Chapter 35- Mark
I wasn’t worried when I walked into the courtroom. Nervous? Sure. But worried? No.
Zane had always been dramatic. I figured this hearing would be just another performance. In front of the judge she’d act wounded, scared even. Her lawyers would make noise about my temper, my past, the fight with her boyfriend. And I’d take the heat. I could handle heat. I was a goddamn lawyer.
But I wasn’t prepared for the way she looked when I walked in. Calm. Poised. Happy. Like she’d already won.
She sat at her table, stomach round, chin up. That smug bastard Sam sat behind her. I recognized her lawyer. She was one of the best. I wasn’t paying for him when she came back. I’d actually make her get a job to do it and pay for her bastard herself. She’d learn to appreciate what I gave her.
I took my seat across the aisle, heart kicking once, then again. I nodded at the judge and slid my hands across the table like I owned it.
I hadn’t bothered hiring another divorce attorney after I fired the first one who wanted me to just sign my wife away. This was just posturing. A show.
The judge called things to order, and her lawyer stood first. She started talking about “escalation of conflict,” “harassment,” “unnecessary delays in signing final papers,” “financial abuse.” Then she mentioned the restraining order.
I laughed. Loud enough for the judge to glance at me. “My apologies, Your Honor,” I said, straightening my tie. “But this narrative that I’m some kind of threat is absurd. The only reason this isn’t finalized is because we haven’t sat down to divide assets.”
“She doesn’t want anything from you,” her lawyer said. “She just wants out. You’ve delayed the proceedings twice now—once by skipping mediation, and once by changing counsel at the last minute.”
“I was within my legal rights to do so.”
“But not morally,” she shot back.
I leaned forward, speaking directly to the judge. “Your Honor, I’m not the villain here. My wife is sitting in this courtroom pregnant by another man. Let’s not pretend she’s some innocent flower.”
Zane leaned over, whispered something to her attorney. The woman nodded, then reached into a file folder.
“I was going to save this,” her lawyer said smoothly, “but since Mr. Blackwell wants to discuss morality…” She handed something to the bailiff.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uneasy.
The bailiff handed a stack of photographs to the judge. He flipped through them silently. His eyebrows went up.
“I assume you recognize the woman in these, Mr. Blackwell?”
I couldn’t breathe. No. No. She didn’t…
The judge slid a photo across the bench to me. It was me. And not just me. It was Sam’s wife. Naked. On her knees. In my living room.
My stomach dropped.
A low murmur rippled through the courtroom. I turned—and Zane’s parents were seated next to Sam now, a Black woman about Zanes age was next to them, she turned to glare at me..
“These were obtained by a licensed private investigator,” her lawyer said. “Taken while my client and Mr. Blackwell were still married. These not only establish infidelity—they show that he knowingly slept with the wife of the man he now claims is the root of his marital breakdown.”
“Objection!” I barked, slamming my palm on the table.
“On what grounds?” the judge asked, unimpressed.
“This is an ambush.”
“No,” Zane’s lawyer said calmly. “This is the truth. If you can’t handle the truth, that’s not the court’s problem. It’s yours.”
My eyes locked on Zane. She stared back at me, lips tight, head tilted like she pitied me.
That broke something loose in my chest. It started aching.
“You followed me?!” I stood up. “You had me followed?! Is that who you are now? You needed dirt so bad you sent someone to sneak around our house?!”
“You were screwing Sam’s wife on my couch—and his!” Zane snapped, standing too. “I didn’t need to send anybody to make you dirty. You did that all on your own.”
“She’s lying!” I shouted, pointing now, voice booming. “She wants this to look like I’m the problem, but she’s the one who walked out! She’s the one spreading her legs for a man she barely knew!”
The judge banged the gavel. “Mr. Blackwell—control yourself!”
“I will not sit here while she paints me like some monster when she—” My voice cracked.
Zane’s voice cut through the room, quiet but deadly. “You are a monster, Mark.”
That did it. I shoved the chair backward, pacing now. The bailiff moved in, watching me, ready.
“They’ve been plotting on me since day one,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone. “She got you believing he’s some hero, like he didn’t snatch my wife right out from under me.”
“Mr. Blackwell,” the judge said firmly. “One more outburst and I will hold you in contempt.”
I stood still, hands balled into fists at my side. I looked around—at the eyes on me, at Sam smirking in the corner. Zane’s parents were looking all smug. Zane’s hand curled around her stomach like I hadn’t once kissed that belly myself.
That was supposed to be my child.
And that’s when I knew. I’d already lost.
The judge cleared his throat. “We will reconvene next week for final filings. If Mr. Blackwell continues to delay this divorce, sanctions will be imposed. You are advised to sign the papers before that date.”
I sat back down slowly, vision blurred, throat tight.
Because this wasn’t a hearing anymore. This was an execution. And I’d put the gun in her hand.
But I wouldn’t die quietly.