The world felt heavy.
Scarlett's hands shook as she slid her phone into her bag. The comments, the whispers, the screenshots—it was all too much. Every notification felt like Madison's eyes watching her, judging, calculating.
Jackson's hand on her shoulder grounded her. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been until he was there, solid and immovable.
"You ready?" he asked, voice low.
Scarlett swallowed. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready."
"You'll be fine," he said. "I'll be right there. No one touches you. No one controls this."
She wanted to believe him. But Madison's presence hung over them, a dark cloud threatening to ruin everything.
They entered the café where Madison had demanded the meeting. It was crowded with morning students, but Madison was already there—smiling sweetly, her hands wrapped around a steaming latte.
"You're late," she said softly, but her eyes were sharp. Dangerous.
Scarlett didn't answer. She took a seat opposite Madison, Jackson right beside her.
Madison leaned back, giving Scarlett a slow, deliberate once-over. "You look... shaken."
"I'm fine," Scarlett replied, though her voice betrayed her.
"Sure," Madison said, smirking. "Let's cut to the chase. You and Jackson. You've been hiding things, enjoying things, doing things you shouldn't. And people are noticing."
Scarlett felt her stomach tighten. She glanced at Jackson. He didn't flinch, just gave her a small nod. We handle this together, his eyes seemed to say.
Madison continued. "I've already shared some… previews. The video last night? People are talking. They're invested. But you, Scarlett, you need to understand: this isn't just a game. This is reputation. And right now, yours is fragile."
Scarlett's heart pounded. "What do you want, Madison?"
"Control," Madison said simply. "I want to control the narrative. And I want you to bow to it. Admit you're in love with him. Apologize. Or… deal with the fallout."
Jackson's jaw tightened. "You're insane," he said.
Madison tilted her head. "I'm reasonable. You'll see."
Scarlett leaned forward, fury rising. "No. I won't apologize for what I feel. And I won't let you manipulate me."
Madison's smile darkened. "Then you'll lose. Publicly."
Jackson grabbed Scarlett's hand under the table. The contact was electric, grounding her, reminding her she wasn't alone.
"You're not going to ruin her," Scarlett whispered.
He shook his head. "I can't stop her from trying. But I can protect you."
Madison leaned back, swirling her latte. "Oh, I'm not done. The next video? Let's just say… more people are going to see what you do behind closed doors. And it won't be flattering."
Scarlett felt her blood run cold.
Jackson stood abruptly. "Enough."
Madison's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, we're just getting started."
They left the café, the tension like static in the air. Outside, Jackson pulled Scarlett aside.
"You think she can just ruin you?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
"I don't know," she admitted. "She already has."
He grabbed her face gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Then we fight. Together. No more hiding. No more pretending this is just a secret."
Scarlett nodded. She wanted to fight. But the fear wasn't gone—it was sharpened, a constant edge beneath her skin.
That night, they returned to Jackson's place. He locked the door behind them.
"I need to know everything you've posted," Scarlett said.
Jackson handed her his phone. Screenshots, videos, messages—Madison had orchestrated a narrative meant to humiliate, isolate, and control.
Scarlett felt a wave of anger. "She thinks she can scare me?"
Jackson shook his head. "She doesn't understand what she's dealing with. We're not playing by her rules."
Scarlett's eyes met his. "Then what do we do?"
He smiled, slow, dangerous. "We take control. And we make sure she regrets ever touching your life."
They spent the next hours planning. Every message Madison could send, every post she could make—they anticipated. Counter-strategy. Visibility. Defense. Scarlett realized something terrifying: she was enjoying the adrenaline. The danger. The intimacy of this secret war that only they understood.
Jackson noticed her smile. "Careful," he said. "You're enjoying this too much."
"I am," she admitted. "And so are you."
He stepped closer. "Good. Because this is only the beginning. Nothing will stop us—especially her."
The next morning, Scarlett woke to another alert.
A new video.
This one longer, sharper, and edited in a way that made it look like she had willingly enticed Jackson in public. The comments were already piling up:
I can't believe she did that.
Jackson, how could you?
This is scandalous.
Scarlett's chest tightened. She looked at Jackson, who was already scrolling through the comments.
"They'll believe anything," he muttered.
"But it's working," she said softly, fear and excitement intertwining. "Everyone's watching."
Jackson's lips curved. "Exactly how we want it. She thinks she's winning. But we control the next move."
Scarlett felt her heart race—not from the video, not from Madison, but from him. His presence, his strategy, his fierce protection—it ignited something hotter than fear.
And then, his hand brushed hers. A reminder: no matter what came next, they were in this together.
Suddenly, Madison's voice came through Scarlett's phone:
"Next time, it won't be a video. It'll be live."
Scarlett froze.
Jackson's eyes darkened. "She just raised the stakes."
Scarlett looked at him, pulse pounding. "Are we ready for that?"
He smirked. "We don't get ready. We survive—and we take the fight to her."
The room felt electric, every corner charged with danger and desire.
And Scarlett realized something terrifyingly thrilling: nothing would ever be the same again.
The war had begun.
And this time, there would be no turning back.