Page 18 of Punish Me, Daddy

“They’re not weird,” I grumbled. “They’re fake.”

Sergei narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. He leaned in to look. “That forum’s locked. Encrypted posting. Bot-run engagement.”

“Someone seeded doubt,” I said, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Quietly. Not to tank him completely, just enough to sway public perception. Make him look beatable. Get the money to swing the other way.”

Sergei frowned. “Inside job?”

“Maybe.” I leaned back again. “Or someone with a friend who knows just enough about how this world works to fuck with it.”

He crossed his arms. “Any idea who?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because a part of me did.

Her.

Sloane.

It was a long shot, a wild guess at best. She hadn’t done anything last night but stand there like pure fucking temptation, but the timing… it made my skin itch.

She didn’t just look like a girl who played games.

She looked like a girl who won them.

She had the money, the access, and more than anything, the boredom. The kind of girl who could pay someone to shake the odds just to see if the world would move.

For her.

“Keep an eye on Moretti,” I said. “If he’s actually hurt, I want to know. If not, I want to know who’s trying to make it look like he is.”

Sergei nodded and headed out without another word.

I stared at the monitor for another long second, watching the odds tick down again. Small shifts. Barely noticeable to the average gambler.

But I wasn’t average.

Whoever did this was about to find out I didn’t like being played.

CHAPTER 8

Sloane

I shouldn’t have been enjoying this whole game as much as I was, but I was.

Like, a lot.

I was curled up on the window seat in my bedroom, one leg tucked under me, laptop open, a fresh latte in one hand and my phone in the other. It was early afternoon, but I’d already checked the betting forums, two Discord threads, and a burner Reddit account three times.

Moretti’s odds were still dropping.

Not enough to raise red flags, just enough to make people start side-eyeing him. It was exactly the kind of subtle psychological warfare I was good at. Doubt was leverage. Rumors were currency, and I had just made a withdrawal.

My phone buzzed.

Ghost: Moretti’s cousin just clapped back on a fight blog. Says he’s ‘100%’ and rumors are ‘desperate noise.’ We still pushing?

Me: Nope. Let it hang. The cousin’s reaction makes it look more real. Defensiveness breeds suspicion.

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