POV: Jasmine
The headline reads: Former Cadence Employee Reveals Pattern of Abuse.
Nora hands me her phone, and I watch my world collapse in high definition.
Adelyn sits in a tastefully lit studio, soft focus making her look vulnerable and brave. Tears glisten on her cheeks with professional precision—the kind of crying that photographs well, that makes audiences lean in with sympathy.
"He made me feel worthless," she says, voice trembling. "Liam presented himself as charming, caring, but behind closed doors he was controlling. Manipulative. He isolated me from friends, criticized everything I did, made me feel like I was losing my mind."
The interviewer nods with practiced concern. "And you have documentation of this abuse?"
"I have everything." Adelyn produces her phone, screenshots filling the screen—text messages stripped of context, conversations that could mean anything or nothing depending on how you frame them. "I also have a statement from my therapist confirming the trauma I experienced. And my employment records show the sick days I had to take for my mental health—days I spent recovering from his cruelty."
My stomach turns to ice. This isn't just an attack on me anymore. This is a calculated destruction of Liam's character, and Adelyn has built her case with the precision of a surgeon.
"When I finally escaped the relationship," she continues, dabbing at her eyes, "he replaced me immediately. With someone willing to do anything for three powerful men."
The interviewer leans forward. "You're referring to Jasmine Harlow?"
Adelyn's smile is pure poison. "She's not a victim. She's a predator who used sex to get everything I worked years for. I tried to warn people. I tried to expose what was happening. And they destroyed my career for it."
Nora pulls the phone away before I can watch it again. "That's enough. You don't need to torture yourself."
"How bad is it?" My voice sounds distant, disconnected from my body.
"It's been three hours. The video has two million views and climbing." Nora's jaw is tight. "Stock dropped another ten percent when the market opened. The board's called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning."
By evening, the lawyers have gathered in the conference room with faces that tell me everything I need to know before they open their mouths.
"The lawsuit just got significantly harder to fight," Patterson admits, spreading documents across the table like a losing hand of cards. "Adelyn's positioned herself as a domestic abuse survivor. Any character witnesses we bring for Liam will be dissected for bias—of course his brothers will defend him, of course his employees will protect their jobs."
"And me?" I ask.
"Every word you say from this point forward will be scrutinized for inconsistency." He removes his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The narrative has crystallized, Miss Harlow. Adelyn is the brave whistleblower who tried to expose corruption. You're the predator who seduced three executives for career advancement."
"That's bullshit," Finn snaps from his position by the window. "She orchestrated the entire scandal. She hired photographers, planted that journalist—"
"None of which we can prove in a court of public opinion," Patterson cuts in. "The legal battle is one thing. We can fight that with evidence and procedure. But the court of public opinion has already rendered its verdict, and appeals are nearly impossible."
I've watched the interview three times now, cataloging every lie, every inconsistency. Adelyn's story shifts subtly between tellings—what started as emotional distance becomes psychological control, a mutual breakup transforms into abandonment and cruelty. The facts bend around her narrative like light around a black hole.
But the damage is done. Truth doesn't matter when lies are more compelling.
"I should resign."
The words leave my mouth before I fully process them, but once they're out, they feel right. Inevitable.
"What?" Liam's head snaps toward me, his golden retriever earnestness replaced by something fierce and protective.
"Think about it," I say, forcing my voice steady. "Adelyn's entire case hinges on me being here. If I leave—voluntarily, publicly—it takes away her ammunition. She can't claim I'm still benefiting from sleeping with you if I'm not employed by the company anymore."
"Absolutely not." Liam crosses to me in three strides, gripping my shoulders. "You're not sacrificing yourself to appease that woman. That's exactly what she wants."
"Resignation looks like guilt," Asher adds, his voice gruff but certain. "The media won't interpret it as nobility. They'll see it as admission that everything Adelyn said is true. That you were here under false pretenses and fled when exposed."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" The frustration breaks through my careful control. "Stay here while the company bleeds out? Watch the stock tank and the board circle like vultures? Every day I remain makes things worse for everyone."
"Every day you remain is a day we fight together." Finn moves from the window, and his usual playfulness is completely stripped away. What's left underneath is someone I barely recognize—serious, determined, fierce in a way I've never seen from him. "You leave, she wins. And we don't let her win."
"Finn—"
"No." He stands beside Liam now, presenting a united front. "You walked away once. Disappeared to that farm because you thought we couldn't protect you. Maybe you were right about that—we fucked up with Adelyn, and you paid the price." His jaw tightens. "But running again doesn't fix anything. It just proves to her—to everyone—that you can be broken. That we can be broken."
Asher nods, moving to flank my other side. "We weather this together or not at all. That was the deal when you moved in. That was the deal when you came back."
"The deal was that you'd handle Adelyn," I remind them, but there's no heat in it anymore. "Look how well that worked out."
"So we handle her again," Liam says softly. "Better this time. We find proof of what she did, expose her lies, destroy her credibility so completely that no one will ever believe another word she says."
"And if we can't?"
"Then we burn it all down together." His hands cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "But we don't abandon ship while there's still a chance to save it. And we never, ever let you face this alone again."
I want to argue. Want to point out that his optimism is borderline delusional given the circumstances. But something in his expression stops me—that desperate, fierce love that makes my chest ache even when everything else is falling apart.
Movement catches my eye through the conference room window. A black limousine, sleek and expensive, pulling up to the Cadence Records entrance with the kind of deliberate precision that screams importance.
"Are we expecting someone?" I ask.
Liam follows my gaze. The color drains from his face so fast I think he might pass out. His hands drop from my shoulders, and I watch them start to shake.
"Liam?" I touch his arm. "Liam, what's wrong? Who is that?"
Asher has gone rigid beside me, every muscle locked tight. Finn's expression has shifted from fierce to something closer to fear.
The limousine door opens. A man emerges—silver hair, tailored suit, the kind of commanding presence that makes everyone around him seem smaller just by existing.
"Fuck," Asher breathes, the single word carrying more dread than I've ever heard from him. "He's here."