Then, the room erupted into a flurry of hushed voices. Marcus made no move to intervene or apologize. He didn’t even look surprised; instead, he wore a faint, amused smirk, as if he found the violence entertaining. “Perhaps now you’ll understand your place,” he whispered.
I stood there trembling, my hand moving to shield my stomach by instinct. Tears of frustration and pain burned in my eyes, and I looked around the room for any kind of help or authority. But my lawyer wasn’t there, the bailiff was occupied near the entrance, and the bench was still empty.
“Go ahead and cry louder,” Elara sneered, her perfume cloying as she leaned in. “Maybe if you’re lucky, the judge will feel some pity for you.”
It was at that moment that I looked up toward the bench, finally ready to scream the truths I had been hiding for years. I was ready to beg for safety and finally admit to the world that the man I had married was a danger to me.
And the man sitting on the bench looked back at me as if the world had just stopped spinning.
Judge Samuel Rowan.