THERE WAS a heavy air in the room, despite the fact that it was only a pre-trial conference. Present were the two parties in the case, each carefully dissecting the legal processes that would govern the upcoming trial. A rectangular table occupied the center of the room, its surface bare except for neatly stacked folders and a recorder positioned near the judge's chair, which remained unused for the day.
I sat with composure and confidence, my hands folded atop my legal pad. Every document compiling the evidence I had worked on for days with Yuri lay before me, carefully tabbed, highlighted, and aligned. Across from me, Megan sat beside me, her leg moving repeatedly beneath the table. Without drawing attention, I reached under the table and tapped her leg lightly to stop the motion. She looked up at me and offered a meek smile, immediately stilling herself. I withdrew my hand with a quiet sigh, just as Prosecutor Gracie Nash's gaze settled on us.
From the moment the prosecutor entered the room, she had been staring repeatedly, not at both of us, but at Megan. I did not like the way she looked at her. It was as though she were studying her too closely, assessing more than what was professionally appropriate. She made no outward display of it, but her eyes betrayed her. I wanted to ask Megan about it, but she looked too tense, and I did not want to add to her unease.
Precisely at nine o'clock, Prosecutor Gracie Nash took her seat without delay. She opened her folder and spoke in a measured, even tone.
I noticed it again. she should have been looking at me, since I was the one exchanging the proceedings with her, yet her gaze lingered on Megan. I slipped my hand beneath the table and rested it on Megan's leg. I felt her stiffen as she looked at me, and the prosecutor's eyes shifted in our direction. I smirked faintly before nodding.
"The defense objects only as to credibility and reserves the right to cross-examine, particularly regarding Witness Two."
Her eyes fixed on me with cold intensity. I concealed my smile. Oh prosecutor, I know a woman with a hidden agenda when I see one.
"That objection is noted," Gracie replied. "It will be resolved during trial."
There was a brief pause as Gracie reviewed her notes.
"Is the defense entertaining plea negotiations at this stage?"
I turned slightly toward Megan, whose ears had begun to redden. When I squeezed her leg gently, she met my gaze and gave a brief shake of her head.
"No," I answered. "The defense is electing to proceed to trial." I smiled politely at Prosecutor Nash, who now appeared visibly displeased.
"Very well," her eyes darting toward me with sharp intensity. "The prosecution is likewise ready."
She closed her folder. "The parties are deemed to have completed pre-trial. The case shall be set for trial on dates to be determined by the court. All matters discussed today are incorporated into the pre-trial order."
She rose from her chair. "Unless there are other matters to raise?"
"No further matters," I replied.
"None," Megan added.
Gracie's eyes lingered on Megan before she gave a final nod. "Pre-trial is concluded."
The meeting ended without ceremony. I withdrew my hand from Megan's leg and ensured that all the documents in my folder were intact before gathering them. What had been decided in quiet formality would soon be tested in open court.
I believed the stolen glances would end inside the conference room. I was mistaken.
They followed us into the hallway. With her gown draped neatly over her arm, Prosecutor Gracie Nash approached us, a smile slowly forming at the corner of her lips. The expression unsettled me for reasons I could not immediately articulate. I did not like the way she looked at us. It felt intentional, as though she were assessing more than what the situation required.
I had learned to recognize people with concealed intentions. Gracie Nash carried that presence with ease.
"Looking forward to our first trial next week, Attorney Schuett," she said as she came to a stop in front of us.
I returned the smile out of habit, polite and professional. Megan stood beside me, uncharacteristically silent. "So are we,"
My expression faltered when Gracie's attention shifted away from me entirely. It became clear then that I had never been the intended recipient of her approach.
"How are you, Natsha?" she asked.
The use of Megan's second name caught me off guard. I looked between them, noting the way Gracie's eyes softened as they settled on her. Megan met her gaze, momentarily stunned. A tightness formed in my chest, that I wanted not to welcome; it just invites their way in.
"Asking me as if you do not already know what is going on, Gracie," Megan answered coolly. The familiarity of the woman in front of us in her tone unsettled me.
"You know each other?" I asked, already suspecting the answer but I wanted to hear it from her. Because I don't want to stand there looking like a fool.
Gracie, with her lips curving with something close to satisfaction and to my irritation.
