Chapter 2 The Man Apple Wanted
Over the past four years, Apple had turned herself into a brand built on controversy.
Her following was split into two violent extremes.
On one side, the critics. On the other, the loyalists.
And the loyalists were feral. They defended her under every post, every exposé, every tea-channel breakdown.
They fought like soldiers in comment sections, attacked anyone who questioned her, and treated her like a misunderstood heroine persecuted by jealous trolls and haters.
Meanwhile, the rest of the internet treated her like a slow-motion car crash.
Every few months there was a new controversy. A new thread. A new deep dive. A new creator dissecting her tone, her past, her contradictions. Apple had learned to survive on outrage. Attention was attention. Numbers were numbers.
The most recent drama was over her new brand.
K.O.Z.E.
Soft blankets. Cozy loungewear. Neutral tones. Warm marketing. Emotional captions about comfort, healing, and self-care.
Except.
In Canada, a small business had been selling handmade blankets under the name Koze for years.
Long before Apple ever touched it.
Apple had taken the name, trademarked it in the U.S., and forced the original creator to rebrand. Overnight, the girl could no longer sell under her own brand.
The girl posted a TikTok explaining everything. Old listings. Old social pages. Years of proof. She admitted she had never trademarked the name because she never believed her small business would grow that far. By the time she realized it mattered, it was already gone.
Her brand was taken from her.
When Amy sent me the video, I told her to boost it the way we had done before. Anonymous views. Paid engagement. Just enough to make the algorithm flag it as trending.
Once it started circulating, it spread on its own.
Within days, it was everywhere.
And Apple’s haters, who were always waiting with pitchforks already in hand, finally had fresh blood to chase.
Apple ignored it.
She kept advertising her blankets. Deleted comments. Limited replies. Acted like it would blow over.
It never did.
The drama resurfaced again and again, at least once a year. Each time, the deep-dive exposé videos returned with more material, more receipts, more voices willing to connect the dots. The past never stayed buried. It only waited for the next excuse to come back louder.
Before the brand theft, there had been another scandal.
Her former assistant posted a video explaining how she had been hired as an unpaid intern.
How she had been forced to answer social media messages pretending to be Apple.
How she had written captions, managed comments, negotiated brand emails.
How Apple treated her like a personal slave while reminding her she was “lucky to be there.”
Amy boosted that video too.
I had more than enough money to pay for views and help truth travel faster.
Apple denied everything.
But denial doesn’t survive receipts.
The girl had screenshots. Message threads. Voice notes.
So Apple did what she always did when cornered. She reached for her favorite shield.
Mental health.
“I need to step away from the internet and focus on healing.”
She returned two weeks later.
Comments filtered. Keywords blocked. Image carefully rebuilt.
Before the assistant scandal, there had been another expose.
Apple had been called out for mocking another influencer’s appearance in a private group chat that later leaked. The backlash was immediate. Accusations of bullying. Hypocrisy. Mean girl behavior.
Instead of taking responsibility, Apple shifted narratives.
She posted a tearful apology video.
She talked about her kidnapping trauma. About anxiety. About depression. About how her past made her “react poorly.” She said she was “still healing.” That she was “learning.” That she wanted to use her platform to spread kindness and awareness for survivors like herself.
“You can’t judge me,” the subtext was clear. “I’m a victim.”
The internet split again.
Some forgave her. Some didn’t.
These days, Apple also lived in Chicago. She had relocated here six months earlier after spending nearly four years in New York building her influencer empire and quietly burning bridges.
She had left Riverton because four years earlier Nick had finally confronted her about the baby and the miscarriage.
He asked for proof.
Doctor names. Clinics. Dates. Medical records.
He wanted to speak to the doctors himself.
Apple swore she was telling the truth, but she refused to provide the proof Nick demanded. And when she didn’t, Nick made her life in our hometown unbearable.
His family’s influence was strong. Invitations stopped. Doors closed. Opportunities vanished.
Brandon’s company suffered too.
The scandal stained everything. Investors hesitated. Clients questioned leadership. Reputation cracked.
They survived it.
Barely.
When I spoke to my father during that period, his anger toward Apple was unfiltered. Not because of morality.
Because she had cost him money.
Because she had embarrassed him.
Because she had become a liability instead of an asset.
Eventually, the company stabilized. The public moved on. Scandals always fade when a new one arrives.
Apple moved on too.
When she moved to Chicago, I finally discovered who the man was.
The man she had bragged about before she put the knife into my stomach in my last life.
“Life’s been amazing, actually.”
“Didn’t you hear? I found someone who actually matters. One of Chicago’s top bachelors. A billionaire. Charming. Completely obsessed with me. The kind of man women would kill for.”
“You should see my life now. Penthouse view. Designer brands. Millions of followers.”
I had no idea who that man was back then. Only that he existed. And only that Apple believed she had finally won.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Apple would never get the happily ever after she thought she deserved. Since she had taken everything from me in my last life, I would return the favor in this one.
When Apple moved to Chicago, I started watching her more closely than ever. I followed her patterns. Her posts. Her silences. Amy helped when I needed deeper access. I made sure I never missed a single clue.
And then I saw it.
A message she sent to a friend.
“I hooked up with Knox Sinclair again.”
“This time I’m not letting him slip through my fingers like I did five years ago.”
I stared at the name.
Knox Sinclair.
I opened my browser and searched his name.
Less than five minutes later, I had everything.
Billionaire. Chicago elite. Real estate, casinos, entertainment empires.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen.
So that was him.
The man Apple wanted.
The man she believed would complete her story.
I smiled slowly.
Because if Apple wanted him…
Then I would make sure she never kept him.