Ana's POV

"What is this?" I ask the quiet office as I peer at the screen of the iPhone Xmax resting in my palm.

"Where are these people coming from?" I continue in query while observing the insulting comments left on my Instagram handle by people I know nothing about.

"Oh my God, this is getting too much," I muse, noting a comment that's referring to me as a dirty and a cheap slut.

"Christ!" I clamor, sighting one as I scroll that is calling me a killer. The idiot goes on to narrate a fake story of how I allegedly killed his mother because she swallowed the 'Steph Cures' blood pressure medicine which instead of reducing it, went on to hike it, thereby leading to complications and death.

What is even more shocking is the fact that people are sympathizing with this fake story, some going on to say their own untrue experiences that relate to what the moron is narrating. Only a few are calling him out on his bullshit, thereby causing a cyberwar in the comment section.

It's astonishing how humans can easily change in the twinkle of an eye. The exact people praising you today can go ahead and be the ones to mock you the very next.

"Oh come on," I snort, spotting a post which is clearly a fabricated tale by someone named 'Osagie Christiana,' I note, taking a closer look.

"This is a fake account," I assert, clicking away on her profile to see she's got only three followers and the account was created only a day ago.

"Then how come could her post have reached a wide range of coverage by instablog9ja, tundeednut, newsng, and other blogs if she's got only three followers?" I wonder out loud, staring at the device as if a puzzle.

I exit her profile and return to her viral post. Reading it calmly this time, I observe it as something created to taunt me and cause havoc to my name.

It states how I stole her Ex-boyfriend away, her only regret being never recording the incident of catching me in bed with him, and for not being strong to come out earlier.

Reading further I see a comment that catches my eye and it goes. 'I'm so sorry baby, she seduced me but I'm glad her plan to tear us apart didn't work as you have found it in your heart to forgive me and put the devil that came in her form to shame.'

I laugh at this to conceal the sadness I feel inside as from the comment it shows he's her supposed Ex-boyfriend.

In amazement, as an idea struck, I notice the flaw in their scheme as the guy who is deemed to be her Ex-boyfriend is talking as if they had reconciled and are back together.

"Nothing weh Musa no go see for gate [Nothing Musa won't see at the gate]" I blurt the regular saying that depicts shock at some unexpected situations while shaking my head at the irony of it all.

"But really how did such a post get such high range of broadcasting, such that it has up to five hundred thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight likes?" I marvel as I read out loud the number of likes it has got, though it's still counting and has been up for only six hours.

Feeling curious, and having a fishy feeling, I return to her profile, though I'm not sure of what I'm looking for. I glide through her recent posts, two are of her pictures, the other three are written updates of which one is that which went viral.

The other three which include her two pictures and a single write-up have a maximum of only two likes while the other write-up has only one like. Checking it, I discern it's from her.

Meaning to depart from her page it happens as if I am being called to the number of followers hanging at the top with her following only one person. Having the urge to investigate further I tap on the followers' sign.

The first is of some chick named 'Tonye Aladi' the other, from a guy named 'Jerry Ogbonna' rather the third has me losing my breath in surprise and terror.

The third follower is labeled as 'Emily Ije' with a verified symbol at the side, indicating it is from her original Instagram handle.

"Oh shit," I mumble in awe, blinking my lids in the hopes of realizing my mind is playing tricks on me. Instead, I'm proved wrong as the name and sign mock me each time I open them to see it unmoving.

"This can't be," I mutter in denial, dropping the phone to glide my palms on my face in a bid to clear my imagination in case it is all a fib.

I pick it up and I am stunned to sight the same thing I did before discarding the device. Inhaling, my instincts direct me to inspect the one person she's following.

Selecting the highlight, I don't know why I'm horrified thus I should have foreseen that it would be 'Emily'

"Glory!" I shout, a hint of panic in the screamed-out letters as I need her to come to see this herself to either prove me right or acknowledge that the child I'm harboring in my abdomen and the pregnancy hormones is making me lose my mind.

"Glory, please I want you here ASAP!" I plead, positioning the phone and gazing at it as if an alien object, which, I've never had the luck to come across in my entire existence.

"I'm coming!" I hear her yell from outside the office in response, prompting me to take deep breathes in a bid to calm down a bit.

Keeping to her promise, she saunters in, kicking the door shut with her black 4inch heeled feet, her laptop in hand as she struggles to move freely in her tight shiny black leather knee-length gown, her long braids left to fall straight on her back.

"What's up?" She asks, stationing the machine before me as she lowers herself in the cushion. "You sounded desperate."

"I need you to see this," I tell, not wasting a second as I hand her my phone.

"Okay," she lets out, accepting it. "Why in a haste, what's going on?"

"Just examine it," I order, rubbing my fingers together as I gape at her patiently.

"It's locked," she declares, turning the screen for me to observe.

I receive it and unlock it, returning it to her. She takes it, and after a few moments stares at me in confusion.

"I don't get it," she announces.

"Check her followers and the one person she followed back," I instruct, watching her as she carries on with my directions.

"She's got only three followers, how come Emily is one of them?" She raises a question.

