Back in her quiet apartment, Evelyn pulled out Robert’s dossier again. Among the financial reports and legal notes, there was a section titled “Digital Footprint.” Robert had painstakingly listed several old, defunct online forums from Arthur’s college years. One in particular caught her eye: “Cedar Creek University Student Speak.”
She started digging. Hours blurred into days. She used an old email address Arthur had once casually mentioned, cross-referencing names, looking for anything that might be a pseudonym. Finally, she found it. A username, “Ace_CCU_98,” that consistently posted around the years Arthur had been in college. The language, the casual arrogance, the specific details—it had to be him.
The posts were a digital graveyard of Arthur’s relationship woes. He rarely named names, but he consistently described his “crazy ex-girlfriends” and the “drama” they caused.
“She just couldn’t handle the truth,” one post read. “Kept yelling after *I* told *her* off in front of the whole study group. Guess some people just need to learn a lesson.”
Another: “Public scenes are exhausting. But sometimes you gotta make a point, you know? Get her to understand who’s boss.”
Evelyn felt a cold shiver. The pattern was undeniable. Public arguments, the blaming of his partners for their “overreactions,” the need to “make a point.” It was chillingly familiar, echoing the gala incident.
What deeper, more incriminating details might be hidden in these old, forgotten posts, waiting to expose Arthur’s true nature?
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