"Natsha did not tell you? We are ex-girlfriends."
I turned to Megan, my eyes widening as I searched for the truth, but her expression gave it away as she looked at the woman. I wanted to ask her. I wanted her to say it to me herself. Yet I could not afford to appear unprofessional in that moment.
I did not notice it at first, but my palms had clenched on their own. A dull sense of foolishness settled over me as I absorbed what I was hearing. I felt unprepared for the weight of it.
What made it worse was what she said next.
"Ex flings," Megan corrected, crossing her arms. "I never considered you my woman."
Her fucking what? The uncontrollable scoffed just escaped on their own in my mouth that made Megan finally turned to me. Her eye immediately panicked and uneased.
Gracie laughed, unbothered. "But you treated me like one," she replied. Her gaze turned to me then, slow and appraising, tracing me from head to toe with thinly veiled disdain. "I see why you slept with me. I did resemble her quite a lot."
The hallway seemed to close in on me at that moment. I felt Megan tug at my sleeve, but I pushed her hand away, as if the gesture might steady me against what I was hearing. Megan's expression mirrored shock and unease. Something in her eyes shifted, not defensiveness but fear. The realization settled heavily in my chest.
The gestures I had believed were meant for me alone now carried a different weight.
She owed me a great deal of explanation later.
The tension was cut off when footsteps echoed sharply against the tiled floor.
"Still playing lawyer," a man in a tailored suit said, looking directly at Gracie. He was fairly handsome, the kind of man who carried confidence with ease.
He stepped into view, his presence immediately heightening the tension. Megan stiffened beside me. I caught a glimpse of her hand clenching, her body angling forward with unmistakable intent.
Then she scoffed beside me, her voice laced with disgust. "Great. A fucking snake with his owner."
"Megan," I reprimanded her, but it was clear she did not hear me. The way she was reacting made my chest feel heavy. Watching her like this unsettled me and made me want to leave.
Why was she reacting this strongly for this woman?
Did their past relationship really affect her this much?
The man laughed dismissively and wrapped an arm around Gracie. Megan's anger visibly intensified, her eyes dropping to where his arm rested around her. I stood there witnessing it all, feeling like a complete fool.
She had never reacted this way with me.
"Oh, sorry," he said, extending his hand toward me. "I'm Jackson Sterling. You must be Attorney Lauren Schuett."
I nodded and was about to accept his hand out of formality when Megan suddenly grabbed mine and pulled it back.
"Shaking hands with him is like signing a contract in hell," she said coldly.
"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" I asked, irritation slipping through the restraint I had been holding onto.
"I was just protecting you," turning toward the man. "This bastard is a fucking devil in disguise."
Jackson chuckled, and Gracie looked as though she was enjoying the scene. Who would not, when two people were clearly fighting over you? I pulled my hand free from Megan's grip.
"You know, Attorney," Jackson remarked calmly, "your client is being aggressive. Still unable to get over the past, especially knowing I managed to steal her woman."
Megan moved before I could react. I caught her wrist firmly, stopping her as she attempted to strike Jackson.
"Megan!"
"You should put a leash on your client, Attorney Schuett," Gracie said mockingly, a smirk forming on her lips. "Who knows, one day she might go around biting people instead of just threatening them."
"Yeah," Megan snapped back, "and the first person I would bite is a bitch like you."
Her body trembled beneath my grip, anger and restraint colliding beneath her skin. Jackson's expression held quiet satisfaction. Gracie observed Megan for a moment longer before Jackson nudged her, signaling that it was time to leave.
"See you around," Gracie said before they finally walked away.
I loosened my grip on Megan and pushed her slightly away from me. She stood there heaving for breath, completely unaware that I was standing directly in front of her. Anger and hurt weighed heavily in my chest as I took in what she had shown me. If she was jealous of them, if their presence still affected her this deeply, then she shouldn't have made me see it.
"What the actual fuck was that, Megan?" I demanded.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.
"You did not tell me that the prosecutor handling your case is your fucking ex," I continued. "Do you have any idea how that looked?"
"Why would I need to tell you about that bitch if she is not necessary?" she shot back, catching me off guard.
"You made me look like a fool just now," I scoffed in disbelief. "A little heads-up wouldn't have hurt."
