Faith
The wooden seat of the witness stand felt like an electric chair.
The courtroom was suffocatingly quiet. Rows of reporters leaned forward in their seats, while across the aisle, Eleanor and Victor watched me with cold, triumphant eyes. Behind me, Nicholas sat at the defense table, his tall frame rigid, his dark eyes fixed on me with a desperate, agonizing intensity.
I rested my left hand flat on the cool wooden rail, my bandaged shoulder throbbing in rhythm with my frantic heartbeat.
"Miss Porter," Judge Reyes began, her sharp gaze cutting through her spectacles directly into mine. "You are under oath. You have heard the allegations presented by the petitioner. Did you enter into a commercial contract to act as Nicholas Sutton’s wife in exchange for five hundred thousand dollars?
