The courtroom was a sterile, intimidating place. The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled like a heavy weight on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The tall, arched windows let in just enough light to cast long shadows over the polished wood tables, but nothing in the room felt warm. Everything, from the walls to the chairs to the unyielding gaze of the judge, felt cold, unfeeling, and clinical.
I sat beside Damien, my hand clutching his, the papers of my mother's will spread out before us on the table. The opposing side—Victor's legal team—was already at their table, their faces sharp and calculating. My stepmother, sitting just behind them, watched me with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins.
"Are you nervous?" Damien whispered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
