Jennifer's POV
I'm staring at my laptop screen when Sophia bursts through my apartment door.
"That's it!" She marches over and slams my computer shut. "You've been hiding in here for three months. It ends tonight."
I look up at my best friend. Sophia never knocks. Never asks permission. It's one of the things I love about her.
"I'm not hiding. I'm working on my case—"
"You're dying in here." Sophia pulls me off the couch. "Look at you. When's the last time you ate a real meal? Showered? Left this apartment for something other than court?"
I don't answer because I can't remember.
The meeting at Morgenstern's Cafe changed everything. The mysterious person turned out to be Marcus Thompson—Michael Kane's lawyer. He gave me proof that Richard had been planning to destroy me for over a year. Proof of the fake prenup. Proof of the spyware on my phone. Proof that Judge Vincent was Richard's college roommate.
We got the judge removed. Filed criminal charges. Started fighting back.
But it's been three months of hell.
Three months of reading lies about myself in every newspaper. Three months of watching my friends choose Richard's side. Three months of my mother calling me an embarrassment to the family.
"I can't go out, Sophia. People hate me. They think I'm crazy. Unstable. There's literally an article calling me 'Manhattan's Most Desperate Housewife.'"
"Exactly." Sophia grabs my hands. "They've already decided who you are. So why are you letting them win by hiding? Show them they're wrong."
"How?"
"By living." She pulls me toward my bedroom. "We're going to Obsidian tonight."
I freeze. "The club? Sophia, that's where all the rich people go. Richard's people. They'll destroy me."
"Good. Let them try." Sophia's eyes flash with fire. "You're Jennifer Morgan. Your family owns one of the biggest media companies in New York. You're beautiful, smart, and innocent. If they want to judge you, make them do it to your face."
Something in her words wakes up a part of me I thought was dead.
Rage.
Not the sad, crying kind. The powerful kind. The kind that makes you want to fight.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Let's do it."
Two hours later, I'm standing outside Obsidian in a black dress that hugs my body like armor. My hair is down. My makeup is perfect. I look like the old Jennifer—but I feel different inside.
Harder. Sharper. Done with being a victim.
The bouncer looks at his list, then at me. His eyes widen. "Mrs. Morgan?"
"Ms. Morgan," I correct him. "I'm getting divorced."
He nods and unhooks the velvet rope. "Enjoy your evening."
Inside, the club is dark and exclusive. Everyone here has money. Power. Secrets.
I recognize faces—people from charity galas, business dinners, society events. People who used to smile at me when I was Richard's wife.
Now they whisper and stare.
"Ignore them," Sophia says in my ear. "Head up. You're a queen."
We walk to the bar. I order vodka. Something strong to quiet the voice in my head that says I should run.
"Jennifer Morgan." A woman's voice behind me, dripping with fake sweetness. "I'm so surprised to see you here."
I turn. It's Catherine Wells—one of Richard's lawyers.
"Why wouldn't I be here?" I keep my voice steady. "I'm a member."
"Well, after everything in the news..." Catherine's smile is like a knife. "The threats you made, the mental health concerns, the way you've been behaving... I just thought you'd want to keep a low profile."
My fingers tighten on my glass. "I never made any threats. Richard faked those messages."
"That's not what the evidence shows." Catherine leans closer. "Between you and me? You should take the settlement Richard's offering. Before this gets uglier."
"Before what gets uglier?" I ask. "Before everyone finds out Richard's a criminal? That he forged documents? That he's been stealing from his own family company?"
Catherine's smile disappears. "Be careful what you say, Jennifer. Slander is a crime."
"So is fraud," I shoot back. "Tell Richard I'll see him in court."
Catherine walks away, and I realize my hands are shaking.
"You did good," Sophia says. "Really good."
But I don't feel good. I feel like I'm going to fall apart.
"I need air," I tell Sophia.
I head toward the back of the club, away from the staring eyes and whispered comments. There's a private section, roped off. I slip past the rope, just needing somewhere quiet to breathe.
That's when I see him.
Michael Kane.
He's sitting in a corner booth with two other men I recognize immediately—Daniel Cross and James Carter. My brother Jason's three best friends.
I haven't seen them since Jason's birthday party two years ago. Haven't thought about them in forever.
But right now, Michael is looking at me like I'm not Jason's little sister.
Like I'm something else entirely.
His eyes are dark, intense, dangerous. They travel from my face down my body and back up, and I feel that look everywhere.
"Jennifer." His voice is deep, smooth. "What are you doing here?"
I should leave. Should walk away. These are Jason's friends. Off-limits.
But something reckless wakes up inside me.
"Living," I say, lifting my chin. "Is that allowed?"
Michael's jaw tightens. "Your brother know you're here?"
"My brother doesn't own me."
Something flashes in Michael's eyes—surprise, heat, approval.
Daniel stands up. He's tall, with kind eyes that see too much. "Jennifer, are you okay? We heard about the divorce."
"I'm fine," I lie.
"You don't look fine," James says. He's younger than the other two, with a smile that would be charming if his eyes weren't so serious. "You look like you're about to either scream or cry."
"Maybe both," I admit before I can stop myself.
