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Exactly as I’d planned.

“He raped me!” Mercy shouts, her voice breaking on the accusation. The word echoes through the church, bouncing off stained glass and polished wood. “Draco raped me!”

On the screen, Mercy continues, her voice breaking.

“Please fuck me Draco! Please? PLEASE?! God, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll do whatever you want!”

I pause the video at this exact moment. The image looms over the church, ten feet tall and unmistakable. I turn to face the congregation, my expression carefully crafted to convey hurt and betrayal.

“I fucked Mercy Clarke,” I say softly, knowing they hang on my every word. “She begged for me, and now she’s saying I raped her.”

The church is silent.

No one moves.

No one speaks, but they all turn to look at her.

“She’s pregnant,” I say, my hands clasped in front of me. “And it’s mine. And Mercy hid it from all of you. Mercyliedabout being pure, and now she’s lying about being a victim.”

Mercy stares at me. She’s shaking. She’s stopped breathing again, just like she does.

No one moves to comfort her.

No one speaks in her defense—not even her parents, who sit frozen in the front row, their faces drained of color.

With a half-sob, half-scream, Mercy turns and rushes down the aisle toward the exit. She stumbles, her hands flying up to her mouth, and when she throws the double doors open, I hear her retch. The doors slam shut behind her, and I feel a sense of pride knowing she’ll never be welcome through them again.

For a moment, no one moves. They look at me, at the frozen image of Mercy on the screen. The pastor stands with one hand braced against the pulpit, his expression unreadable.

Perfect.

The congregation erupts into whispers, heads bent together, hands gesturing, faces flushed with the excitement of scandal.

Scandalous.

Horrific.

Pastor Williams finally steps up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder and guiding me away from the pulpit as he pulls the projector remote out of my hand.

I let him.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he says quietly, his eyes troubled. “We… we should all take time to pray on this matter before rushing to judgment.”

But judgment has already been passed.

I can see it in their faces, hear it in their whispers.

The seed of doubt has been planted. It doesn’t matter what Mercy says now, what evidence she might present. The image of her begging, pleading on that screen will override everything else.

She’ll never be welcome back.

I’ve taken the last piece of her puzzle.

I’ve taken the church.

As I walk down the aisle, I catch fragments of conversations on either side of me.

“Always seemed so pure!”