It was precisely because of the complexity of the situation that I couldn't immediately prove my innocence. I needed them to overplay their hand.
My best friend sat across from me, scrolling through comments on her phone. She gave me a grim thumbs-up. "You have the patience of a saint, Viv. If it were me, I'd have kicked down their door and dragged them out by their hair. If he wants a war, I'd make sure we both went down in flames."
"Violence isn't the answer," I said, checking the recording software on my laptop. "Strategy is."
My phone buzzed. Alex.
He didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"Divorce me," he demanded, his voice dropping low. "If you don't sign the papers, get ready to be ruined. I will make sure you can never show your face in public again."
I hit record. "Let me get this straight. You hit me, cursed at me, drove me out of my own home, and now you're inciting cyber-violence against me. All this just to force a divorce?"
He didn't even hesitate. "That's right. I just want out."
He had me on speaker, because his mother's shrill voice cut through a second later.
"The Finch family can't afford to keep a daughter-in-law like you," she sneered. "Agree to the divorce and sign over the house, and we'll stop. We won't post anything else online."
I let out a dry laugh. "Stop exposing me? With what? Those baseless lies?"
After watching his performance in the video, I had to admit—Alex was convincing. A shame he hadn't applied to film school. Wasted talent.
They wanted me gone, and they wanted my property. Bottomless greed.
"I won't divorce you," I said, voice steady. "And you're never getting that house. Final."
A low chuckle came through the receiver.
"Vivian, you're a professional. You care about your reputation, don't you?" Alex taunted. "What you saw today was just an appetizer. When I release the next two segments, let's see if you can maintain that composure."
He thought he had me cornered. Thought he held all the cards.
Little did he know, every step he took was landing exactly where I wanted it.
His parents erupted in the background. His mother, in particular, was shrieking, egging him on to destroy me completely. Scorched earth.
She called Caroline over to join the performance.
Caroline was perfectly cooperative. Whatever command was input, she executed.
"Caroline, oh, how I wish you were my daughter-in-law," the old woman cooed, loud enough for me to hear. "So obedient. So sensible."
She remained blissfully ignorant of what Caroline actually was.
"Once I'm divorced, you can be my wife," Alex declared. "My family has done you a huge favor, after all. And my parents like you."
Caroline replied instantly—not a millisecond of processing delay. "Sure. Whatever you say, Alex. I'll listen to whatever you say."
The next day, Alex sent a message to our group chat:
[Vivian Hartley, I'll give you one last chance: divorce, and leave with nothing.]
I didn't reply.
His mother followed up immediately:
[If you still don't agree, you'll bear the consequences.]
Not long after, a second video hit the internet.
This time, the subject wasn't Alex. It was Caroline.
On camera, she looked devastatingly pitiful. Face streaked with tears, eyes wide with terror. The camera panned over her body, revealing shocking, bloody welts across her abdomen, shoulders, arms, and calves. Whip marks.
She sobbed into the lens, claiming I was the monster behind her injuries.
According to her narrative, I had sponsored her college education not out of kindness, but to bind her as a slave. Beatings and verbal abuse were her daily reality. When my temper flared, I would imprison her in the house.
The video ignited the internet like a match thrown into gasoline.
Comments rolled in by the thousands.
[Is she even human? Worse than a devil! Beating and imprisoning a poor student? I hope she dies a horrible death!]
[Pure evil walks among us. Hell is empty because the demons are right here!]
[That poor girl looks so broken. Thank god the husband is standing up for justice.]
[I called the police. This is a crime! Arrest her now!]
Public opinion reached a fever pitch. The entire internet stood united behind Alex Finch, ready to burn me at the stake.
That afternoon, Alex Finch materialized on Sophia's doorstep. He wasn't alone—phone raised high, camera trained on us, broadcasting live.
"Look, everyone." His voice trembled with practiced emotion. "This is her. My wife. The monster who ruined us." He angled for his best angle. "Caroline and I have suffered unimaginable trauma, yet here she is, living her best life without a shred of remorse!"
Sophia surged forward, but I caught her arm.
"Don't."
I met the camera with ice-cold calm, then shifted to Caroline, who cowered theatrically behind him.
"Living my best life?" My tone was bone-dry. "Is that what you call this?"
Alex sneered at the lens. "Still acting? You forced this! You drove us here!"
"Forced you to do what?" I stepped into frame. "Self-harm? Coach Caroline into slandering me?" I locked eyes with him. "Swear to the heavens you didn't cause those injuries yourself."
Not that oaths meant anything to him. Lies came as easily as breathing.
I turned to the girl behind him. "And you, Caroline? Going to continue this charade?"
