Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t let myself look back.
Not at Axel. Not at the smug look I know he’s wearing.
Not at the way his eyes lit up when Judge Michaelson granted bail.
It’s like he didn’t think I’d actually pull it off.
I keep my spine straight and my heels sharp as I walk out of that courtroom.
My posture filled with control. Composure. Confidence.
Everything else gets buried.
Jada’s waiting just outside, leaning against the marble wall like she owns the courthouse. Her braids are pulled up high, lips glossed, tablet in hand, eyes already scanning through something with laser focus. She raises an eyebrow as I approach.
“Well?”
“Could’ve gone better.”
She lets out a slow whistle. “Could’ve gone worse. Daniels looks like he’s gonna piss himself.” She falls in step beside me, grinning. “You eviscerated him. Nicely done.”
I don’t smile. Not yet. “He’s still got two weeks to scrounge up something. We’re not out of the woods, yet.”
We walk in silence until we’re outside the courthouse. The steady rhythm of Jada’s heels on the pavement is the only sound between us, but my thoughts are anything but quiet. Inside, I know I look calm, but my heart’s still hammering behind my ribs like it’s trying to warn me something’s coming.
I replay the judge’s words in my head, every syllable echoing with weight: Dismissal denied…
Court will reconvene… Conditions of bail.
We got what we came for. Barely . And yet, I can’t shake the unease curling in my stomach.
This case is already hanging by threads, and threads snap when you pull too hard.
Daniels is scrambling, desperate to see Axel behind bars.
But desperation makes men reckless, and Daniels’ will slip up eventually. I know he will.
My fingers itch for my phone, for the files waiting on my laptop, for something solid .
I need something I can control, something I can hold up in court and say: This.
This is the truth. But Axel Bonanno doesn’t deal in things that are easy to hold.
He hides behind sharp smirks and calculated silences, and I’m the one tasked with translating that into innocence.
I can’t tell the court the exact truth, but I can pull apart Daneils’ defense. I just need to figure out how.
Jada glances at me sideways as she hails a cab for us. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out.
She waits a beat, then smiles mischievously. “Liar.”
I huff a soft laugh, the kind that sounds more like surrender than amusement. My eyes flutter closed for a beat, but the image of him—jaw tight, that stubborn glint in his eyes—flickers behind my lids like a brand.
A taxi pulls up to the curb and we both step in, Jada reeling out our office address to the driver. To be honest, we could’ve probably caught a ride with Axel, but right now I need all the space from him that I can get.
“He’s a complicated client,” I murmur.
“That’s one word for it.” Jada taps her nails against the side of the tablet, watching me from the corner of her eye. “Do you believe his alibi? ”
That’s the ultimate question. I have no choice but to believe it.
She blinks. “He did tell you, right?”
I don’t answer that directly. Just tilt my head and say, “It wouldn’t help him to make it public.”
Jada whistles low under her breath. “So you’re sitting on it.”
“I’m protecting him ,” I correct, my voice even. “That’s my job.”
She studies me for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “That’s a hell of a job.”
“Not really,” I reply. “I saw it in Daniels’ face the second I said the word ‘alibi.’ He flinched. He doesn’t have a damn thing on Axel. Just conviction based on reputation and a weak theory.”
Jada sits up straight, lips pursed. “You sure you’re not too close to this?”
“I’m sure I’m the only one who can handle it.”
She exhales, long and low. “Alright. So we double down. Tighten the paper trail. Lock in every timestamp, every call log, every witness that can back him up without compromising whatever secret Batman shit he’s doing.”
I nod. “Exactly. We make it airtight.”
The cab pulls up to our building and Jada pushes through the door. I follow closely behind, the sound of our heels echoing against concrete.
“You not heading home?” Jada asks.
“There’s still work to do.”
She frowns at me like she’s disapproving of my work ethic—like this is the hundredth time she’s caught me neck-deep in a case long after any sane person would’ve gone home.
But she also knows I don’t half-ass my job.
I never have, never will. Especially not when someone’s life is hanging in the balance.
“Cass, it’s past six,” she reminds me, her voice soft but firm.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not a robot,” she taunts, and it’s half concern, half scolding.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter .
She doesn’t reply right away. There’s a hesitation, a pause in her breathing that makes me glance up. Her brows are furrowed—not with irritation, but with worry. I know that look. She’s debating whether to push, whether I’ll shut down if she does.
Then, instead of words, she moves to my side and gently squeezes my arm. Her warmth cuts through the cold professionalism I’ve been wrapped in all day like armor.
“Text me when you get in,” she asks finally, her tone quieter now. “And Cass?”
