The courthouse smelled like old wood and tension. Cameras flanked the steps outside, their lenses following every breath I took. Reporters shouted my name, their questions like bullets: Do you confirm the confession? Did Blackwell pressure you? Are you testifying against him?
I didn't answer. Ethan's hand pressed lightly at my elbow, guiding me past the chaos. His calm was armor; mine was paper.
Inside, the marble hall was colder than I expected. The air carried a hush that wasn't respect—it was hunger waiting to be fed.
"Remember," Ethan murmured, voice for me alone, "short answers. Don't speculate. Don't apologize. You're not the defendant—you're the truth."
The truth. If only the world still recognized it when they saw it.
The courtroom was smaller than the circus outside. Still, it thrummed with power. The judge presided from a high bench, robes stark against wood. Lawyers bristled at their tables—Daniel's team in sleek navy, Adrian's in dark charcoal.
And Adrian himself.
He stood across the aisle, posture precise, hands clasped behind his back. The TRO meant he couldn't cross to me, couldn't even glance too long without risk. But the air shifted when our eyes met, silent, forbidden.
My father sat with his lawyers, immaculate in a silver tie, the picture of a man wronged. He didn't look at me yet. He was saving that.
"All rise," the bailiff intoned.
The judge's gavel cracked once. "This hearing concerns a temporary restraining order filed by Daniel Carter against Adrian Blackwell. We will hear statements and review evidence. Call the witness."
My stomach flipped. That was me.
The oath tasted like metal on my tongue. I sat in the witness box, the wood railing suddenly too high, too tight.
Daniel's lawyer rose first. She smiled like a blade wrapped in velvet. "Ms. Carter. You are nineteen years old, correct?"
"Yes."
"You began interning at Blackwell Capital last week?"
"Yes."
She paced slowly. "And in that time, you have spent significant hours in close proximity with the CEO, correct?"
"Yes."
"Behind closed doors?"
"Yes, but—"
"Just yes or no, please."
Heat crawled up my neck.
The lawyer produced a tablet, the fake confession paused mid-frame. "Do you deny this is your face?"
"It's my face," I said carefully. "But not my voice. Not my words."
"And yet it looks like you. Sounds like you. Millions believe it is you. Are you saying millions are wrong?"
"I'm saying it's fake." My voice trembled. "Experts confirmed."
Her smile sharpened. "Experts hired by Blackwell."
The room rippled.
I gripped the railing. "Experts independent. Scientific."
"Ms. Carter, you expect this court to believe Adrian Blackwell—your boss, your father's rival—has never pressured you? Never asked you to lie? Never blurred professional boundaries?"
"Yes," I said, louder now. "That's exactly what I expect."
A murmur swept the benches.
Daniel himself rose, ignoring protocol. "Ella." His voice softened, practiced. "Sweetheart. Look at me."
My throat closed.
"You don't have to protect him," he said. "I know he frightens you. I know what powerful men do behind doors." He spread his hands as if to catch me. "Tell the judge the truth. Tell them he used you. Save yourself."
The world narrowed to his face, the same face that once promised to keep monsters away—and became one himself.
I found my voice somewhere under the rubble. "The only person who ever used me," I said, "is you."
Gasps cracked the air. The judge rapped her gavel. "Order."
Daniel's mask slipped for half a second—rage flashing like lightning before he smoothed it back.
Adrian's lawyer rose next. "Your Honor, the defense calls attention to the forensic report." Screens lit with the metadata, the lighting errors, the audio spectral analysis. The lab's expert explained calmly why the confession was synthetic.
But the blow landed when Ethan stepped forward with a surprise exhibit.
"Your Honor," he said, "the leak trail."
Onscreen: the honey token logs. The guest machine access. The DM from T.B.: 'Proof of coercion. Post at midnight.'
The judge leaned forward. "T.B.?"
"Identity under investigation," Ethan said smoothly. "But initials align with an intern under Daniel Carter's mentorship circle."
The room buzzed like a hive.
Daniel's lawyer objected. The judge sustained, but the damage was done—seeds planted.
When my testimony ended, I was excused back to the bench. My legs shook but held. Adrian didn't look at me—couldn't—but the set of his shoulders spoke enough. Good. Strong.
The judge called a recess. Lawyers clustered like vultures.
As I reached for water, a hand brushed mine. Tara.
She leaned close, whispering where no one could hear. "Careful, Ella. Secrets don't stay buried. He can't protect you forever."
My blood chilled.
I pulled back, searching her face. She smiled sweetly, then walked straight to Daniel Carter's side of the aisle. Sat beside him. Leaned in like an ally.
My father rested a hand on hers.
The world tilted.
The judge returned. "We will reconvene tomorrow for evidentiary review. Until then, the temporary restraining order remains in effect."
The gavel cracked.
Reporters surged outside, shouting, hashtags already forming: #CarterVsCarter. #ForbiddenGame. #TBLeak.
I stood frozen as Tara whispered something to my father and both their eyes found me.
And in that instant, I knew: my father's next witness wasn't a stranger. It was the girl who'd been smiling beside me since orientation.