Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Just Fell in Love with a Scumbag

Trending Topic: Mr. Reed Cheats with Female Doctor, Wendy Winters Attempts Suicide for Love.

"This is a real eye-opener. Even doctors are becoming homewreckers now."

"She has the face of a total slut."

"Heh, she’s a doctor in her white coat and a whore without it."

"Who the hell does she think she is? She’s not even worthy of licking Wendy’s boots."

"So this is the woman who drove Wendy to suicide."

"I bet Mr. Reed was just bewitched by her. He’s come to his senses now and tried to pay her off, but she’s demanding a fortune. So shameless."

"I know her. She’s a doctor at Riverdale General Hospital, I think her last name is Sutton."

"Isn’t Riverdale General Hospital owned by the Reed Group? I wonder if she slept her way into that doctor position."

"What kind of medical ethics does this person have? Riverdale General Hospital needs to fire this piece of scum!"

The comments under the video were absolutely vile.

Most of these people were Wendy Winters’s fans. They didn’t know the truth but had already branded her a homewrecker, slinging the most vicious insults they could think of.

Yvonne Sutton read a few comments before closing the page.

The topic, which had been ranked thirteenth just a moment ago, had now shot up to number one and was trending explosively.

"This is obviously Wendy Winters’s team at work. They paid to push this topic to the top," Mina Adler analyzed.

Yvonne Sutton was confused. "This isn’t exactly a good look for them. Why would they pay for this kind of trending topic?"

Mina Adler clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Based on my years of experience in fan circles, Wendy Winters’s team is probably using this video to cover up her scandal with Stanley Lynch. Didn’t I tell you this afternoon? The news of her suicide attempt got out, and netizens were speculating that the baby she’s carrying is Stanley’s. They were saying she tried to kill herself because he refused to take responsibility."

Yvonne Sutton frowned. "So you’re saying they’re using me as a scapegoat?"

"And it’s working like a charm. Look, the tide of public opinion has already turned. People have gone from calling her a homewrecker to attacking you."

"But I’m not a celebrity."

"That’s exactly why they can curse you out so freely—because you’re not a celebrity, so no one will speak up for you. And as long as Wendy Winters or Mr. Reed don’t clarify things, you’ll be stuck with the ’homewrecker’ label. They’ve already dug up your identity. If this escalates, it will definitely affect your life and work."

Yvonne Sutton took a breath. She didn’t really care about being insulted by a few strangers.

But being used by Wendy Winters like this was utterly disgusting.

She immediately went up to the VIP ward. When she got off the elevator, she happened to run into Vincent Reed waiting for one, and there was no one else in the elevator lobby.

"You’ve seen the trending topic online, I assume. I hope you and Wendy Winters can clear this up as soon as possible," Yvonne Sutton said, getting straight to the point.

Vincent Reed looked completely unconcerned. "Then just stay off the internet."

"Have you no shame? Why should I take the fall for Wendy Winters?" Yvonne Sutton said angrily.

Vincent Reed frowned. "What do you mean, you’re taking the fall for Wendy?"

"Are you going to play dumb? She’s the homewrecker, not me!"

"Don’t you fucking use the word ’homewrecker’ to insult Wendy! She’s not!" Vincent Reed kicked the elevator door, then turned to glare viciously at Yvonne Sutton. "She just fell in love with a scumbag! She’s the victim here!"

’Heh, a victim?’

’That has to be the most ridiculous joke I’ve ever heard in my life!’

"Then what about me? What did I do to deserve all this hate?"

Vincent Reed sneered. "Haven’t we already broken up?"

"Vincent Reed!"

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside.

"So whoever is cursing you out has nothing to do with me."

As Yvonne Sutton walked back down to her office, she noticed doctors and nurses turning their heads to stare at her. Even some patients were gossiping about her in their rooms.

"That really pretty one, Dr. Sutton? Wow, you can’t judge a book by its cover. I can’t believe she’s that kind of person!"

