Jennifer's POV
"What video?" I ask again, but my voice sounds far away.
Michael's already opening my email on his phone. Daniel and James crowd closer, their faces going darker with each second.
"Don't look," Michael says, but I grab the phone from his hands.
The email is from an anonymous address. The subject line reads: The Real Jennifer Morgan.
Below it is a video link and a message:
Since you wanted to embarrass me publicly, let's see how you handle the same treatment. This goes live on every major social media platform in 10 minutes. Sleep well, darling. -R
My finger hovers over the link. I'm terrified to press it but I need to know.
"Jennifer, don't—" Daniel starts.
I click it.
The video loads. But it's not what I expected.
It's me. In our bedroom. But I'm alone, talking to someone on the phone. My voice is shaky, broken.
"I can't do this anymore," video-me says. "I just want him gone. I don't care how. I just want him to disappear."
My blood turns to ice.
"I never said that," I whisper.
The video continues. Different clips, all edited together. Me saying things I never said. Me looking angry, violent, unstable.
"He deserves to suffer for what he did to me."
"Sometimes I think about just ending it all. Ending him."
"Nobody would blame me. Everyone would understand."
"Oh God." My legs feel weak. "He faked it. He edited my voice somehow. Made it sound like I'm threatening to kill him."
"Deepfake," James says immediately. "He used AI to manipulate audio clips of your voice. Made you say things you never said."
"That's illegal," Daniel adds.
"But people won't care about that," Michael's voice is cold, furious. "They'll see this video. They'll believe it. And Richard will use it to—"
My phone starts ringing. Then buzzing. Then exploding with notifications.
The video went live.
I watch in horror as my social media accounts light up with tags, comments, shares. The video is everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. TikTok.
Jennifer Morgan THREATENS to KILL her ex-husband!
Psycho wife caught on tape!
LISTEN to what she really said behind closed doors!
"No, no, no." I'm scrolling through the comments and they're brutal.
She's insane
Lock her up
Poor Richard, imagine being married to this psycho
She should be in jail, not divorced
"Jennifer, give me the phone." Michael tries to take it but I hold on tighter.
"They all believe it," I say. My voice cracks. "Everyone thinks I actually said those things. That I'm dangerous. Crazy."
"We'll prove it's fake," Daniel says gently. "We'll get experts, show the audio manipulation—"
"That will take weeks!" I'm shaking now. "Meanwhile, this is everywhere. My face is everywhere. Everyone thinks I'm a murderer waiting to happen."
Sophia pushes through the crowd that's forming around us. "Jen! Are you seeing this? It's all over—" She stops when she sees my face. "Oh honey."
"I need to leave," I say. "I need to get out of here. Everyone's staring."
And they are. Every single person in this club is looking at me. Some with horror. Some with disgust. Some are filming me on their phones right now.
"Come on." Michael's hand is firm on my back. "We're getting you out of here."
The four of them—Michael, Daniel, James, and Sophia—form a protective circle around me as we head for the exit.
But we don't make it.
Two police officers are walking toward us through the crowd.
"Jennifer Morgan?" The taller one asks.
My heart stops. "Yes?"
"We need you to come with us. We have some questions about threats made against Richard Morgan."
"The video is fake!" I say desperately. "He edited it! I never said any of those things!"
"That's what we need to discuss." The officer's hand moves to his belt. To his handcuffs. "Are you going to come voluntarily, or do we need to do this the hard way?"
Everyone in the club is watching. Filming. This is going to be all over the news by morning.
Unstable ex-wife arrested at nightclub.
Richard planned this perfectly. The divorce papers. The video. The police. All of it designed to destroy me at my moment of freedom.
"She's coming voluntarily," Marcus Thompson's voice cuts through the chaos. He appears beside us, his lawyer briefcase in hand. "And I'm her attorney. She won't be answering any questions without me present."
"Fine," the officer says. "But she needs to come now."
I look at Michael. At Daniel and James. At Sophia.
"I'll be okay," I lie. "Marcus will handle it."
"Like hell you'll be okay." Michael's jaw is tight. "We're coming with you."
"You can't—"
"Watch us." James's voice is hard. "You're not doing this alone."
At the police station, they put me in a small, cold room. Marcus sits beside me. The officers show us the video again. Ask me to explain the threats.
"It's fake," I say for the hundredth time. "He used AI to manipulate my voice. I never said any of those things."
"That's a very convenient explanation," the detective says. He's older, tired-looking. "We have experts who can analyze the audio. But that takes time. Meanwhile, Mr. Morgan is filing for a restraining order. Says he fears for his life."
"He's the one who should be feared!" I slam my hand on the table. "He stole my money. He framed me. He's been planning to destroy me for months!"
"Ms. Morgan, I need you to calm down—"
"Don't tell me to calm down! My life is being destroyed and you're helping him do it!"
Marcus puts a hand on my arm. "Jennifer. Stop talking."
I close my mouth, but tears are running down my face now. I can't stop them.
After three hours of questions, they finally let me go. No charges. Yet. But the restraining order is approved. I'm not allowed within 500 feet of Richard.
Outside the station, Michael, Daniel, and James are waiting. They look like they've been ready to storm the building.
"Are you okay?" Daniel asks immediately.
"No." I'm too tired to lie. "I'm not okay. Richard wins. He always wins."
