Chapter 150


    Chapter 150 You don’t get to tell me what to do


    Gossip about the rich and famous always garnered attention, and just the headline alone was enough


    to get everyone clicking. The article practically spelt out that it was dishing the dirt on Moore and me


    While the Scotts‘ Group might not stretch across the globe like the Youngs, we had plenty of clout and


    projects back home. Once the story with our names hit the web, it shot straight to the top of the


    trending list


    The article was so clear–cut and hit so close to home that thement section turned into a firing


    squad aimed at Moore.


    After reading the piece,izens could not stop themselves from chiming in.


    Netizen A posted, “Scumbagse in all vors, and Miss Scott here is thetest brand of female


    lowlife.”


    Netizen B pped back, “Watch your mouth up there. Read the fine print. She’s adopted, so she’s not


    a true Scott.”


    Netizen C added, “This just goes to show, you can’t just take in someone else’s kid. Bad genes only


    breed trouble, and no amount of effort can turn a bad seed good.


    Netizen D went for the jugr, “Some people’s greed knows no bounds. She didn’t even bother to


    repay the family that raised her before she started eyeing their billions. It’s downright evil. Lucky for the


    real Scotts‘ daughter, she’s safe. Otherwise, for someone like her, nothing would be punishment.


    enough.”


    Theizens‘ fury, mixed with their own life’s gripes, spilled out through their keyboards, hurling the


    nastiest insults they could muster.


    Some even went as far as to dox Moore, unearthing private moments between her and Idris, along


    a mix of made–up and maybe heard–somewhere tales of her trying to lure him in.


    And then there were those scenes at the police station, where her own mother was tearing into her, all


    caught on camera and now sted for the world to see


    Suddenly, Moore was the talk of the town, with her name stered across the top ten trending spots


    online.


    Rumors were flying left and right–some saying she did all sorts of crazy things to snag Noah when they


    got hitched.


    Others were dishing dirt about her college days at Mand, like hooking up with an upperssinan,


    catching HPV, and even having an abortion.


    There was even this wild story about her trying to charm a big shot’s son in Mand, but ending up


    getting ditched in the street without her clothes on


    Basically, every bit of gossip, whether it was true or not, was being dug up by the online crowd and


    dumped right on Moore’s doorstep.


    As I watched the inte tear Moore to shreds, I handed Idris’s phone back to him and massaged my


    temples. “I didn’t start this fire,” I told him. He had not asked, but by the way he brought it up, it was like


    he was fishingfor an answer.


    I mean, who else would have it out for Moore like I did?


    Idris’s brow.creased, and he locked eyes with me, his l*ps a tight line. “I know that,” he said.


    I stopped short, puzzled. If he knew I was not behind it, why was he showing me all this drama?


    He must have caught the question in my eyes because he arched an eyebrow and said, “If you really


    wanted to take her down, you would not have turned down the dirt I dug up at the restaurant.”


    This is from N?velDrama.Org.


    He said it so coolly and easily that it took me a second to catch up. I stared at him, trying to figure out


    what he was getting at


    With a calm look and steady eyes, he added, “Someone close to you must’ve written that article,


    stepping into the ring for you.”


    I stopped in my tracks, a name shing through my mind. I had read enough of Sweety’s pieces to


    recognize her style anywhere–sharp, to the point, just like the article causing a stir online. Plus, her


    subtle way of having my back and the tant loathing for Moore that bled through her words left no


    doubt in my mind. She was the only one who could’ve penned something like this.


    Even with Sweety as my prime suspect, I kept it to myself and faced Idris, asking, “What’s your n?”


    I was not born yesterday. He was not rushing tofort a wounded Moore; instead, he was here,


    grilling me, clearly aiming to pinpoint the author and quell the online frenzy,


    Idris seemed to pick up on my cool tone, his expression softening a touch, but his eyes still held that


    calm, soothing quality as he said, “Moore’s due in a few months. After the baby’s born, she’ll face


    whatever consequences areing. I’ll see to that.”


    He did not spell out what he expected from me, justid out his game n for Moore. I did not buy that


    he would actuallye down hard on her, but I got the hint loud and clear. He was telling me to steer


    clear of trouble, especially with Moore expecting


    If he thought I was upset, well, I had been numb to that a long time ago, I met his gaze, my voice


    steady, “Idris, who you choose to shield is your call. What I or anyone else in my circle decides to do is


    our choice. You’ve got your ways to protect her, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”