~LAYLA~
Friday ca finally... judgent day.
I stood in front of the mirror that morning, adjusting my blazer for the third ti. My hands trembled slightly, but I forced them steady. This was it, the mont we’d been building toward for weeks.
Axel ca up behind , his reflection joining mine in the glass. "Ready?"
"As I’ll ever be."
He pressed a kiss to my temple. "We’ve got this."
"Do we? What if sothing goes wrong? What if..."
"Layla." He turned to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "We have evidence. We have witnesses. We have the truth. That’s more than enough."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. "You’re right. I know you’re right."
"Of course I am. I’m always right."
That earned him a small laugh. "Don’t push it."
We drove to the courthouse together, Axel’s hand finding mine on the console. The closer we got, the tighter my chest felt, as anticipation and anxiety battled inside .
The scene outside was chaos.
Reporters lined the steps, flashing caras, and shoving microphones in the faces of anyone who looked remotely involved in the case. The mont they saw us get out of the car, they mobbed us.
"Mrs. O’Brien! Do you think justice will be served today?"
"Mr. O’Brien, how do you respond to allegations that you manipulated evidence?"
"Mrs. O’Brien, what will you do if Cassandra Watson is acquitted?"
Axel’s arm ca around protectively. "No comnt," he said firmly, guiding through the crowd.
Security held them back as we climbed the courthouse steps, their questions following us like hungry birds. My heart pounded against my ribs, but I kept my head high and my expression neutral.
Inside, the air felt cooler.
"You good?" Axel asked, and I simply nodded.
Brennan t us near the elevators, looking sharp in his tailored suit, briefcase in hand. "Closing statents today," he said, his eyes gleaming with confidence. "Erica’s testimony, the brake sabotage evidence, the dashcam footage... we’re airtight on espionage and defamation. Assault’s trickier since we’re dealing with the miscarriage angle, but sympathy won’t save her."
"You’re sure?" I asked.
"As sure as I can be. The evidence speaks for itself." He glanced at his watch. "We should head up. Don’t want to be late."
We started toward the courtroom, but a movent caught my eye. Cassandra stepped into our path, blocking the hallway. Charles lood behind her like a shadow, looking cold and calculating.
"This is all on you," Cassandra hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You’re ruining , destroying my life. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I am... you’re taking it all away."
"You did this to yourself," I said calmly.
"Liar!" Her voice rose, drawing stares from nearby people. "You set up, turned everyone against . But Daddy’s empire will crush you. You have no idea what you’ve started."
Charles leaned in. "When you co crawling back, begging for rcy, we’ll rember this mont. Every humiliation... we’ll repay it tenfold."
I t their gaze without flinching, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing rattled. "Save it for the judge."
I turned to Axel, "Co on, honey, let’s get this over with."
We walked past them with our hands intertwined.
"Ignore them," Axel murmured. "They’re desperate."
"I know. Doesn’t make it less unsettling."
"They can’t touch you. Not anymore."
The courtroom filled fast, spectators cramming into every available seat. I could feel their eyes on as we took our places; so were sympathetic, others curious, and a few openly hostile.
The jury filed in, their faces carefully blank. I tried to read them, to gauge what they were thinking, but got nothing. They were professionals at this, giving nothing away.
Judge Reynolds took her seat. "We’ll proceed with closing statents. Mr. Reed, you may begin."
Harlan Reed stood, his voice carrying across the room in a persuasive tone.
"Ladies and gentlen of the jury, what we have here is not a case of malicious intent, but rather a tragedy born of distress and desperation. Mrs. Cassandra Watson Hart, a woman who lost her unborn child, acted in a mont of profound emotional turmoil.
"Yes, mistakes were made. Yes, lines were crossed. But this was a tragic accident, amplified by Ms. O’Brien’s personal vendetta. The loss of a child, the grief, the trauma, it demands our compassion, not our condemnation.
"We must consider the full context of her actions and recognise that punishnt is not always justice."
He sat down, and I felt my stomach clench. He was good.
Brennan rose smoothly.
"There’s clear evidence that shows intent here. Cut brake lines don’t just happen by chance, and corporate sabotage isn’t sothing done in a mont of grief. Mrs Cassandra didn’t just make a few mistakes; she planned a deliberate campaign to take down her competitor.
"She planted surveillance devices and launched coordinated sar campaigns across different dia platforms. Using her position, she went out of her way to destroy another business.
"Ms. Chen’s records show there was a conspiracy, and this was all thought out in advance. This isn’t about compassion or sympathy; it’s about holding people accountable for their actions. Justice requires us to take responsibility for our actions, no matter the situation. The evidence is clear, the intent is docunted, and there’s no denying her guilt."
He sat down, and the room fell silent.
Judge Reynolds addressed the jury. "mbers of the jury, you’ve heard the evidence, the testimony, and now the closing argunts. It’s ti to render your verdict."
The jury foreman stood, holding a piece of paper. My heart hamred so hard I thought everyone could hear it.
"On the count of corporate espionage... guilty."
Relief flooded through , but I forced myself to stay composed.
"On the count of defamation... guilty."
Cassandra’s face had gone pale, her hands gripping the edge of the table.
"On the count of assault with a deadly weapon..."
Just then, the courtroom doors burst open with a bang that echoed like a gunshot.
"Wait!" A man’s voice interrupted the court session. "I have a testimony!"
The courtroom went silent, and everyone looked toward the entrance. I turned around slowly, my heart racing as I saw the newcor stagger in. He looked rough, bruised and bandaged, and his clothes were all ssed up.
His face was barely recognisable, but as soon as he took off the baseball cap and fake moustache, my eyes widened in recognition.
"Daniel?"
The na fell from my lips in disbelief.
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