In the digital age where a simple block can bruise egos and ignite infernos, Sakiyna Thompson’s obsessive unraveling stands as a harrowing archetype: A 31-year-old Brooklyn woman, spurned by her ex’s new romance and a social media shutdown, boarded a plane to Florida and plunged a knife into her rival’s heart 26 times. Convicted of first-degree murder on October 14, 2025, Thompson—once a quiet clerk at a Flatbush beauty supply store—now faces life behind bars without parole for the July 16, 2022, slaying of Kayla Hodgson, 23, a vivacious paralegal whose only “crime” was loving the wrong man at the wrong time. The case, prosecuted in Broward County’s sun-drenched courthouse, unfolded like a thriller scripted from screenshots and bloodstains, revealing how unchecked jealousy, amplified by online surveillance, can propel ordinary heartbreak into premeditated horror. As Hodgson’s family clutches faded Instagram prints of her smiles, Thompson’s tearful claims of self-defense dissolve against a trail of digital breadcrumbs, underscoring the lethal fusion of virtual vendettas and visceral violence in modern America.

The entanglement began innocuously enough in the concrete canyons of New York City, where Thompson and her ex-boyfriend Darius (a pseudonym granted by the court to shield him from backlash) shared a turbulent two-year romance from 2020 to 2022. Darius, a charismatic barber with a side hustle in crypto trading, ended things amid accusations of his wandering eye—Thompson’s jealousy a constant undercurrent, manifesting in midnight interrogations and smashed phones. By May 2022, Darius had moved on to Hodgson, a Fort Lauderdale native he’d met on Hinge during a Miami vacation. Their whirlwind—beach dates, coupled TikToks dancing to Drake—played out publicly on Instagram, where Hodgson posted heart emojis and sunset kisses. Thompson, lurking via finstas (fake accounts), seethed: “She’s a rebound thief,” she vented to friends in WhatsApp groups, per subpoenaed chats. The tipping point? Hodgson’s block on June 28, 2022, after Thompson flooded her DMs with venom: “You’re temporary—I’ll make sure.” Darius blocked too, but Thompson’s fixation deepened; she hacked his location-sharing app, pinpointing Hodgson’s Tamarac apartment complex via shared stories.

What followed was a meticulously plotted pilgrimage of rage. On July 14, Thompson quit her job abruptly, telling her boss “family emergency,” and booked a $89 Spirit Airlines ticket from JFK to FLL, departing the next morning. Surveillance cams captured her at the airport: Hood up, eyes darting, a duffel bag concealing the knife she’d wrapped in a towel—her own from home, etched with a faint “S+T” from better days with Darius. En route, Google searches on her phone: “How to confront a homewrecker,” “Florida self-defense laws,” and “Tamarac gate codes.” Landing at 11 a.m., she Ubered to a Walmart for bleach wipes and gloves, then staked out Hodgson’s building—a pastel stucco haven in a quiet suburb of palm-lined streets and man-made lakes. Hodgson, oblivious, spent the day at her paralegal gig downtown, texting Darius: “Miss you—come visit soon?” By dusk, as neighbors grilled burgers and kids splashed in pools, Thompson slipped through a side gate (propped open for a delivery) and knocked.

The confrontation exploded in Hodgson’s ground-floor unit, a cozy nook with fairy lights, law textbooks stacked on the coffee table, and a fridge magnet from her USF graduation. Hodgson, in yoga pants post-Zumba class, opened the door to a stranger’s face—Thompson’s wig askew, eyes wild. “Who are you?” Hodgson reportedly asked, per neighbor audio from a baby monitor app. Thompson shoved inside: “I’m the one he really loves—you’re in my way!” Words escalated to shoves; Hodgson grabbed a phone to call 911, but Thompson tackled her, wrestling to the kitchen tile. The knife emerged—flashing silver under pendant lights—as Thompson stabbed relentlessly: First a slash to the arm (defensive wound), then frenzied thrusts to the chest, neck, and abdomen. Hodgson fought back, biting Thompson’s wrist and screaming “Get off me!”—echoes heard by a jogger who dialed emergency. Blood slicked the floor, splattering white cabinets; Hodgson’s final gasp came as the blade nicked her carotid. Thompson, panting amid the carnage, rifled Hodgson’s phone for “evidence” of the affair, then fled, discarding the wig in a dumpster.

Broward Sheriff’s Office arrived at 8:17 p.m., finding Hodgson in a pool of crimson, her Fitbit still tracking a plummeting heart rate. Thompson, caught on Ring cams sprinting away, was nabbed two hours later at a Greyhound stop, knife in her bag and blood under her nails. “She attacked me—I had no choice,” she blurted in the squad car, but DNA and fiber analysis tied her irrevocably: Thompson’s hair in the wig, Hodgson’s skin on the blade. Interrogation videos showed her unraveling: “The block… it erased me. I flew down to make her see.” Darius, devastated, cooperated fully, handing over logs of 200+ harassing calls from Thompson pre-flight.

The trial, commencing October 7 in Fort Lauderdale, was a masterclass in digital forensics. Prosecutor Vasquez paraded evidence: Flight manifests, search histories, a journal seized from Thompson’s Brooklyn apartment scrawled with “Kayla must go.” Defense attorney Raul Gomez argued provocation: “A blocked woman pushed to the edge—manslaughter, not murder.” But Hodgson’s autopsy—26 wounds, including postmortem slashes—sealed it. Jury foreman later told WSVN: “Premeditation screamed from every screen.” Guilty on all counts; Judge Gonzalez’s sentence: Life, no appeal bond.

Hodgson’s legacy endures in ripples: Her firm established the Kayla Hodgson Scholarship for aspiring lawyers, funded by $100K in donations. Thompson’s family, flown in from Jamaica, disavowed her: “Jealousy poisoned her soul.” Darius entered therapy, deleting socials. In Tamarac, the apartment’s leased to a new tenant, but ghosts linger—neighbors whisper of “the stabbing” at block parties. Florida’s AG bolstered cyberstalking units post-verdict, citing a 25% rise in interstate threats (per 2024 stats). Thompson’s blackout? A myth masking malice. As Vasquez closed: “A block button isn’t a death warrant—jealousy made it one.” In the scroll of endless feeds, one woman’s flight reminds: Digital doors slam, but real ones can shatter lives.