Chapter 2: Stalker in the Suburbs

Just as I was trying to calm down, I noticed her TikTok profile’s background image—it was our house! The latest video’s comments said the background was updated three days ago. So she knew where we lived. She knew about me. This was straight-up delusional—she wanted to take my place.

My hands started to shake. The phone nearly slipped from my grip. Adrenaline shot through me, cold prickles racing up my arms. “Carter!” I yelled, making him sprint out of the study. He took one look at my face—no questions, just wrapped me in a hug. With the company going public, we’d seen plenty of sabotage attempts, so Carter was already on edge. He soothed me until I could breathe, then took my phone to check. After a long silence, his face darkened, and he stroked my hair before calling his assistant. Five minutes later, we had the teacher’s entire background on the computer. She was just a regular private kindergarten teacher in her twenties, community college grad, average family, decent looks, and always rated “Outstanding Teacher.” I was right—she’d just transferred to my son’s class, which is why I didn’t know her.

Carter was fuming. My phone buzzed—Mrs. Walker from the wives’ group, sending a new male model she’d discovered. She was tagging me like crazy, since I’m usually the most enthusiastic about hot guys. I replied, half-distracted, “Let’s sue. I’ll call our lawyer, but the payout might not be much.” Carter glanced at me, and I nodded.

“What’s up with you, Savannah? Gone broke? You’re not even replying!” Mrs. Walker sent a barrage of thirty-second voice notes. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration and stopped Carter before he could dial. The best way to get back at someone is to let them make an even bigger mistake.

I immediately dropped the influencer teacher’s fan group link into the wives’ group. Sure, I married into a wealthy family, but I was born rich too. If she wants to play, she’s about to get schooled.

The group chat absolutely exploded. “This is better than Real Housewives!” Mrs. Grant said, while Mrs. Brooks dropped a popcorn emoji. I could almost hear their cackling from here.

“Wow, this little influencer’s got skills. If I’d known, I’d have posted about my own male model at home and gone viral too,” Mrs. Walker said, calling the group right away. “Savannah, what’s the plan?” Mrs. Brooks, our resident genius and family friend, totally got my drift. “Yeah, just tell us what you need,” the others chimed in. I hung up and shared my three TikTok alt accounts in the group.

“I want you guys to help me stir the pot. The more hyped she gets, the more mistakes she’ll make.” Ding ding ding—TikTok notifications. Mrs. Brooks, Mrs. Walker, and Mrs. Grant all joined the teacher’s fan group.

“Welcome new fans! Mrs. Whitaker will be sending out Starbucks e-gift cards at random!” the group admin posted, and the welcomes started pouring in from other fans.

“How much are the gift cards?” Mrs. Walker asked, no hesitation.

“Anywhere from ten to a hundred dollars!” replied the admin.

“Just a hundred? There are five hundred people here—that’s only twenty cents each,” Mrs. Grant deadpanned, going straight for the jugular. The admin, clearly not ready for this, took half a minute to reply: “New fans, please mind your manners.”

“Never seen someone complain about free money. If you’re so great, send your own!” The admin’s message triggered fans to defend their idol. “Yeah, our Mrs. Whitaker is a real rich wife—she can send as much as she wants! Can you?” “I bet you’re just jealous Mrs. Whitaker married such a good husband!”

Ding—a $1,500 Venmo tip from Mrs. Walker.

The chat went wild. “Whoa, who is @SummerBlossom?!” “That’s more than my rent!”

“Fine, I’ll send my own.” I just stared as Mrs. Walker casually dropped $1,500 like it was pocket change. “Wow, you really treat money like it’s Monopoly money,” I messaged her, worried she’d go wild and send even more. She replied, cool as ever: “Just wait and watch the show.”

The $1,500 vanished in five seconds. The group went dead silent for two minutes. The biggest winner got over $300.

“@SummerBlossom, you’re so generous!” someone said. “Oh my god, I got a hundred bucks—what kind of goddess is this?!” “Me too! Thank you, @SummerBlossom!” Things were spiraling, and the admin had to step in.

“This is Mrs. Whitaker’s fan group, please remember who’s in charge.”

“Oh, now you remember who’s boss? Where were you when the money was flying?” Mrs. Walker posted a screenshot showing the admin had snagged $100. The admin was speechless. I sent Mrs. Walker a big thumbs-up emoji, grinning.

Ding—the group owner arrived. “Wow, things are lively today!” The teacher, calling herself Mrs. Whitaker, finally showed up. I figured she’d been lurking in the background.

“You’re Mrs. Whitaker? You call yourself a billionaire’s wife, but you only sent a measly gift card? Shouldn’t you send thousands to prove it? Don’t tell me you’re a fake,” Mrs. Brooks taunted, going full drama mode.

After that, the group went dead quiet. No one dared defend her—everyone knows you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

“Excuse me, I don’t know where you heard those rumors, but I’m the real Mrs. Whitaker.”

Shameless.

Ding—Mrs. Whitaker sent out a $3,000 Venmo tip. “Thanks for your support! Mr. Whitaker asked me to thank you all personally.”

Gone in ten seconds.

Mrs. Walker messaged me, “That was priceless. We just squeezed her for three grand—she’ll be up all night worrying.”

“She’s got half a million followers but only two ad deals, both low-paying. That three grand wiped out her year’s earnings,” Mrs. Brooks added in the group, sounding positively gleeful.

“And now that she’s set the bar at three grand, she can’t get away with a few bucks anymore,” Mrs. Grant chimed in, practically rubbing her hands together.

I was in awe—these ladies were legends. I could almost picture them, wine glasses raised, toasting to our little scheme.