Scarlett's phone exploded before sunrise.
Not one notification. Not two. Dozens.
Her screen lit up nonstop—messages, tags, missed calls—until her hands started shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.
She didn't need to open anything to know.
Madison hadn't waited.
Jackson was already calling when she finally answered.
"Tell me you haven't seen it yet," he said, voice tight.
"I just woke up," Scarlett whispered. "What did she post?"
A pause. Too long.
"Not everything," he said carefully. "But enough."
Her chest hollowed out. "Enough of what?"
"Enough to make people talk."
The video was grainy. Cropped. Short.
Just long enough to show Jackson pulling her inside the house. Just long enough to show her body leaning into his. Just long enough to imply what everyone already wanted to believe.
No faces fully clear.
No sound.
No proof.
But implication was louder than truth.
The caption was worse.
"Some friendships were never innocent."
Scarlett felt sick.
Comments were already piling up.
I knew it.
They always do this behind your back.
She doesn't look innocent to me.
Wow. Poor Madison.
Her throat burned.
"This is my fault," she said into the phone.
"No," Jackson snapped. "This is manipulation."
"People won't care."
"I do," he said immediately. "And I'm not letting her control this."
Scarlett closed her eyes. "What are you going to do?"
"Come over," he said. "Now."
They didn't touch when she arrived.
That hurt more than anything.
Jackson stood by the window, jaw tight, phone in his hand. Scarlett hovered near the door, suddenly unsure of where she belonged.
"I should leave," she said softly.
He turned. "Don't."
The word cracked.
"She wants us separated," he continued. "Unsteady. Ashamed. Quiet."
Scarlett swallowed. "She already won."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "She started a war."
Her breath caught.
"You think this is a game?" she asked.
"I think she underestimated how done I am playing nice."
Scarlett searched his face. "Jackson… if this gets worse—"
"It will," he said. "And I'm still choosing you."
The room went quiet.
Her voice trembled. "You shouldn't say that."
"I should say it louder."
He reached for her hand—slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn't.
The contact was electric. Familiar. Terrifying.
"People are going to judge," she whispered.
"They already are."
"They'll blame me."
"They always do."
His thumb brushed her knuckles. Grounding. Steady.
"But they won't decide," he said. "We will."
Madison didn't wait long to escalate.
By afternoon, Scarlett's name was everywhere.
Group chats. Anonymous posts. Whispers that followed her through hallways. Looks that lingered too long.
Then came the message.
Madison: We need to talk. Just us. Tonight.
Scarlett showed Jackson.
He went still. "Absolutely not."
"She won't stop," Scarlett said. "Not unless she thinks she's won."
Jackson's eyes darkened. "Or unless she loses."
Scarlett hesitated. "Let me meet her."
"No."
"Jackson."
"No," he repeated, sharper now. "She wants you alone so she can twist things."
"She already has."
He exhaled slowly, fighting himself. "Then I'm coming with you."
"She asked for just me."
"Too bad."
Scarlett studied him. "You trust me?"
"With my life."
"Then trust me to handle this."
Silence stretched.
Finally, he nodded. "One condition."
"What?"
"You don't agree to anything. You don't apologize. And the moment it turns ugly, you leave."
She nodded. "Okay."
But deep down, she knew.
Madison wasn't going to make this clean.
The café was quiet when Scarlett arrived.
Madison sat near the back, calm, composed, already victorious.
"You look tired," Madison said sweetly.
Scarlett sat. "What do you want?"
Madison smiled. "Honesty. For once."
Scarlett laughed bitterly. "From you?"
"From you," Madison corrected. "I want you to admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That you wanted him," Madison said. "That you took something that wasn't yours."
Scarlett leaned forward. "He isn't a thing."
Madison's eyes flashed. "He was mine first."
"No," Scarlett said quietly. "He chose you first. He didn't stay."
The words landed hard.
Madison's smile cracked.
"You think this ends with a video?" Madison asked. "I have more."
Scarlett's heart pounded. "Delete it."
"Why?" Madison shrugged. "People love a story."
"What do you want?" Scarlett asked again.
Madison leaned in. "Leave him."
Scarlett froze.
"Disappear quietly," Madison continued. "No drama. No more footage."
"And if I don't?"
Madison smiled slowly. "Then the next video won't be cropped."
Scarlett stood.
"You don't scare me," she said, voice shaking—but steady.
Madison's eyes narrowed. "You should be terrified."
Scarlett walked out anyway.
Jackson was waiting outside.
He saw her face and knew.
"She threatened you."
Scarlett nodded. "She has more."
His jaw clenched. "Then she just made a mistake."
Scarlett looked up at him. "What are you going to do?"
Jackson took her hand, pulling her close—not hiding now. Not careful.
"I'm done being discreet," he said. "If she wants a story, she'll get the truth."
Her pulse raced. "That could destroy everything."
"Or free us," he said.
She searched his eyes. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then we burn together."
He kissed her then—right there, in public.
Not desperate.
Defiant.
Phones came out. Gasps followed.
Scarlett felt fear—and something else.
Relief.
Because the secret was gone.
And whatever came next—
They were facing it openly.