My Destroyer Is My Top VIP

The first day of college, the boy next door I’d crushed on for years talked me into his bed.

The next morning, my naked photos were plastered all over the city.

I was expelled from the university, my reputation completely destroyed.

When my brother’s fist smashed into his face, he showed not a shred of guilt.

Instead, he gripped Liam’s collar tightly, his eyes blazing red as he shrieked:

“Liam, now you know what it felt like the day my sister jumped! Your sister will pay for your mistake!”

He left, walking away from my brother—who was coughing up blood—and me, who had sobbed myself into a faint.

To pay for Liam’s mounting medical bills, I became a risqué streamer.

Three years later, I found him again in my own chat.

1

The viewer count was 2,337, and the public feed was scrolling fast.

I pulled the hem of my skirt up to my mid-thigh and gyrated mechanically for the camera.

“This streamer is the most dedicated, live for ten hours a day.”

“She looks pretty young, is she a college student?”

“College student? You must be new. This girl has been streaming for over three years.”

I ignored the viewers who talked big but didn’t spend money, keeping my eyes glued to the gift notifications in the bottom right corner.

“Ashes” sent a Porsche × 1.

A new account, not a member of my regular fan club.

The name made me pause for a second, but my focus quickly shifted to the value of the Porsche.

Five hundred dollars. Not a huge amount, but not negligible either.

To drop that much on a first visit meant he had money.

I leaned closer to the lens, my voice softening.

“Thank you for the Porsche, Ashes. What would you like to see me do?”

【Pull the strap down】

A clear, direct instruction. I smiled, hooked a finger around the thin shoulder strap, and let it slide.

The fabric of my dress dipped, the curve of my chest begging to be revealed.

“Is that better?”

The chat exploded.

“Ashes” sent a Jet, a thousand dollars.

【Lift your skirt】

Again, a blunt command. I laughed, hooking the edge of the hem with my fingers.

The black lace of my underwear wrapped around my curves.

The fullness of my hips sent the public feed into a frenzy of crude remarks.

The viewer count surged to over three thousand.

“Ashes” sent a Carnival, five thousand dollars.

The most expensive gift on the platform.

【Underwear, bra—choose one to take off.】

I froze for two seconds. The feed went ballistic.

“Why is the streamer stunned? Not going to deliver after taking the money?”

“Is she chickening out?”

“What are you saying? She’s done this plenty of times. She’s reliable.”

Three gifts, a total of six thousand five hundred dollars. Even after the platform took its cut, I’d have over three thousand.

That was enough for Liam’s medication for half a month.

With the calculation done, I returned to my practiced smile, caressing the edge of my skirt in front of the camera.

My hand reached for the lace of my panties—

【Wait.】

My hand stopped.

Ashes sent another message.

【You really will do anything you’re told.】

【Avery Marsh, how low have you fallen?】

With that, “Ashes” logged off.

It was him. Rhys.

I smiled self-deprecatingly.

Low?

I didn’t know.

Did he think I was low when he leaked those pictures of me three years ago?

While I was lost in thought, ten Porsches suddenly flooded the screen.

My top supporter, LoneWolf78, typed a message.

“So your name is Avery Marsh. What a beautiful name.”

“Still short on cash, Avery?”

“I have a dinner party tonight. Come keep me company. The price is the usual.”

2

A private meeting, an offline job.

For me, it was routine.

After so many years as a risqué streamer, I’d done just about everything.

A “dinner party,” to put it nicely, meant being a hostess.

To put it less nicely, it meant being offered up to another man by my ‘supporter.’

I giggled sweetly and typed, Message me privately, Big Brother. I’m shy.

Then, amidst the jeers and mocking of the crowd, I signed off.

Arriving at the door of the private room LoneWolf78 had specified, I pulled my stockings down slightly.

When I pushed the door open, I saw LoneWolf78, also known as Mr. Pierce—a client I’d entertained many times—obsequiously pouring wine for the man seated at the head of the table.

My breath hitched.

Rhys.

The boy next door who used to playfully pinch my cheeks now wore an expensive bespoke suit.

He didn’t even lift his gaze.

“Mr. Pierce, where did you find this fresh merchandise?”

Mr. Pierce fawned over me, pushing me toward Rhys.

“This is a streamer from Prism Live. She gets thousands of viewers per stream! I spent a lot of money to book her. Mr. Rhys, is she to your liking?”

Rhys looked up, his eyes immediately boring into my face.

“Oh, a big-shot streamer.”

His voice was laced with undisguised contempt. “I visited her stream. For three thousand, she’ll take off her panties.”

“Quite high-class, isn’t she?”

A burst of laughter erupted in the room.

I looked down, gripping the hem of my skirt so hard my knuckles were white.

When did he become like this?

Where was the boy next door who used to sneak me candy?

That night, he had held my hand and taken me out to look at the stars.

He’d cover my head with his warm palm.

He’d kiss my forehead.

He would say:

“Avery, I’m going to take care of you, always.”

So why was it that the next day, every public bulletin board in the city was covered with my naked body?

Mr. Pierce thought Rhys was displeased and yanked me back.

“If this one isn’t to your taste, Mr. Rhys, I’ll arrange someone else immediately.”

Rhys swirled his wine glass, his expression unreadable. “I have a fiancée.”

