Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Villain Ch 1822. Modified

"Shit… she really did it…"

Liam hissed through his teeth as the video played across the monitor in the office. The lighting was dim, filtered through slatted blinds, the only glow coming from the screen and the low hum of the city beyond the glass wall behind them.

Darren didn't flinch.

Didn't curse.

Didn't even blink.

He just sat there—arms folded, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the footage like it was a chessboard and he already saw the last move.

Across from them, seated on a velvet chair too expensive for its comfort level, was Mr. Bell. Immaculate gray suit. Fingers laced over his crossed knee, eyes sharp despite the tired lines beneath them.

None of them looked panicked.

They looked…

Prepared.

Callous.

Quietly furious.

Because they'd seen this coming.

The moment Sophia got arrested—right outside the Goldborne estate of all places—they knew. That wasn't a coincidence. That wasn't a breakdown. That was a target. A trigger.

And a warning.

She'd been obsessed with Allen for a long time, but getting caught with blackmail material? That was personal. Losing her reputation, losing her job, losing him?

Yeah. She was bound to go nuclear.

They just didn't expect she'd do it so soon.

But even then—they'd prepared.

Darren leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under the shift. His tone was low, even. "Do you think the public's gonna buy it?"

Liam paused, arms crossed, tapping two fingers against his bicep in slow, nervous rhythm. "…I don't know. But this is the best we've got."

Silence stretched for a moment, only broken by the faint static hiss from the speakers as the video looped again.

Darren narrowed his eyes. He hated this. The whole thing.

They weren't saints. Hell, they were barely decent human beings most days. But this?

This was career-ruining.

Unless the world believed it was fake.

Liam finally moved to the tablet and rewound the video—not the one Sophia leaked. Theirs. The modified one.

The one they'd doctored.

An AI-assisted render, altered just enough.

Fingers morphing briefly—five into six, back to five.

A flicker in the eyes.

Blurry edges.

Faces distorted for half-seconds at a time, like a bad deepfake pass.

It looked realistic—until it didn't.

And that was the point.

Create doubt.

Just enough.

Make the real thing look like an over-polished hoax.

Frame it like a vendetta.

Blame it on her.

They didn't even release it right away.

They waited.

Waited until she pulled the trigger.

After the real video got released this morning, they also released their version.

Now all they had to do… was act surprised.

Then say, "Actually, look. We had this AI garbage sent to us months ago. Fake, right? Clearly. I thought it was done already; never thought she would polish it and spread it online."

And people would argue.

Online.

In DMs.

In comments.

But doubt would settle in.

And reputations would survive.

Hopefully.

Darren exhaled slowly. "What about you, Mr. Bell? Has she contacted you?"

Mr. Bell's eyes flicked toward him. Calm. Icy. "No. Not yet." He glanced at the muted television in the corner, which was playing some financial news coverage. "But I'm more concerned if she contacts my wife. Her pregnancy's… delicate. I don't want her seeing anything that'll spike her blood pressure."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "So… we go quiet then?"

Mr. Bell nodded once. "Let her speak first. Let her scream. Let her threaten. That way, it's a tantrum. Not a case."

His fingers drummed once against his knee. "And when the public sees her going rabid, we drop our little… backup."

Darren's gaze didn't waver. "And you're confident this'll ruin her side of the story?"

Mr. Bell smiled faintly. "I'm confident that the world is allergic to complicated truths. They want clear-cut answers. And when they see a glitchy, AI-rendered porn video and a woman screaming that it's real?" He shrugged. "They'll call her a liar."

Liam muttered, "Damn…"

None of them liked it.

But it wasn't about like or dislike.

It was about survival.

Darren turned to Liam. "Any word from your side?"

Liam shook his head. "We scrubbed everything before. But I dunno, man… she was too clever sometimes. Might've had more."

Darren clenched his jaw and glanced at Mr.Bell. "So the only one left is… your chatlogs…"

Liam didn't respond.

They both knew what that meant.

Some of them were flirtatious. Others? Downright incriminating.

And yet—he didn't flinch.

Mr. Bell stood, adjusting his cufflinks with a flick. "If those messages surface," he said calmly, "then I will deny it. Say she faked those too. Say she used AI. Say anything. And I have a reputation and she wants my money."

Darren exhaled, then ran a hand through his hair. "You really think this is gonna work?"

Mr. Bell turned to the window. "This city doesn't care about truth. It cares about image." He tapped the glass gently with one finger. "Let her scream. Just don't scream back. Let the silence choke her."

Liam sat down again, elbows on his knees, head hung low. "Man… I hate this. I hate that it came to this."

Darren didn't say anything.

Because yeah.

He hated it too.

But when you played with a devil like Sophia, you didn't get clean exits. You got blood and fire. You got regrets and insurance plans.

You got this.

He stood up, pacing toward the far cabinet. He grabbed a drink—just tea, but the bitterness hit like something stronger.

"I used to think she was just ambitious," he said after a pause. "That everything she did was just about making it. Fame. Status."

Liam glanced over. "And now?"

Darren sipped. "Now I think she just loved control."

Mr. Bell nodded. "She still does. She just has none left."

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer. Three men. One screen. A career grenade.

Then, the sound of a phone buzzing on the desk.

They all turned.

Liam picked it up, eyes narrowing.

"…It's her."

Darren's lips pressed into a thin line.

Mr. Bell didn't move.

"What do we do?" Liam asked.

Mr. Bell's voice was smooth. "Answer. Hear what she wants."

Darren crossed his arms. "And if she threatens to burn it all?"

Mr. Bell finally smiled.

"Then we remind her that the match she's holding?"

He nodded at the screen.

"It's already soaked in gasoline."