The legal jargon had become a rhythmic, nonsensical hum in my ears, a wall of "objections" and "PR offers" that I stopped trying to climb after the first hour. I had spent most of the second day of court operating on a purely instinctual level. If Paige looked satisfied, I allowed my shoulders to drop an inch. If Liam’s jaw remained relaxed, I reminded myself to breathe.
But my head was a throbbing mess. The stress of the first day had left me with a lingering, jagged migraine that pulsed behind my eyes with every rap of Judge Jones’s gavel. Even though Paige and Liam had whispered that we were winning—that the forensic evidence had landed like a physical blow—I couldn't shake the heavy, oily feeling in my gut.
By the middle of the afternoon, the atmosphere shifted. Katie Robinson didn
