire CEO?! Girl, talk about taste in men…"

"Wow, so it's true! Playing side chick to a rich guy? That's just pathetic."

"Can someone cancel her already? Is every other influencer fake these days?"

The comments were brutal. People were losing it in the chat.

Before I could even say a word, the admin shut down my stream.

I just stared at my phone in shock, the screen now blank.

The woman in the photos—sure, she had my face. No denying that. But the guy? No clue who he was.

Who the hell is trying to ruin my name like this?

Fuming, I remembered someone had mentioned a name during all the chaos.

I jumped on my laptop and started digging. One quick search later, the info popped up.

Levi, 30. President of Monroe Group. Listed as single.

I stared at his photo carefully. Guy looked insanely polished, with sharp eyes and that cool CEO vibe. Honestly, could give a movie star a run for his money.

Once you've seen someone like that, there's no unseeing it.

I pulled up the livestream screenshots and zoomed in over and over for a solid hour. Not a single sign of AI editing – nothing looked fake. What the hell was going on?

Right then, my bestie—who's also a beauty influencer—called me.

"Erin! Check your phone, you're blowing up. You're trending, girl!"

The first post I saw on Weibo hit me like a truck:

#UnknownBeautyBloggerCaughtStealingBillionaireBoyfriend#

Right below were my photo and handle, plus the billionaire's title—just "Monroe Group." No name.

My bestie was fuming.

"How could they just throw your info online like that? Isn't that basically asking people to destroy you?"

Yeah, the media's always trying to play it safe. They'd never mess with someone as powerful as the Monroe Group's CEO. So they picked me—the random small-time blogger—as the target.

In no time, my DMs and comments were a dumpster fire. Haters swarmed in like it was a sport.

But then something felt off. The pic was taken at some café—three days ago, apparently. But I was literally mid-air on a flight then. No way could I have been in that photo.

I bundled up my receipts: flight info, airport vlogs, timestamps—the whole shebang—and threw it online.

My bestie even whipped up a statement for me—a long heartfelt one.

And just like that, the internet flipped. People started apologizing, calling me the real victim. The hate turned into sympathy.

I thought, okay, crisis over. Back to work.

My bestie was feeling sick and couldn't make it to the brand launch she'd been invited to. She asked me to go in her place, and I agreed without thinking much.

But the second I showed up, the brand reps started whispering, side-eyeing me.

I walked up to greet them, all smiles—only to be met with this cold, judgey wall of stares.

Whatever. Small bloggers like me were used to being treated like we don't exist.

Then came my turn to sign in on stage. Just as I stepped up, a woman stood from the crowd.

She waved printed chat logs and tossed them all over like she was making it rain.

"You disgusting homewrecker! How dare you show your face here at my husband's event? Get the hell out!"

My brows instantly furrowed. Wait—that voice. Wasn't she the same one from the livestream? The one who flat-out accused me of being a mistress?