CHAPTER NINETEEN
Provocatio Scripta
Does anyone know what channel the pre-trial special is on? #DanteMarino_freeMarino (@deisebloombastic)
I spent the day going over my opening statement, and nothing felt quite right. But that wasn’t surprising. I usually have a general direction but rely on improvisation. I let myself be guided by the fire that ignites whenever the judge begins the proceedings.
Célie and Joseph had done excellent work, as had the investigator.
The case was more symbolic than substantive.
The Darwins seemed to have used all their growing influence to convince people that this case was the spark for a political game designed to destabilize the market.
Domestic and international crises were already inflaming society, and this was just another ripple effect.
My strategy was clear: avoid Dante’s sensitive issues and expose the technical flaws in the proceedings. It was the best approach to secure our first victory—getting Dante released to await trial.
I was so immersed in work that I didn’t hear anyone approach. I jumped when I heard a knock on the office door. Joseph brought my third coffee of the day. Another sleepless night, and I was starting to wonder when I’d get a decent night’s rest.
“You need a break,” Joseph said, setting the coffee on the desk. “You should decompress.”
“You’re right.” I smiled, pulling the coffee toward me.
“When the university is consuming all my energy, I usually take Pilates classes. Works for me,” Joseph said from the doorway. “If you want, I can try to get you a spot.”
“No need, Joe,” I said, thanking him. “I think I need something more intense than Pilates.”
After he left, I worked for a few more hours before finally heading home. It was already dark outside and the night was cold, but it wasn’t snowing, which was a relief since I’d need to grab my training gear.
I drove home, then decided to walk to the gym from there.
It had been a while since I’d walked the streets because of the cold, but even that felt therapeutic right now.
The cold air on my skin, the voices and sounds of the city in the background.
The scenery passing slowly. It was as if my life hadn’t glitched out for the past few weeks and everything wasn’t so confusing.
As soon as I arrived at the gym, I dropped my bag in a corner, wrapped my hands, and pulled on my gloves.
Still in my jacket and pants, I started warming up—jabs, hooks, air kicks, and dodges.
Once I was fully warmed up, I headed to a punching bag that had just opened up.
There were only a few people in the training area, probably because of the late hour and the miserable weather outside.
I continued my routine, this time pouring energy into the bag.
Releasing the excess energy that had been keeping me awake at night.
The thoughts that had been plaguing me and the confusing dreams of the last two nights.
Last night, Dante and I were embracing in the middle of the courtroom, completely naked.
Dante’s voice whispering “they can’t see us…
it would ruin everything” kept echoing through every corner of my mind.
“I hope you’re not thinking about me.” The familiar voice behind me triggered my defensive instincts, and I almost hit him.
“Will.”
“Did I scare you?”
“And I almost landed a jab on you.”
“You’re getting good at this. But don’t overdo it.” Will was wearing all-black workout clothes and a beanie. “I think we had the same idea before the trial.”
I went back to punching the bag, with Will holding it this time.
“You know it’s part of my ritual.” I landed a low kick on the bag. “That’s why you crossed your fancy neighborhood to come here.”
“Your disbelief offends me.” He absorbed another kick, steadying the bag. “I like this gym.”
“Sure.” I pulled the bag toward me and let him throw a punch.
“Besides, I was curious to see how hard you’d hit the bag because of me,” he teased.
My relationship with Will was like having an older brother—sometimes.
But in a weird way, because occasionally he liked to flirt just out of habit.
Knowing he was on the opposite side of the ring was intimidating, because I knew how good he was.
But not enough to stop me, because if he had earned respect as the great prosecutor William Quinn, I had earned mine for being a ruthless bitch—but an exceptionally skilled one.
“If you want, you can test it by putting your face at the end of my glove.”
“Are you challenging me to a fight?” He laughed.
“You’re the one who drove all the way across town to find out if I hit hard.”
“I remember the weight of your fist.” He landed a punch on the bag so hard I had to brace my legs against the floor. “And I don’t think it would look good, the two of us together.”
“You’re the one who came here, Prosecutor Quinn,” I replied, pushing the bag toward him.
“I’m not here as Prosecutor Quinn.” He pushed back, and I defended myself.
“Nor as my friend William.” I pushed harder, hitting his stomach. William doubled over. “You’re losing your edge.”
I gave him two taps on the back before walking away, stepping into the ring when another girl called for a sparring partner.
We trained for about twenty minutes. She destroyed me, which might seem like a bad thing, but for me at that moment it felt like a rush of adrenaline and endorphins.
It was good to be back training after so long, and I felt exhausted and ready to shower and pass out when I got home.
After my shower, I went to the bedroom. I lit some lavender incense near the door to scent the room, then went to the vanity to pin up my hair so it would be styled when I woke up.
As I secured the last two pins, I noticed the black rose in the reflection, right next to my bed.
Beneath it lay Dante’s last letter—the one I still hadn’t opened.
I had resisted the temptation to read it for the last four days.
I put on a satin bonnet to protect my hair and lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t quiet my mind—it kept insisting I should read it. The bed felt like it was full of thorns, just like the night before and every other night.
“This needs to stop,” I grumbled, turning my back to the rose.
Not even the exhaustion from muay thai was a match for the monsters in my mind that kept my body awake.
I sat up and carefully lifted the rose. The weight of the dome had left a circular mark on the envelope—like a scar from my internal battle.
The folded sheet practically slid out of the envelope, and Dante’s scent rose from the paper. I didn’t know if it had transferred from the dome, but so much of Dante was embedded in the very weave of the paper.
My name at the top had been replaced by just my initial, giving it an air of secrecy. And that alone was a sign of how unprepared I was for the words Dante had crafted to completely destroy me.
H.
You just left, and my first thought was to have more of you. To bombard my mind with images of you that my brain captures as you move. It’s ironic because I can see how you long to run, yet your body moves so slowly that sometimes I think it’s on purpose—to make sure I capture every detail.
Right now I can imagine you trying to tear me from your skin, even though I haven’t had the pleasure of touching it…
at least not with these chains between us that aren’t just physical—chains whose moral fiber seems unbreakable.
But it isn’t, and you know that, because you’re starting to see the cracks.
You know, I finished the book, and I believe Christian Grey has no idea what control really is, while Anastasia doesn’t have the slightest notion of what it means to be dominated by a man—because if she did, she wouldn’t try to fight him.
Physical dominance is like a drug that burns out fast, and that’s why it’s so fragile.
True control contaminates the mind, like black ink hidden between your fingers. Then when you notice it, everything is stained, and you can’t even tell where it began. True control is a toxin that never leaves the body and doesn’t leave marks. (Well, maybe it leaves some.)
It’s not like I want to pin your wrists to the table and bend your body against that cold metal to prove I’m in control and that you’ll let yourself be commanded.
That’s just the superficial part of what true dominance looks like.
When you let me go deep, I can show you how complex, intense, and profound the connection can be between two people who simply opened the cage of their deepest emotions. More savage. More primitive.
Anastasia would be surprised at how far you can go when you let yourself drift.
But then again, you know… I’m just a computer engineer… what do I know about books?!
Looking forward to seeing you in my dreams… where the handcuffs don’t protect you from me. Not that you want to be protected, right?!
D.