Rain thudded against the courtroom windows, muted and steady like a heartbeat slowly cracking under pressure. Paisley's coat was soaked from the dash inside, her damp hair clinging to her neck as she crossed the marble corridor. She didn't see Stephan until she stepped into the prep room.
He was already there but silent, suited in black, jaw clenched like a man bracing for war. His tie lay discarded on the desk beside him. And the tension? It was palpable. The kind that tasted like copper on the tongue.
Where have you been? he asked without turning.
Reviewing evidence, she answered, stripping off her gloves.
You missed the update.
I needed space.
He turned. That's not something we can afford anymore.
She stared at him, every nerve alert. What happened?
He gestured to the screen behind him. Footage played grainy but sharp. A camera feed from the courthouse loading dock. Isabella Blackwell. Talking to the head clerk.
And handing over a flash drive.
Ten minutes before the last session, Stephan said. She wasn't supposed to be in the building.
Paisley stepped forward. That's the clerk who handles the evidence archive.
Exactly.
The room pulsed.
She's planting something, Paisley muttered. Something that'll shift the burden to us.
Stephan's eyes narrowed. She knows where to hit.
Paisley moved beside him, her shoulder brushing his. So we hit back.
He turned to her slowly. I need to ask you something. And I need the truth.
She looked up, quiet now.
If Isabella sabotages the hearing if this goes to the press you'll be dragged through hell. Your career. Your name. Your life.
I know, she whispered.
Would you still stand by me?
There was no hesitation. Yes.
He stepped closer, something raw in his gaze. Why?
Because I don't care about damage control anymore. I care about finishing this fight.
A breeze passed between them.
Then the door creaked.
They turned.
Isabella stood in the doorway, umbrella folded, smiling razor-sharp.
Sorry to interrupt, she said. But I just left the judge a little gift. Something you might want to see before it's too late.
She tossed a file onto the floor.
Inside: an arrest warrant.
For Paisley.
Paisley didn't reach for the file.
She stared at it like it might crawl toward her, venomous and alive.
You're bluffing, she said flatly.
Isabella shut the door behind her with slow, theatrical grace. Her heels echoed on the tile, the only sound in a room now thick with rage. Her white coat gleamed like a warning. Her hair, sleek and untouched by the rain, was pulled into a knot tight enough to draw blood.
Am I? she purred, lifting the file with two fingers and letting it fall open. Forgery, obstruction, breach of legal conduct. All filed this morning. And all, my dear, traceable to your signature on that Harwood memo from Milan.
Stephan moved toward her, voice rough. Do you really want to go down this path?
Isabella raised a brow. I don't recall asking for your permission, darling.
You went behind a federal judge's back.
I went behind yours, she said, eyes never leaving Paisley's. And let me tell you, it felt wonderful.
Paisley's voice was steady. This won't hold.
No? Isabella smirked. Because as of ten minutes ago, a court clerk handed over an affidavit confirming your correspondence with Harwood was flagged under active concealment. And you signed the internal review.
I was a student intern. That review wasn't even
But you knew, Isabella cut in. And ignorance, unfortunately, isn't a valid defense when it's written in ink under your name.
Stephan looked between them, jaw locked.
Paisley turned to him. Don't say it.
I need to ask.
You think I forged legal records? she snapped. You think I'd risk this case, your name, my entire career on a favor from five years ago?
He didn't answer. And the silence was worse than the question.
Isabella stepped back, slow and graceful, like a ballerina mid-bow. I'll leave you two to it. I have a press call in twenty.
She turned to the door.
Oh, she added without looking back. There's a hearing scheduled for tomorrow. Emergency motion. Your presence is mandatory, Paisley.
The door shut softly.
Paisley looked at Stephan, voice low.
If you're not with me in that room tomorrow, don't bother being with me at all.