Chapter 13 - THE TRIAL OF VICTORIA STERLING
The trial began the following spring.
Victoria Sterling entered the courtroom wearing a pale gray suit.
Her hair was perfect.
Her expression was cold.
She looked nothing like a woman accused of coordinating an assassination attempt.
But the evidence was substantial.
Security footage.
Financial records.
Phone messages.
Witness testimony.
The recovered communications from the Obsidian Club.
And the recordings from the warehouse where she'd held me captive.
The prosecution presented the case carefully.
Victoria's attorneys challenged the evidence.
They argued that she'd been manipulated by others.
That she hadn't intended Christian to die.
That the warehouse incident had been a misunderstanding.
The jury listened.
Christian testified.
So did I.
I was terrified.
My hands shook when I took the stand.
But I remembered my father's letter.
Courage is what you do while you're afraid.
So I answered the questions.
Truthfully.
Carefully.
Without exaggeration.
I described the Obsidian Club.
The poisoned glass.
The signal beneath the table.
The gunfire.
The kidnapping.
And Victoria's threats.
When the defense attorney suggested I had fabricated parts of the story to gain Christian's attention, I looked directly at him.
"No."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Then why did you involve yourself?"
I took a breath.
"Because someone was about to die."
Silence.
I continued.
"And I wasn't willing to watch."
The courtroom grew quiet.
Weeks later, the jury returned guilty verdicts on multiple charges.
Victoria was taken into custody.
She looked toward Christian.
For a moment, her expression softened.
"Christian."
He didn't move.
She whispered:
"I loved you."
Christian looked at her.
Then said quietly:
"No."
Her face changed.
He continued.
"You loved what I could give you."
Victoria stared.
Christian turned away.
Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions.
Cameras flashed.
But Christian ignored them.
He walked toward me.
Took my hand.
And asked:
"Are you okay?"
I looked at him.
Then smiled.
"Getting there."
He nodded.
"Me too."
For the first time, the future felt like something we could choose.
Not something inherited.
May you like
Not something forced.
Something ours.