I meet her gaze this time. There’s something about the way she says my name—like she sees the frayed edges beyond all the polished control, and she’s trying to keep me from unraveling.
“You’re allowed to care,” she adds, voice barely above a whisper. “Doesn’t make you weak.”
I look at her.
“I know you’re keeping this professional. I know you have to. But don’t bottle everything up. He’s not just a case.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, he is.”
She opens her mouth to protest, then shuts it.
She nods a moment later and decides to walk away, heels clicking until they fade into silence.
The second she disappears from view, I let out a slow breath.
The frigid air brushes against my skin like a whisper—reminding me I’m still outside, still in the world. Still not done.
I turn toward the office building, my heels clipping sharply against the concrete as I approach the front doors.
The glass reflects back a version of me I don’t always recognize—poised, professional, spine straight, jaw set.
The kind of woman people trust to win. The kind of woman who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bend, doesn’t break.
The lobby is quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, casting everything in that sterile glow that feels more hospital than law firm. Most people cleared out hours ago, but not me. Never me.
I swipe my keycard and the turnstile clicks open with a mechanical hum.
Only the security guard positioned at his station gives me a curt nod as I head towards the elevators.
I don’t have to wait for long. The doors ding softly, announcing its arrival within seconds and I step inside, pressing the button for the twelfth floor.
I lean back against the wall, eyes drifting closed for a moment.
The world falls silent around me, giving me just a minute to breathe freely.
I open my eyes and I’m staring at my reflection again, every part of me looking composed. The part no one sees? That part’s bracing for the storm I know is still coming.
The doors open before I know it, and I’m moving again before I can think too hard. My office is exactly as I left it—papers in neat stacks, case files open and waiting, the faint scent of old coffee lingering in the air.
I shrug off my coat, toss it over the back of my chair, and sit.
The silence settles around me like a second skin.
Comfortable. Familiar. I dive into my notes, combing through testimony, re-checking timelines, predicting Daniels’ weak objections in my mind.
There was a crack in his confidence today, and I’ll find a way to break it wide open.
It’s nearly ten in the evening when I finally lean back from my desk. The office is quiet. Only the low hum of my computer and the soft rustle of paper as I sort through my notes filters through the room. The city glows beyond the windows, blurred lights and long shadows.
I’ve gone through everything twice.
Axel’s alibi holds, though it would carry more weight if I could bring in witnesses. But that’s not an option, so my work around is to use the lack of evidence Daniels against him. But still, if he finds even one loose thread…
I won’t let that happen.
I glance at the clock. My eyes burn from staring at the screen and my body aches from tension. And yet?—
I don’t leave.
Because when I’m here, in the quiet, with work to do and facts to chase, I don’t have to think about the way Axel looked at me in court. I don’t have to remember how close his hand came to mine, how warm his voice has become. Or how I almost forgot that this is business.
Almost.
I rub the bridge of my nose, shoving the thought aside. We’re going to win this case. And I’m not going to let anything —not even the way he looks at me like I’m already his—get in the way.
I’m halfway through drafting a motion to compel when my phone buzzes.
I ignore it at first. It’s probably Jada checking in again.
Or a reminder about tomorrow’s deposition.
Though Axel made it clear I couldn’t have any other clients, I ignore him.
He doesn’t own me. He doesn’t control me.
I’m still my own person and I have to make a living.
My fingers keep moving across the computer keyboard, keys clicking in a steady rhythm, but the buzz comes again—short, insistent.
I sigh, finally dragging the phone closer.
Axel Bonanno: Where are you? A.
Axel Bonanno: Answer me.
I stare at the screen a beat too long.
Somehow the words feel heavier than anything Daniels threw at me today. I don’t answer right away. I set the phone back on the desk face-down, and lean back in my chair. I tell myself he’s just curious. Or maybe he wants an update. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how much damage we avoided today.
But that’s not what it feels like.
It feels like something else.
Eventually, my curiosity gets the best of me and I grab my phone, typing out one word.
Me: Office.
I bite the inside of my cheek as a text bubble dances across my screen.
Then my stomach flips when I read the reply.
Axel Bonanno: Want some company ?
No emoji. No warmth. Just a question.
I stare at the message, my heart giving a small, traitorous jolt. I take a breath, composing myself before I type.
But I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I let the question hang there for a moment longer than necessary.
Because I’m not sure what he’s really asking.
And I’m not sure I want to know. Even if a part of me—some small, traitorous part—wants to see him walk through that office door and tell me to stop pretending.
I just can’t expose that part of myself.
So I clear my throat, push the feeling down, and say the one thing I know won’t wreck me.