Page 34 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stated plainly. “I’ve only just turned up. So how about you just tell me.”

Dan huffed through the smirk that was still painted on his smug face and said, “Touche, Emma. Touche.”

“Seriously, Daniel. Cut the crap and tell me.”

He clicked his mouse a few times, then swivelled his screen to face me, and when I saw what was on there, I had to resist the urge to grab my wicker paper basket off the floor and throw up.

S.K.A.M. The man

The legend.

The troll who likes to target vulnerable women...

My eyes scanned the article that was written underneath the damning headline, as my pulse throbbed in my ears. An article that accused him of being a hypocrite and a bully. Saying that since the initial article with the review of his performance, he’d targeted me in an online campaign that made me fear for my life. That I was scared to leave the house and was seeking protection from the authorities. There were also direct quotes from the email he’d sent to me written in there.

‘Before today, I had no clue you even existed.

After I’m finished with you, neither will anyone else.’

I hadn’t shown anyone that email. So either Mr. Gold had hacked into my emails, or someone else had done it for him. But that wasn’t the worst part. At the bottom of the vile article was my name, printed in bold, like I was proud of what I’d published. Anyone reading this would think I was trying to incite a media war with this guy, despite writing about how terrified I was. Yeah. So terrified that I was plastering it all over the internet and in every edition of our newspaper that’d gone out this morning. Only I hadn’t, had I?

And then it struck me.

That’s exactly what Gold wanted.

He was goading him. Forcing him to react so he could make it into a story for his paper. To get the attention of the bosses, the wider media, and anyone who could further his career. He didn’t care what this would do to me. He wanted to create a media circus. He did all this in my name without me knowing a damn thing about it.

The urge to crash through his door into his office and grab him, slam him up against the wall, and take my rage out on his podgy, dour face was overwhelming. But I had to rein in my anger for just a second, so I could check my emails and see if I’d received a response. I needed to know what the fallout was. And sure enough, there was another one waiting for me in my inbox.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Game on...

YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH!

Did you think your article would scare me?

Wrong.

So fucking wrong.

You just poked the beast... again. And this time, he’s hungry for more than blood.

Watch your back, Emma.

S.K.A.M. (I’ll give you a clue what my name stands for. The K is for killer)

I wasn’t taking any chances this time, I deleted the email that made me feel sick to my stomach, and then flew out of my chair and across the office to Mr. Gold’s door.

I didn’t even bother knocking; I just burst into his office and found him on the phone, laughing.

He saw me, and without wiping the smile off his face, he said, “Mike, I’ll have to call you back. There’s a slight issue I need to deal with first.”

A slight issue?

That’s what he thought this was?