Mr. Pierce thought he’d misread the situation and quickly started pushing me out.

“It’s fine, let her stay.”

“I hear she’s been with you many times. It might be entertaining to keep her around.”

Rhys remained impassive.

Mr. Pierce chuckled awkwardly, pulling me close to him.

To ease the sudden tension, Mr. Pierce rubbed his hands together and asked,

“Mr. Rhys’s fiancée… she must be very beautiful.”

“Yes,” Rhys took a sip of wine.

“Very beautiful. Elegant. And the most important thing is, she’s clean.”

Rhys’s gaze flickered toward me. Everyone in the room understood immediately.

The man they called the Devil of Manhattan Finance had history with the low-class streamer.

Mr. Pierce was terrified, not daring to breathe. The others quickly shifted the conversation elsewhere.

Rhys listened distractedly, his eyes occasionally sweeping over me.

I pressed myself against Mr. Pierce, pouring and drinking glass after glass of wine with him.

Finally, Rhys couldn’t stand it. He stood up and walked toward me.

The crisp, cold scent of his cologne—a scent he never used to wear—pricked my nose.

“Three years, Miss Marsh. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Or have you been with too many men lately to keep track?”

The bluntness of his words caused the men around us to gasp before quickly covering their mouths.

He reached out, his long fingers pinching my chin, forcing me to look up.

“Mr. Rhys, I—”

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

“Are you really that desperate for money?”

He pulled a check from his pocket and lightly slipped it down into the cleavage of my dress.

“Is Liam dead? Why isn’t he stopping you from selling yourself?”

3

The check, still warm from Rhys’s body, pressed against my skin.

Before it could fall, I raised my hand and held it in place.

“Thank you for the tip, Mr. Rhys.”

I smiled, my eyes curving, and expertly pulled the check out.

In front of everyone, I folded it neatly and tucked it back into my bra—

The atmosphere turned unnerving.

Mr. Pierce was dripping with cold sweat, and the others didn’t dare make a sound.

The revulsion in Rhys’s eyes overflowed, his voice dripping with scorn.

“It seems you’ve had plenty of practice.”

He curled his lip in mockery and sat back down in the shadow.

“Since Miss Marsh loves money so much, Mr. Pierce, why don’t we make this more interesting?”

Mr. Pierce stammered nervously. “Mr. Rhys, you mean…”

Rhys lit a cigarette, the flame flickering between his fingers.

“Miss Marsh has her prices listed in her stream, doesn’t she?”

He blew a cloud of smoke, looking at me through the white haze.

“Tonight, in this room, the rules are the same.”

“For every man here you entertain tonight, I will personally give you ten thousand dollars.”

“How much you make is entirely up to Miss Marsh’s ability.”

The momentary silence in the room was followed by a burst of wild, hungry excitement.

The men’s eyes traveled over my body with greedy intent.

Ten thousand.

What an alluring number.

Ten thousand dollars, and I could buy my mother—who’d had her leg broken by my father while protecting me—a motorized wheelchair.

One hundred thousand dollars, and I could extend my brother’s life for another year.

I looked around the room at the group of greasy middle-aged men, swallowed the last of my red wine, and spoke in a voice that was both sweet and cloying.

“Ten thousand?”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, Mr. Rhys. Is the money… paid in cash tonight?”

Rhys’s hand, clutching the wine glass, tightened sharply, the veins on the back of his hand throbbing.

He probably hadn’t imagined anyone could be this willing to degrade themselves.

“Cash.”

He gritted the word out.

“Then I accept.”

I stood up, and right in front of Rhys, I undid the button on the side of my dress.

The light in the room was dim, but I could feel their clammy, foul-smelling hands landing on my shoulders—a mix of stale tobacco and alcohol.

Another hand rested on my waist, slowly moving up to cup my chest.

A third hand reached to pull off my high heels.

…

I closed my eyes, repeating the numbers in my mind.

Ten thousand, twenty thousand.

Rhys sat there, unmoving, the cigarette cold in his hand. He watched the indecent farce from the shadows, his eyes full of overflowing disgust that finally solidified into a torrent of rage.

Half an hour later, the sordid party in the private room ended.

The men left, satisfied and laughing.

The floor was littered with scattered bottles and shredded paper.

I lay collapsed on the carpet, my dress ripped almost entirely off, one high heel missing.

A stocking had been peeled off and stuffed into a wine glass.

My skirt was hiked up, revealing my lacy, suggestive underwear.

Wretched and ruined, I was like a discarded bag of trash.

But I was clutching a thick wad of cash in my hand.

The room emptied quickly, leaving only Rhys.

After a long silence, he finally walked toward me, looking down.

“Avery Marsh, you truly are a spectacle.”

As he spoke, he raised his foot and deliberately crushed it down on the hand I was using to try and pull my skirt down over my underwear.

“Why are you acting embarrassed? Do you have any shame left at all?”

“Three years ago, when I sent those pictures out, I felt a flicker of guilt.”

He scoffed, the contempt clear in his voice.

“Now, I see I wasted my regret.”

“A whore rotten to the core like you doesn’t deserve pity.”

He lifted his foot and tossed the last banknote onto my face.

“Take your dirty money and get out.”

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the private room.

I picked up the bills one by one, counting them carefully.

One hundred thousand.