The heavy wood doors slammed shut with a resounding thud, cutting off the noise from the corridor like a guillotine. The tension in the room became thick enough to touch. Marcus’s confident facade began to crack for the first time. “Your Honor,” he started smoothly, “we are here for a simple divorce. My wife is clearly overwhelmed by her emotions—it’s the hormones, as you can clearly see.”
Judge Rowan’s eyes snapped to him, cold and lethal. “Do not dare to comment on her physical state.”
Elara let out an audible groan. “Can we just get on with this? She’s clearly trying to play the victim card.”
The judge’s voice was like steel. “Ms. Quinn, did you just physically assault Mrs. Vale in my presence?”
“She was in my way,” Elara said, tilting her chin up defiantly.
“That is not what I asked.” The judge turned his attention to the court reporter. “Let the record show that the respondent has visible bruising and bleeding on her face.”
Marcus tried to intervene. “Your Honor—”
“Silence.” Judge Rowan raised a hand. “Bailiff, come forward.”
The officer moved into position. “Mrs. Vale,” the judge said with a strained professional tone, “are you asking this court for a protective order?”