"I don't want to talk about her right now," she said frustratedly, letting out a long sigh. "It's been a long day, Lauren... Can we just go home?" She dismissed me completely with a glance. There was a hesitation in her eyes, and it cut deeper than she could know.
Her refusal to tell me the truth about her connection with that woman confirmed a thought I had tried to ignore. She was hurt—hurt that her own woman was with that man—and she could not even tell me.
"You don't want to talk to me?" I asked again. But the way she hesitated was already the answer: "Then I don't want to go home with you." I turned my back on her.
"Lauren," she called after me, following and reaching for my hand, but I shoved her away. My eyes were starting to burn. "Lauren, where are you going?"
Shit. Why was I feeling hurt right now? We weren't even in a relationship for me to feel this way. Of course, after all these years, she could meet someone, but putting me in a position where I could see how she looked at her—and then denying it—felt like a betrayal.
I felt like a fool.
"Just leave me alone, Thorne!" I raised my voice, making her stop in her tracks. I swallowed hard to clear the lump in my throat, steadying my voice without turning back. "I don't want to see your face right now."
I walked away, leaving her there, as a single tear slid down my cheek.
THE WHEEL of my car didn't take me home. Instead, it guided me to the nearest bar, the dim lights and steady thrum of music doing nothing to settle the storm in my chest. I perched at the edge of the bar and ordered a drink I had no intention of finishing. The burn of the alcohol was comforting in its simplicity, a small distraction from everything I had just witnessed.
I barely registered when Leandra and Beau, disguised as usual, slid onto the stools beside me. Their smiles reached all the way up to their eyes, as if it was the first time I had invited them out for a drink.
"Finally, you made it out," Beau said, settling her beloved Chanel on the table. Her eyes flicked toward my glass. "Figured you were here to get laid~." She sang it in the air, calling the waiter for more drinks.
I gave a small, tight smile, ignoring the jab. Let them think what they wanted. For now, I only needed to move, to feel the music under my feet.
I finished—I didn't even count how many bottles—but it no longer mattered. The alcohol was already drowning me for the evening, loosening the tight coil of thoughts in my head and dulling the needles pricking at my chest.
My feet carried me to the center of the dance floor almost on their own. I moved to the rhythm, letting the music take over, even if only for a few moments.
Leandra was with me at first, matching my movements with her usual energy, but she left suddenly when her phone rang. The sharp tone cut through the music.
Probably her wife.
"I need to answer this, I'll be back," she shouted over the music. I nodded at her before she turned toward the back door, leaving me alone in the swirl of lights and bodies.
I stayed there, letting the pulse of the music carry me, feeling simultaneously exposed and untouchable, lost in the rhythm while my mind refused to quiet. I danced—not carelessly, but in a way that let me focus entirely on my own body.
A woman positioned herself behind me. I smirked as her hands gripped my waist while I swung and grind my body against hers. I felt her hot breath on my ear as I pressed close, moving with the rhythm.
"You're so hot," she whispered, her voice sultry against my skin. "Grind on me more, sexy woman."
I turned to her and suddenly the alcohol drained from my body. My chest froze as I see the face of a woman I wnated to run off to just earlier. Just what the hell was she doing here? I closed my eyes and rubbed them, willing the image away, forcing myself back to the woman in front of me. She looked at me, confused.
I stepped back, shaking my head. "Sorry. Not tonight," I murmured.
My voice carried enough certainty that she understood. She stepped away, disappointment flickering across her face. My chest beat erratically as I moved through the crowd, irritation boiling not at her, but at myself for letting her presence shake me like this.
I made my way back to the table. Beau was making out with a man I recognized, someone she had invited over earlier. I hadn't noticed him before—I had been too drunk—but I didn't care. Nothing else mattered as much as the whirlwind of my own emotions.
"Finding someone to share the bed?" Beau raised an eyebrow when I grabbed my bag from the couch.
"I'm going home," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the music. "Tell Leandra."
Her mouth opened to argue, but I didn't give her a chance. Without another word, I turned, leaving the bar behind. The strobing lights faded as the door closed behind me. I punched the wheel the moment I got into my car, burying my face into it.
Why... why do I still see her after she hurt me earlier?