At the table on the right sat Dominic Thorne, looking polished and immensely expensive in a charcoal suit that broadcast the easy confidence of a man who confused good fortune with personal brilliance. He stretched one arm across the back of his chair and tapped a thick binder his legal team had meticulously prepared, looking less like a man in a crisis and more like a man annoyed by a scheduling conflict.
Beside him, though angled slightly away to maintain a thin veneer of respectability, sat Gianna Rossi. She had carefully crafted her appearance for the day, wearing a cream silk suit and delicate gold jewelry that whispered of wealth rather than shouting it.
Gianna’s hair was styled in a way that looked effortless despite clearly requiring hours of preparation, and her designer bag sat upright like a silent guard by her feet. She looked as though she were waiting for a gala to begin rather than a divorce hearing that would likely end with her becoming the next Mrs. Thorne by the end of the year.