"He hasn't won yet," Michael says darkly.
"Did you see the internet? The video has ten million views. Ten million people think I'm a psycho who threatened to kill my ex-husband. How do I come back from that?"
James holds up his phone. "Actually, it's been taken down. From every platform. In the last hour."
I stare at him. "What? How?"
"I made some calls," James says simply. "Called in some favors with tech companies I work with. Showed them proof it was a deepfake. They removed it for violating their policies against manipulated media."
"But people already saw it—"
"And now we're going to show them the truth." James's smile is sharp. "I'm the best cybersecurity expert in the country. If anyone can prove that video was faked, it's me. We'll have evidence by morning."
"But that doesn't fix—"
"Jennifer." Michael steps closer. His hand cups my face, forcing me to look at him. "Listen to me. You are not alone in this fight. Not anymore. We're going to destroy Richard. Completely. But we need you to trust us."
"I barely know you," I whisper.
"You know we're your brother's best friends," Daniel says. "You know we've been successful. You know we're not afraid of fights."
"What you don't know," James adds quietly, "is that we've been watching out for you for years. Hating Richard for how he treated you. Wanting to help but never having permission."
"Now you're free," Michael says. "And we're asking for permission. Let us fight for you."
I should say no. Should push them away. Should handle this myself.
But I'm so tired of fighting alone.
"Okay," I whisper. "Help me."
Something changes in Michael's eyes. Relief. Determination. Something darker.
"Then come with us," he says. "All three of us. Tonight. We need to talk. Plan. Figure out how to end this."
"Come where?"
"My place," Michael says. "It's secure. Private. Safe."
I hesitate. Going to Michael Kane's penthouse at midnight with his two friends feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
But what other choice do I have?
"Okay," I say again.
We're walking to Michael's car when my phone rings.
Unknown number. Again.
I answer it without thinking.
"Jennifer Morgan?" A woman's voice. Professional but excited. "This is Rachel Chen from the New York Times. We'd like to offer you a chance to tell your side of the story. An exclusive interview about your marriage, the divorce, and tonight's video. We can publish tomorrow—"
"How did you get this number?" I ask.
"Richard Morgan gave it to us. Along with some very interesting information about your relationship with three certain billionaires. He says you've been cheating on him for months. That you're involved with Michael Kane, Daniel Cross, and James Carter simultaneously. Is that true?"
My blood runs cold.
I look at the three men standing beside me. They heard every word.
"No comment," I say and hang up.
"Richard knows," I whisper. "About all of you. About tonight."
"How?" Daniel asks.
Then we all see it at the same time.
Across the street, partially hidden in shadows, someone is holding a camera with a long lens.
They've been photographing us. This whole time.
Every touch. Every protective gesture. Every moment that looked like more than friendship.
"He's been having me followed," I say. My voice sounds hollow. "The whole night. Everything we did at the club. Everything we've done since. He has pictures."
"So what?" James says. "You're divorced. You can be with whoever you want."
"You don't understand." I'm shaking again. "Richard will use this. He'll say I was cheating during our marriage. He'll say that's why I wanted the divorce. He'll twist everything to make himself look like the victim and me look like the villain."
"Then let him try," Michael's voice is ice-cold rage. "We have nothing to hide."
"But Jason—" I stop. "Oh God. Jason. Your best friend. My brother. What's he going to think when he sees pictures of me with all three of you?"
The three men exchange looks. Guilty looks.
"We'll handle Jason," Michael says.
"How? By telling him you're all sleeping with his sister?"
"We're not sleeping with you," Daniel says quietly. "Yet."
The word 'yet' hangs in the air like a promise. Or a threat.
My phone buzzes. Another message.
This time it's a photo.
Me and Michael on the dance floor. His hands on my waist. My face tilted up toward his. We look intimate. More than friends.
The caption below: Tomorrow's front page. Sweet dreams.
I show them the phone.
"He's going to publish this," I say. "Richard's going to publish pictures of me with you three, tell the world I'm some kind of... of..."
"Say it," Michael challenges.
"Some kind of woman who sleeps with multiple men!" The words burst out. "He's going to make me look like exactly the kind of person who would threaten to kill her husband. Unstable. Desperate. Morally bankrupt."
"Or," James says thoughtfully, "we beat him to it."
I stare at him. "What?"
"We tell the story first. Our way. We own it before he can twist it."
"Are you insane? That would destroy all of us! Jason would never forgive—"
"Jason will get over it," Michael cuts me off. "But first, you need to decide something, Jennifer."
"Decide what?"
Michael steps closer. So close I can feel the heat of him. "Decide if you actually want this. Want us. Because if you do—if you choose to be with us, all three of us, in whatever way that means—then we fight together. We own it together. We don't hide."
"But if you want us to walk away," Daniel adds gently, "if this is too much, too fast, too complicated—we will. We'll still help you destroy Richard. But we'll do it as your brother's friends. Nothing more."
"You need to choose," James says. "Right now. Before tomorrow's paper comes out. Before Richard controls the narrative. Do you want us? Or do you want safety?"
I look at the three of them. These powerful, dangerous men who are offering me something I don't fully understand.
My phone rings again.
This time it's Jason.
My brother.
Who's about to find out everything.
I stare at his name on my screen, my finger hovering over the answer button.
"Jennifer," Michael says softly. "What do you choose?"