“How old is he?” I ask.
“Twenty. They were together for almost a year. She trusted him.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “She broke up with him last month. Since then, he’s been hinting, telling her he’ll ruin her if she doesn’t talk tohim. He says he won’t even post them himself. That he’ll send them to someone else to do it, so he can’t be blamed.”
I keep my voice even. “Have you gone to the police?”
“Yes. They said unless he actually posts something, there’s not much they can do. They told us to document everything.”
Of course they did.
“She’s starting college in the fall,” Mia continues, the words tumbling now. “She’s worked so hard, Madison. She’s a good girl. She just—she made a mistake. She thought she was in love. And if this gets out, it’ll follow her forever.” Tears roll down her face. “And I keep thinking,” she rushes on, “if she hadn’t sent them, if she hadn’t let him record anything, if she had just—”
“Stop,” I say firmly.
She freezes.
I lean forward and take her hand. “No. We are not doing that.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
“What Lily did with someone she trusted does not need to be justified,” I say. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Full stop.”
“She’s not stupid,” Mia whispers. “She’s not reckless. She’s not—”
“I know, and even if she were, it still wouldn’t make this her fault. I can’t promise miracles, but I can promise I’ll do everything in my power to stop him. I’ll need a couple of hours.”
Her eyes widen. “Hours?”
I offer her a light smile. “I’m good.”
Mia nods frantically. “Whatever you need.Money—”
“I’m not charging you,” I cut in.
“Madison—”
“This one’s personal. Let me handle it.”
She presses her lips together, nodding again, tears spilling over.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I knew you’d know what to do.”
After she leaves, I sit alone in my office, staring at the door. My hands are shaking.
I think of Piper when she came to my apartment weeks ago. Of Ezra showing up the next morning with apologies and soft words, and how my sister melted into him. I think of the way something about him makes my stomach twist, even when I can’t explain why.
And I think of Lily. She’s eighteen and terrified, and learning the hard way how cruel people can be when they don’t get their way.
I open my laptop.
I don’t work with scumbags, but I destroy them when they come for women who don’t deserve it.
And today, I have a very clear target.
∞∞∞
I don’t raise my voice.
That’s the first thing people expect when they think of power. They expect anger to announce itself with a crash. It doesn’t. Real anger, the kind I’ve cultivated over years of dismantling men who act like boys, is precise. I prefer to work with a scalpel, not a sledgehammer.
