That’s when I saw him—my ex, Daniel Whitmore—leaning casually against the wall as if this were entertainment.
He laughed. “Like mother, like daughter. Two disappointments.”
I ignored him.
Logan strutted in moments later, arrogance written all over his face. Expensive sneakers. Smug grin. No remorse.
I crouched to his level. “Did you hurt my daughter?”
He glanced at his father, then shoved my shoulder. “My dad funds this place. I decide what happens.”
“Answer the question.”
He smirked. “Yeah. I did. She deserved it.”
The hallway went silent.
I stood, pulled out my phone, and made one call.
“This is Chief Judge Eleanor Mercer,” I said evenly. “Initiate evidence preservation. We’re moving forward.”
Daniel’s smile finally faded.
They chose the wrong child.
The daughter of the Chief Judge.
————————— ANOTHER STORY BELOW —————————
I didn’t leave Ohio for adventure. I left because I was tired of being my family’s safety net. When my company offered me a promotion in Raleigh, I accepted before doubt could stop me. New title. Bigger salary. A fresh start.
I told my family in the group chat. Two reactions. No calls.