Chapter 230

[ 1,011 words ]

Katia’s POV

I held his gaze. I did not look away first; he did.

Outside the courthouse, the afternoon had turned grey. Sam was on her phone already, fielding the calls that had started coming in the moment the ruling was public. The press was at the bottom of the steps—not many, but enough. A camera or two. A journalist I recognized from the financial desk of a publication that had run Victor’s planted article six months ago.

I walked past all of it.

Sam fell into step beside me.

“Government contract committee has already been in touch,” she said. “They want a meeting. Next week p>

“Book it,” I said.

“Julian’s office called,” she said. “Reid says Julian was watching the livestream. He wants to know if you are coming to the mansion tonight p>

I thought about that for a moment.

“Tell Reid I will call him,” I said.

Sam looked at me sideways.

“You are going,” she said. It was not a question.

“Sam,” I said.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “You won today. You are allowed to go somewhere that feels good p>

I did not answer that.

We got in the car.

I looked out the window at the city moving past. At the courthouse, getting smaller in the side mirror. At the grey afternoon that did not know or care that something had ended today—eighteen months of Victor Hale and his fabricated evidence and his planted articles and his war against something I had built from nothing—ended in a courtroom at noon on a Tuesday.

I thought about Aiden. About whether he was at the estate or the penthouse. About whether he had eaten lunch.

I picked up my phone. I did not call Julian. I called Aiden.

He answered on the second ring.

“Mummy,” he said. “Did you win p>

I looked out the window.

“Yes,” I said. “I won p>

“I thought so,” he said. “Gigi made pasta. Do you want me to save some p>

I almost smiled.

“Save me some,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Are you coming to see me tonight p>

I looked at the courthouse disappearing in the mirror.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m coming tonight p>

I hung up.

Sam was looking at me.

“The estate,” I said.

She nodded.

She did not say I told you so.

That was why I kept her.

The legal documents in my lap were a blur of black ink on heavy white paper. I had been staring at the same paragraph about the forensic metadata of Victor’s fabricated filings for fifteen minutes, but the words refused to arrange themselves into anything coherent. My brain was completely occupied by the physical reality of my own body.

Every muscle in my back, my hips, and my thighs was aching with a deep, throbbing soreness. I could still feel the phantom pressure of the bedroom wall against my spine from three o’clock this morning. I could still hear Julian’s voice, low and vicious, whispering against my ear after he had completely spent himself inside me: Never ever in your fucking life disrespect me because I will destroy that little cunt of yours.

He had meant it. The bruises forming on my hips where his hands had pinned me were proof of it. I had spent the entire morning in court trying to sit straight in my grey suit, trying not to wince every time I had to shift my weight on the hard wooden bench.

Sam was driving. I could see her eyes in the rearview mirror, flicking toward me every few seconds before returning to the road. She had been doing it since we left the courthouse steps. She wasn’t looking at me like an assistant who had just helped her CEO win a massive, eighteen-month legal war. She was looking at me like a friend who had been watching me slide toward a cliff and was finally done staying quiet.

I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I slammed the folder shut, the loud snap of the cardboard echoing in the cabin of the car. I threw the documents onto the backseat.

“Speak!” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Sam didn’t flinch. She kept her hands steady on the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the road ahead. “Are you going to want me to wait for you while you see Aiden, or is Julian going to take you home tonight p>

The directness of the question made my stomach tighten. I tried to keep my face completely blank, to deploy the same managed, corporate mask I had used against Victor Hale’s lawyers an hour ago.

“Why would my sister’s husband take me home, Sam?” I asked, keeping my voice level, cold, and professional.

Sam let out a short, harsh laugh. She didn’t look at me. She just gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Well, I’m glad you still know he’s your sister’s husband, Katia. Because you’ve been sleeping with the man every fucking night you get. So tell me, when is it going to end p>

The words landed like physical blows. I sat back against the passenger seat, the soreness in my thighs registering with a sudden, painful spike. I didn’t try to deny it. There was no point in lying to Sam. Sam had been with me since the very beginning. When my mother had stood in the entrance hall of the Kensington house and thrown me out because I was pregnant and unmarried, Sam had been the one who helped me to the car.

She had lived through the panic, the struggle, and the long, exhausting years of building IG Technologies from absolutely nothing. She knew every single line on my face. She knew when I was lying, and she knew exactly what I looked like when I had been thoroughly thoroughly fucked.

“What do you suggest I do?” I asked, my voice dropping its defensive edge. It was the first time I had openly admitted the truth of what was happening to her, and the admission felt heavy, almost suffocating, in the small space of the car.

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