Lucy stood in the middle of the courtroom, her face an exquisite mask of sorrow and defiance. The courtroom hung on every word she spun, painting herself as the tragic figure in a story of betrayal and loss. She was confident now, her voice steady, her eyes shimmering with practiced tears.
"There's no proof," she said softly, like a lullaby, "nothing but cruel accusations and broken memories. After everything I went through. Anyone would be. It's my word against hers."
Lucy glances smugly at the jury. Even the judge seemed weary of the endless back-and-forth. It felt like Lucy might actually slither free.
Then the doors opened.
And the room shifted.
Mrs. Bella.
She entered like a specter, like a storm front, a woman resurrected. The rumors had whispered that she was too ill to testify, her injuries too severe. But here she was, upright, proud, a faint scar at her forehead the only visible remnant of the nightmare.
Mara's breath caught.
Lucy paled.
