Daphne immediately presented the undeniable evidence to the authorities, which caused Douglas’s defense lawyer to stop threatening us and frantically start asking for settlement agreements.

The company launched serious legal action, but I didn’t make a dramatic scene on social media, nor did I call anyone to publicly back up my version of events.

I simply let the official documents speak for themselves.

Two weeks later, I finally agreed to meet Douglas face-to-face at a quiet, secluded café in a nice neighborhood.

He arrived looking completely defeated—stripped of his luxury watch, without his expensive company truck, and entirely lacking that false confidence he’d always worn like expensive cologne.

“My mother really hit me over the head with reality,” he said, keeping his voice very low as he stared at the table.

I looked at him with a sense of profound detachment rather than burning hatred.

“Your mother maliciously ripped my dress, Douglas,” I reminded him calmly. “But you completely ripped my whole life apart.”