"Exactly my point," I nod. "Now check the following section."

"Let me guess, it's Emily too?" she solicits, doing what I say.

"Seeing is believing," I murmur.

"I was right," she affirms. "It is her."

"Yeah, but it came as a shock to me though I should have expected it," I inform, snaking my fingers down my weaves that are packed to fall on one shoulder that is left bare by the one hand single strapped white short blouse I'm donning above a blue long print skirt.

"But truly, I don't understand it," she acknowledges stretching the phone in my direction.

"I know," I agree. "Check the date the account was created.

"A day ago?" she doubts.

"Now observe the number of likes on each of her posts," I urge, clamping my palms to place my chin above them.

"That's expected. She's even lucky she's got active followers," Glory responds.

"Now hand me the phone, I want to show you something," I compel, and as she obeys I produce the viral post and offer it to her. "This is what I was getting to."

"Damn that must be some real magic trick mehn!" She exclaims, presumably noting the number of likes. "Liked by tundeednut, instablog? How did she do it?"

"How many likes now?" I interrogate, documenting her reaction.

"Seven hundred thousand, two hundred and one likes so far, and wait it has only been six hours," she muses the same way I did just a few minutes ago.

"Yep," I confirm. "Last I checked before you came in it was somewhere above five hundred thousand."

"That means it climbed two hundred thousand high in some minutes," she pronounces.

"Precisely," I utter, bestowing her a suggestive look. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"What are you---" she halts as she begins to get my drift. "Do you think?"

"Who else?" I inquire. "All fingers are pointing in her direction."

"You may be right, but we can't just assume without making proper findings," she disputes, depositing the iPhone on the desk.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I persuade as notification sounds beep from the computer in her face though she pays it no heed. "You are my assistant so you should help me with this sort of thing.

"I think there should be a rule that prevents managers from exploiting their assistants," she scoffs at my statement.

"I love you," I say in a baby voice, poking out my bottom lip. "Pwease, your pregnant boss and friend needs your help on this."

"There should be a law about using the pregnant card too," she groans, aiming to resist my cute voice and pouty face.

"Gwory," I call in the same manner, smiling a little as I notice her resolve cracking.

"Okay fine," she sighs rolling her eyes. "Show me what you've got."

I oblige and collect the phone from its abode, unlocking it so we can go over the trending posts and comments about me. We make shocking revelations as my presumption is proved right when each profile we visit and each post we drill, the name Emily is hidden in its folds.

"I can't believe this," she speaks, brown orbs large as we drop the device, my head swelling on my neck as the little hope that I might be crazy is thrown to the wind. The PC still releasing notification noises as all these are going on.

"Predicting it in my mind is one thing, but confirming it is something totally appalling, so much that I still want it to be a lie," I confess, struggling to rationalize my breathing, the constant tingling noise beginning to annoy me.

"I never really expected Emily to stage all these," she says, incredulity breathing in her sentence. The beeping tone continuing.

"Can you assess the reason behind those notifications?" I request, tired of heeding it every two to three seconds.

"No problem," she agrees and clicks a few buttons, not long after, I regard her gulp audibly, sweat appearing on her forehead regardless of the air-conditioner humming in the background.

"What is the matter?" I quiz, wanting to know the cause for her drop in mood.

"Our google rating just plunged from five to three stars and our website is filled with very bad reviews, one that may cause severe damage to our internet image," she communicates, whirling the computer for me to view.

"We both know who it's from," I sigh.

"Yep, same old Emily," she validates.

"What do we do Glory?" I ask, coming off as helpless as the situation ways heavily on my shoulders.

"Well from my experience as being the director of Pencildecimo? I'll say we need a filter," she asserts. Glory is the director of the art company we and the others worked hard to build and still work for.

"What does that mean in our present condition?" I poll in confusion.

"Sorry I didn't make that clear. We need a humanfilter," she conveys.

"Is that a thing?" I implore, squinting my forehead in thought.

"It is," she answers. "A humanfilter is someone who sensors websites, social media handles, platforms, reviews, and things of the sort."

"Oh, okay," I say, getting the hang of it. "I can do that."

"No you can't and won't," she proclaims in a manner that leaves no room for argument.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because it can get messy, plus you are seven months pregnant, you shouldn't be handling that as it may cause some emotional and mental trauma which isn't good," she makes me see reason.

"You handle it then," I assert.

"I can't," she declines before going on to explain. "I already have my hands full, I don't think I can handle this at the moment."

"We need someone else then," I state. "Someone reliable and trustworthy. Someone who cares for us and hates Emily as much as we do, or even more."

"Is it just me or does that scream Oluchi?" Glory invites lighting up as a grin spreads on my face.

"You are right," I beam, agreeing to her suggestion.

"Hold up, does Oluchi have a job?" she interrogates.

"She works from anywhere just like Joe," I inform. "She studied Public administration, so she provides services to as many companies as she can. I'm sure she'll be glad to help."

"It's resolved then," she gleams, leaning back in her chair.

"After work, we go meet our Humanfilter," I smirk.

This chapter was just right..

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