Chapter 7 - Face to Face
The courtroom of the Multnomah County Courthouse was packed to the gills. Flashbulbs popped outside the limestone steps as my security team escorted me through the media throng, but inside, the atmosphere was chillingly solemn.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a tailored black wool coat, my posture erect, my head held high.
When the side doors opened and the bailiffs led the defendants in, the collective breath of the courtroom hitched.
Ethan walked in first, wearing a standard orange county jumpsuit. His hair was cut short, his skin sallow, the polished corporate charisma completely stripped away, leaving behind a hollow, defeated shell of a man. Behind him walked Summer, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, staring fixedly at the floor as she shuffled forward in ankle chains.
As they took their seats at the defense table, Ethan turned his head slightly to scan the gallery.
Our eyes locked.
For three seconds, the entire courtroom seemed to vanish. I didn't see the judge, the jurors, or the reporters. I only saw the man who had kissed me at the altar, whispered vows of eternal devotion, and then watched without a shred of remorse as I bled out in the wreckage of our wedding limousine.
Ethan flinched violently. His face paled to a sickly ghost-white, and he quickly turned back around, staring frantically at his defense attorney’s briefcase.
Summer, sensing the tension, glanced up and caught my eye as well. Her lips parted in a silent, trembling plea for forgiveness, her eyes welling with fresh tears.
I didn't blink. I didn't scowl. I simply stared back at her with absolute, chilling indifference—the ultimate rejection of a sister who had traded her blood for a mortgage and a fake romance.
"All rise for the Honorable Judge Marcus Sterling," the bailiff barked sharply.
The proceedings began. Charge by charge, count by count, the state prosecutor laid out the grim, meticulous architecture of betrayal. As the audio recordings of Summer’s sedated hospital admissions and Ethan’s intercepted financial transfers were played aloud for the court, the murmurs in the gallery grew louder, turning into gasps of disbelief.
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By the time the hearing adjourned for the day, both defendants were remanded back into custody without bail, their attorneys looking entirely defeated.
As the bailiffs led them back through the side doors, Ethan cast one final, desperate look in my direction. But I was already standing up, buttoning my coat, ready to walk out into the bright, unclouded afternoon sun.
