The System Keeps Making Me Do Indecent Missions [BL, R18]

Chapter 68: Chapter 68: Social Media Storm

That day, Lucien and Dominic Vance simply went home, ate, and rested. It seemed there was some issue with Dominic Vance’s business. After returning home, the man headed to the study to handle his work, while Lucien was left to his own devices. For the past few days, he had completely moved into Dominic Vance’s room.

By evening, the other man still had not returned, and Lucien did not think so highly of himself to the point of running to the study to drag Dominic Vance back. Thus, he just went to sleep, lately, this body had been tormented half to death by that lunatic.

Lucien slept soundly straight through to the morning, undisturbed by anyone. Whether Dominic Vance returned to the room last night, or if Dominic came back and then left, he had no idea.

The following morning, Lucien was awakened by the incessant ringing of his phone.

He hazily reached his hand out of the blanket, and before his eyes were even fully open, he saw the brightly lit screen displaying over a dozen missed calls and a barrage of messages. They were all from an old classmate, the only person from university who still kept in touch with him after he was disowned by the Sinclair family.

"What is going on to warrant calling this early?" Lucien muttered, his finger swiping to open the messages.

His bleary eyes looked at the texts on the phone, and he suddenly felt completely awake. On the screen was a post from a private social media platform exclusive to the upper class, a place where every scandal was exposed and spread at breakneck speed. The title of the article struck him right in the eye: [The Truth: Is the eldest young master of the Sinclair family a shameless homewrecker who stole his younger brother’s fiancé and clings to the wealthy?]

Oh, truly a gossip forum for the rich, the sensationalized headline was even running as a sponsored ad. They were probably afraid that people would not know about this matter, one could use their knee to guess who was behind it. Lucien did not care much, he leisurely tapped to open the post.

It was a long article densely packed with words, written in an indignant and highly provocative tone. The writer claimed to be an insider, recounting the story of a shameless teenager who was kicked out of the house by his own biological father due to improper behavior, and was now using his body to seduce his younger brother’s fiancé.

Naturally, to make those words seem credible, accompanying the post was a series of photos taken on the day he went shopping with Dominic Vance. The angles were secretly shot from afar, yet sophisticatedly edited. A faint hickey on his neck was magnified and sharpened to an undeniable degree. The lighting had been adjusted with high contrast to make his skin look pale, and his eyes, which had been looking up at someone outside the frame, were cropped and manipulated to look as if he were casting cheap, flirtatious glances.

The next picture, in contrast, was a photo from when Lucien was living in a dilapidated boarding house after being kicked out of the Sinclair family. Messy hair, worn-out clothes, and dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep. Standing in front of the door of a rickety rented room, surrounded by peeling brick walls and a tangled web of electrical wires.

"Making a move already?" Lucien let out a soft, cold laugh, his finger scrolling down to the comment section below the article.

If he were the Lucien Sinclair of this world, he would probably be mad with anger. But unfortunately, Lucien was merely an outsider who came here to take shelter for a period of time. He pulled a pillow close to the headboard, leaned his back against it, and leisurely read the comments below.

Hundreds of comments had flooded in within just a few hours; there were a few verified accounts that looked like blogger accounts intentionally steering the narrative. The rest were mostly anonymous comments, with rather vulgar language.

[What a slut!]

[For this kind of person to be born into a wealthy family, the heavens truly have no eyes! People in the rich circles are indeed sick perverts, morally degraded!]

[Stealing the husband of his own younger brother? Does he have any shame left?]

[I heard that in the past, his mother also climbed to the position of the official wife of the Sinclair family using underhanded tricks; truly, like mother, like son. They are all equally promiscuous!]

[If I were the Sinclair family, I would have kicked him out of the house a long time ago. Oh wait, they already did. Why suddenly bring him back?]

[Looking at that youthful face, yet he already knows how to climb into men’s beds; truly disgusting.]

[Kick this kind of trash out of our circle. He pollutes the eyes of others.]

[I wonder if President Vance knows what kind of person is tangling with him? Or has President Vance already fallen victim to his tricks?]

To be honest, Lucien did not feel much emotion, because he had already heard such piercing, hurtful words in his previous life. After all, the Lucien in the real world was paralyzed. No matter how much his parents and older brother loved him, they could not gag the mouths of those people. Thus, occasionally, he would still hear their nitpicking remarks. After listening to them so much, Lucien no longer felt heartbroken, gradually becoming immune to those who spoke such stabbing words.

But the Lucien Sinclair of this world was not like that, evidenced by the restless and uncomfortable feeling in his chest, which likely stemmed from the lingering consciousness of this body.

Lucien buried himself in the blanket, somewhat lazily letting his thoughts wander.

He asked himself, among those who were freely tossing out such vicious words, how many were members of the upper class who, before Lucien Sinclair fell from grace, had laughed and chatted with him at banquets? How many had politely greeted him when he stood next to his parents?

How many of them did not even know what the truth was, yet still joined the mob like wild beasts that had just caught the scent of blood?

It felt truly laughable.

Perhaps Miles Sinclair thought he could use these gossiping remarks to force Lucien to go mad and throw a tantrum at Dominic Vance. That lunatic seemed to prefer an obedient person over a demanding one. It was just a pity that, Miles Sinclair, you were wrong.

Did you think I was still the weak Lucien Sinclair of the past, the one who would collapse before the gossip and the disdainful gazes of the world?

Lucien slowly sat up, his soft hair drooping down to cover half of his face. He stared intently at the phone screen, where malicious comments were still relentlessly pouring in. Every new notification was another insult, another person gloating over the tragedy of others.

Then he set the phone down, merely let out a sneer, and leisurely walked into the bathroom, acting as if all the things unfolding had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Miles Sinclair, you have chosen the wrong battlefield.

This is no longer a war of favors and pity. This is a war of public opinion, of honor, of survival. And you have just handed me the most formidable weapon: the attention of the entire upper class.

When Lucien stepped out of the bathroom, he had completely regained his composure. Like a stage actor preparing for the most important role of his life.

The phone vibrated again.

This time, it was a message from Dominic Vance.

[Do not read the things on the internet. Stay put in the house.]

It was obvious that this man already knew what was happening, but naturally, Lucien had no intention of being as obedient as Dominic Vance had instructed. Pretending to be soft and weak was fine, but being excessively weak would sometimes cause people to feel disgusted.

Sometimes, a little rebellion amidst tears with red-rimmed eyes would make people feel even more heartache.

His gaze paused on the newest comment, posted just seconds ago: [I heard that President Vance was the one who took the initiative to bring him home. I wonder if he used some sort of black magic?]

Lucien burst into laughter.

Black magic?

Very well, if you all want to believe in such absurd things, then let me show you a real performance.

He stood up and walked over to the window. Outside, the city was still operating as if nothing had ever happened. The high-rise buildings sparkled under the early morning sunlight, the stream of traffic was still bustling back and forth, and people were still living their lives.

But in the small world of the upper echelon, a storm was brewing. And Lucien knew that he was standing right in the eye of the storm.

This time, he would not hide.

Nor would he let anyone else stand up to shield him.

Oh pitiful child, let me teach you how to survive in a wealthy family.

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