The courtroom was packed to capacity, the tension almost palpable as the final day of the trial began. Every whispered conversation, every creak of a chair, every glance exchanged felt heavy with anticipation. It was the moment we had all been waiting for—the court's decision.
I sat at the plaintiff's table, my hands clasped tightly together. Damien was beside me, a steady presence despite the storm raging around us. Across the room, Vincent Blackwood sat rigidly, his jaw clenched and eyes burning with barely suppressed fury. His lawyer, Whitaker, whispered something urgently into his ear, but he didn't respond. He was too busy glaring at me, as if willing me to crumble under his gaze.
But I wouldn't. Not today.
The judge entered, and the courtroom rose to its feet. When we all sat again, the air seemed to grow even heavier. The judge's face was unreadable as he shuffled his papers, his voice steady as he addressed the court.