"You really can’t judge people by their looks. If I looked like her, I’d find myself a sugar daddy too!"

"But she’s a doctor! I just feel like people like her are a disgrace to the entire medical profession."

Back in her office, she got a call from her real estate agent.

"Miss Sutton, I finally managed to contact the owner after several calls, but they..."

Yvonne Sutton’s heart leaped into her throat. "Ms. Hughes, what did they say?"

"They’re asking for ten million."

"How much?"

"Sigh. I get the feeling they don’t actually want to sell, so they named an outrageous price. Miss Sutton, I knew your parents and I really want to help you, but... but I’d advise you to just let it go."

Yvonne Sutton gripped her phone, silent for a long moment. "Ms. Hughes, thank you for the trouble. But could you give me the owner’s phone number? I want to try asking again."

"Okay, I’ll send it to you right now."

Ms. Hughes sent it over, but Yvonne was in a hurry to leave work and didn’t look at it.

It wasn’t until she was on the subway that she opened the text message. When she saw the phone number, she froze.

There were only two numbers she had memorized: her own, and... Vincent Reed’s.

And this number was his.

She stared at the string of digits for a long, long time.

’So he was the owner. He had bought her parents’ house back a long time ago and never told her.’

’He even went with her once to that little two-story house.’

’But the door had been locked, and she could only peer inside through the cracks.’

’She had told him so many stories from her childhood. She had wanted so, so badly to go inside, just for a look.’

But he had said, "It’s just a run-down old house. What’s there to be so attached to?"

"I want to buy it back," she had said.

"Oh. Well, work hard then. But if you satisfy me tonight, maybe I can help you."

There was a small tavern near the subway exit that Yvonne Sutton occasionally visited for a drink.

But today, she didn’t order a glass. She ordered a bottle.

Thinking back on her eight years with Vincent Reed, scene after scene played out like a comedy film, with her as the clown.

’How could she have been so stupid? Presumptuously loving a man who wasn’t worth her love at all, often moved by her own sacrifices, all while he just saw her as a toy for his amusement.’

She drank glass after glass, as if getting drunk could erase eight years of foolishness. Half the bottle was soon gone, and she began to feel dizzy.

Just then, her phone pinged. She pulled it out to see that Wyatt Shaw had sent her a photo.

The photo had been taken under a streetlight, likely in the tranquil predawn hours when a sliver of light was just beginning to break on the horizon.

The street was perfectly still, but there must have been a breeze, because the hair of the shadow in the picture was fluttering.

It was only then that she vaguely recalled that she had no idea what Wyatt Shaw actually looked like.

Her aunt had only mentioned it once, saying he was gorgeous—more beautiful than the actresses on TV. She had laughed on the phone at the time, saying that for a man, the word should be ’handsome’—more handsome than male celebrities. That would be more fitting. But her aunt had insisted. ’No, he’s just beautiful. But not effeminate in the slightest, of course.’

And this shadow seemed to prove her aunt right.

Even though it was just a shadow, it was beautiful in an indescribable way, as if even shadows could be beautiful or ugly.

His text read: "Was out schmoozing all night. Drank too much."

Yvonne Sutton smiled. She took a picture of her nearly empty wine bottle and sent it to him.

"Still drinking."

"Alone?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"When I get back, I’ll join you."

Yvonne Sutton’s heart warmed as she read his words. He didn’t say that a girl shouldn’t be drinking, or that it was unsafe to be alone at night. He just said he would join her.

"Didn’t you say you don’t like to drink?"

"Yeah, it hurts my stomach. But it’s not like I can’t drink."

"Does your stomach hurt now?"

"A little."

"I know how to make hangover soup."

"You teach me, and I’ll make it for you."

Yvonne Sutton was smiling, but then tears suddenly welled up in her eyes.

In the past eight years, she had been drunk and miserable before, but Vincent Reed had never once offered to make her hangover soup!