POV: Jasmine
The anonymous threat changed everything.
I stared at the text, mind racing through possibilities. The words glowed on my screen like radioactive waste, poisoning every sense of security I'd managed to rebuild over the past months.
Drop the case. Or the whole world learns about the Virtue Exchange.
Only a handful of people knew about the Virtue Exchange—the brothers, Nora, and whoever had bought my virginity through the anonymous platform. The buyer's identity was supposed to be protected. Untraceable. That was the whole point of the site's encryption, the layers of anonymity that separated desperate sellers from wealthy purchasers.
But someone knew. And they were using it as leverage.
I set the phone face-down on the conference table, my reflection distorted in its dark surface. The Blackwood legal team had commandeered a corner office at Morrison & Associates, transforming it into a war room filled with case files, witness statements, and enough coffee to fuel a small army.
"Ms. Harlow." The lead attorney, Patricia Krasinsky, snapped her fingers to reclaim my attention. "Focus. We have three days before you take the stand."
Three days. Seventy-two hours to prepare for the most important performance of my life.
The lawyers prepped me for hours—what to say, what not to say, how to sit, how to look at the jury. Every word would be scrutinized. Every facial expression analyzed. Patricia drilled me on posture, on eye contact, on the precise angle of my chin when answering difficult questions.
"Shoulders back. Hands visible on the table. Never cross your arms—it reads as defensive."
"Got it."
"When Adelyn's counsel approaches, maintain neutral eye contact. Don't look at the jury. Don't look at the brothers. Look at the lawyer asking the question."
"Understood."
"And for God's sake, don't smile. Not once. Sympathetic doesn't mean friendly. It means wounded but dignified."
I nodded, cataloging each instruction like ammunition for a war I hadn't chosen to fight.
"Adelyn's lawyers will try to paint you as a predator," Patricia warned, sliding a thick folder across the table. "A woman who seduced her way into power. Your job is to stay calm, professional, and sympathetic. No matter what they throw at you."
I flipped through the folder—depositions, character assessments, a psychological profile someone had compiled about me without my knowledge. My entire life has been reduced to bullet points and strategic talking points.
"What about the Virtue Exchange?" My voice came out flat. Controlled. "If they bring that up—"
"They'd need evidence. Proof of your participation." Patricia's pen tapped against her legal pad. "The platform's security is allegedly impenetrable. No transaction records, no user data, nothing that would hold up in court."
"What if they have it?"
The lawyer paused. Her pen stopped moving. For a fraction of a second, uncertainty flickered across her professionally composed features.
"Then we argue it's irrelevant to the workplace claims. Your personal financial decisions before employment have no bearing on whether Adelyn was harassed. We file a motion to exclude. We attack the source. We make the evidence itself the scandal."
"And if the jury already knows? If it's leaked before you can suppress it?"
Patricia met my eyes with the cold calculation of someone who'd built a career on impossible cases. "Then we control the narrative. You were desperate. Your brother's life was in danger. You made an impossible choice to save him. That's not predatory—that's sacrifice."
Sacrifice. Like I was some kind of martyr instead of a woman who'd sold herself to loan sharks and wouldn't break her brother's legs.
Nora arrived at six with Thai food and a bottle of wine I couldn't drink because Patricia had banned alcohol until after my testimony. She set up camp across from me, chopsticks in hand, ready to play devil's advocate.
"Alright, girl. Let's do this." She cracked her knuckles with theatrical flair. "I'm going to be the most aggressive, condescending, sexist asshole lawyer you've ever faced. And you're going to sit there and take it without throwing a chair."
"I've never thrown a chair in my life."
"There's a first time for everything. Now—" She straightened, her expression shifting into something cold and prosecutorial. "Ms. Harlow. Did you sleep with all three Blackwood brothers?"
The question hit like a slap, even knowing it was coming. I took a breath. Held it. Released.
"My personal relationships are not relevant to my professional qualifications."
"Non-responsive. Let me rephrase." Nora leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Did you engage in sexual intercourse with Liam Blackwood, Asher Blackwood, and Finn Blackwood—your direct supervisors—while employed at Cadence Records?"
"My personal relationships developed outside of work hours and had no bearing on my job performance or promotion decisions."
"Were you promoted because of sexual favors?"
"I was promoted because I saved the company two hundred thousand dollars by catching a contract error that our legal team missed."
Nora's eyebrows rose slightly—impressed despite herself. "Good. Keep that energy. Now—are you claiming Adelyn is lying about everything?"
"I'm claiming that Adelyn leaked private photos without consent and filed a lawsuit based on false accusations. The evidence supports my position."
"She says you created a hostile work environment. That your relationships with the Blackwoods made her feel uncomfortable, marginalized, excluded from opportunities—"
"Adelyn was offered the same opportunities as every other employee. She chose to pursue a campaign of harassment and defamation instead of professional development."
Nora dropped the prosecutorial mask and grinned. "Damn. Patricia's been coaching you good."
"Patricia's been coaching me for nine hours straight. I could recite these answers in my sleep."
"Which is exactly when they'll try to trip you up. When you're tired, when you're emotional, when they mention something unexpected just to see you flinch."
She threw increasingly hostile questions at me until my throat was raw and my hands ached from gripping the edge of the table. Every possible angle, every potential trap, every way they might try to twist my words into weapons against me.
The preparation was exhausting. But underneath the legal strategy, the anonymous threat burned like acid in my stomach. Someone was watching. Waiting. Ready to destroy everything if I didn't surrender.
I couldn't tell Nora about the text. Couldn't tell Patricia. Couldn't even tell the brothers, not when they were dealing with their own depositions, their own preparations, their own battles against Adelyn's coordinated assault.
This was my secret to carry. My decision to make.
That night after Nora left, I lay in my bed in an old apartment. My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I didn't want to look. Already knew what it would say.