It turned out Roman had already planned every move.
the day he won the money,he had hired a private investigator online— an ex-military man who specialized in corporate espionage, digital forensics, and digging skeletons out of closets.
His instructions were simple:
"Follow Nanita. Don't interact. I want the truth, no matter how ugly."
The man had delivered.
Evening rolled in, brushing the sky in shades of red. Roman left the house, his footsteps silent, movements unhurried. The café was his usual place— small, quiet, dimly lit. It offered privacy, and more importantly, discretion.
He entered and took the corner seat farthest from the door, his back to the wall. A single coffee and a slice of cake sat untouched in front of him. Minutes passed. Then, the door creaked, and in came the detective — a man in his late 30s, wiry, with a trimmed beard and the kind of eyes that had seen too much and cared too little.
"Evenin'," he greeted casually, sliding into the seat opposite Roman. "How you holdin' up?"
Roman gave a silent nod.
The man smirked, then reached into his coat and pulled out a thick envelope and a black USB stick.
"Photos. Videos. Her online messages. Everything you asked for."
Roman took it without a word, slipped them into his bag. Then handed over his own envelope — thick with cash. The detective whistled, eyes wide.
"You pay fast. I like that," he grinned. "If you ever need more dirt on someone or any other work,I can give you a discount."
Roman's eyes didn't flicker. He stood up without a word and walked out, leaving the detective talking to himself.
-----------------------------------------+
Back at his room, Roman sat before his ancient computer. It whirred like a dying animal, but it lived. Somehow.
He plugged in the USB.
Inside was a single folder: "Nanita_Full_Report."
Inside — thirty-eight video files, each marked with a date.Three hundred and twelve photos. Chat logs. Texts. All full of filth disguised as love.
He opened the first video.
Nanita. The same woman who used to call him 'puppy' and send him pictures of her dinner. The same girl who cried when he gave her a birthday card with pressed flowers inside.
Now here she was. On her knees. Smiling up at a man Roman had never seen before.
She wasn't the victim she always portrayed. She wasn't naive. She wasn't innocent.
She was cold. Calculated. Addicted to control.
In each video, Roman watched her seduce, dominate, manipulate — not just one, but many. Sometimes with two men. Sometimes three. In one particularly long file, four.
He didn't flinch. He didn't cry. He simply watched in silence, absorbing every second, every detail. Not out of heartbreak.
But out of curiosity.
Out of planning.
She hadn't been a girlfriend. She'd been an actress in a role. A parasite.
"I was the spare," he murmured. "The fallback. The safety net. Just in case her circus collapsed."
He leaned back. A long silence followed. Then he smiled.
Not a smile of heartbreak. Nor pain.
A smile that whispered war.
Roman didn't want to hurt her with violence.
He wanted her to break.
He wanted her to question her own sanity.
To lose herself in shame and paranoia.
To burn from the inside.
And he would do it so subtly, so masterfully, that no one would even know who pulled the strings.
First, he will craft a new identity online — a stranger who would begin messaging her. Charming. Rich. Just her type. Slowly, this man would offer her exactly what she craved: rich lifestyle ,temptation, the illusion of power.
Then, he will edit the videos — not in a vulgar way, but in a psychological way.
He'd splice in scenes. Make her think someone had filmed her without her knowledge.
Then leak clips— short, blurry — to a local community Telegram group with 5,000 local users. Just enough to start rumors.then her college,her internship office, every were she goes.
And the rumors will do the rest of the job.
"Let her wake up each day not knowing what's real," Roman thought.
"Let her paranoia chew at her until she chokes."
Within an hour he planned and scheduled everything perfectly.
-------------------------------
Roman leaned back in his chair, the cold glow of the monitor flickering against his face. His smirk deepened—an expression that no longer belonged to a boy wronged, but to something far more dangerous. It wasn't the smile of someone satisfied.
It was the smirk of a man who had decided to ruin a life, methodically and without mercy.
"Poor Nanita," he whispered, his voice laced with venom and mockery. "She thinks this is just a breakup."
He stood slowly, cracking his knuckles, the smirk never fading.
She didn't know what was coming.
No—she couldn't even begin to imagine it.
Her carefully builded world, her reputation, her illusions of control… all of it was about to be shattered. Not overnight, not with a single blow, but piece by piece. Her credibility, her relationships, her image—he would tear it all apart while she watched, powerless and screaming.
She would beg. She would curse. But it would change nothing.
Roman's eyes narrowed, glowing with a quiet hunger for destruction.
"She broke the wrong man," he muttered.
And with that thought, he walked to the window, watching the quiet city below.
The storm was coming.
And Roman was the one who'd bring it.
=====≠====================
Author's Note:
Roman has chosen the dark path. The world will burn again... but under **his** rule this time.
If you're enjoying the chaos, don't forget to:
- 🔥 Drop a Power Stone
- ✍️ Leave a review
- 💬 Share your thoughts in the comments
Your support helps the story rise — and ensures Roman doesn't come after *me* for stopping. 😂
See you in the next chapter!
—Author