Michael stands. He's taller than I remember. More intimidating. "Sit down. Have a drink with us."
"I shouldn't—"
"Sit." It's not a request.
I sit.
Michael pours me a drink from the bottle on their table. Expensive whiskey that probably costs more than my rent.
"We know what Richard's doing," Daniel says quietly. "Jason told us. We're sorry."
"Don't be sorry." I take the drink, swallow it in one gulp. It burns. "I don't want pity."
"Then what do you want?" Michael asks.
I look at him. Really look at him. At all three of them.
These men are powerful. Dangerous. Everything I should avoid.
But they're also looking at me like I matter. Like I'm not broken.
"I want to forget," I hear myself say. "Just for one night. I want to forget Richard, the divorce, the newspapers, all of it. I want to feel like myself again."
The three men exchange looks. Something passes between them.
"We can help with that," James says softly.
"But Jennifer," Daniel adds, his voice careful. "If Jason finds out—"
"I don't care about Jason right now." My voice comes out stronger than I expected. "I don't care about anyone's rules anymore. I'm done being the good girl. The perfect wife. The woman who does what everyone expects."
Michael's eyes darken. "What are you saying?"
I stand up. The alcohol is making me brave. Or stupid. Right now, I don't care which.
"Dance with me," I tell Michael.
"That's a bad idea," he says.
"Good." I grab his hand. "I'm done with good ideas."
For a moment, Michael doesn't move. Then he stands, and his hand wraps around mine.
On the dance floor, his hands settle on my waist. We're too close. This is wrong in about seventeen different ways.
But it feels right.
"Your brother will kill me," Michael says.
"Only if he finds out." I look up at him. "This doesn't have to mean anything. It's just a dance."
"It's never just a dance," Michael says. His thumb traces small circles on my waist. "Not with you."
My breath catches. "Why not with me?"
"Because—" Michael stops himself. "Jennifer, you don't know what you're asking for."
"Then tell me."
Before he can answer, someone grabs my arm and spins me around.
It's Richard.
"What the hell are you doing?" His face is red with anger. Amanda stands behind him, looking smug.
"Dancing," I say. "With whoever I want."
"You're embarrassing yourself!" Richard hisses. "Everyone's watching. Everyone's taking pictures. Do you want to look even more unstable?"
"I don't care what people think anymore."
"Well, you should." Richard's grip on my arm tightens. "Because tomorrow morning, those pictures will be in every newspaper. My lawyers will use them to prove you're reckless and unfit. You're making my case for me, Jennifer."
Michael steps between us. "Let her go."
"Stay out of this, Kane." Richard's eyes flash. "She's still my wife."
"Actually," a new voice says behind us. "She's not."
We all turn.
Marcus Thompson stands there with a folder in his hands and a smile on his face.
"Your divorce was finalized one hour ago," Marcus says, looking at me. "Emergency hearing. The judge reviewed all our evidence about Richard's fraud, and he granted Jennifer an immediate dissolution of marriage on grounds of criminal misconduct."
My heart stops. "What?"
"You're divorced, Jennifer." Marcus hands me the papers. "As of 6 PM tonight, you're free."
Richard's face goes white. "That's impossible. We had months left—"
"We had a very good lawyer," I say quietly. Then louder. "I'm free."
The words feel unreal. Powerful. Like magic.
Richard lunges toward me, but Michael blocks him. "Touch her again, and I'll break your arm."
Security appears, pulling Richard back. Amanda is crying, screaming something about this being unfair.
I just stand there, holding the divorce papers, feeling like I can breathe for the first time in months.
"Jennifer." Michael's voice is soft. "Are you okay?"
I look up at him. At Daniel and James who have moved closer, protecting me from the crowd.
"Ask me to dance again," I say.
"What?"
"Ask me to dance. Now that I'm free. Now that Richard can't use anything against me. Ask me."
Michael's eyes search mine. "Dance with me, Jennifer."
This time when his hands touch my waist, I don't hold back. I press closer. Let myself feel wanted. Alive.
The music pulses around us. People are definitely taking pictures. Definitely gossiping.
I don't care.
Then Michael leans down, his lips near my ear. "There's something you need to know."
"What?"
"All three of us," he says quietly. "Daniel, James, and me. We've wanted you for years. Since the first time we met you. But you were married. Off-limits."
My breath catches.
"But now you're free," Michael continues. "And if you give us even the smallest signal that you want this—want us—there's no going back."
I pull back to look at him. At Daniel and James watching from nearby, their eyes full of heat and want and things I don't understand yet.
"What if I want there to be no going back?" I whisper.
Michael's control visibly cracks. His hand tightens on my waist. "Then you need to be sure. Because we won't share you with anyone else. And we won't let you go easily."
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my purse.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
Unknown number. But not Marcus this time.
Congratulations on the divorce. But don't celebrate yet. Check your email—the personal one. Richard's final revenge just went live.
He's released a video. And it's going to destroy everything.
My hands start shaking so badly I drop the phone.
Michael catches it, reads the message. His face goes dark.
"What video?" I whisper.
But I already know. Deep down, I already know.
Richard recorded us. Our private moments. Our bedroom. Our life.
And he's making it public.