CHAPTER 19 — COURT
The temporary restraining order hearing was on a Thursday morning.
The courtroom wasn’t dramatic.
No shouting.
No cinematic speeches.
Just paperwork and a judge who had seen too many lives ruined by people who thought the internet wasn’t real.
Stella arrived in a pale dress, hair loose, eyes red.
She sat behind her attorney like a wounded angel.
When the judge asked her to speak, she cried softly and said she’d “never meant harm.”
Her attorney argued “free speech,” “misunderstandings,” “emotional distress.”
Then Daniel stood.
He didn’t raise his voice either.
He simply laid out the record.
Screenshots with timestamps.
The bed photo.
The unsent marker.
The edited wedding clip versus raw footage.
The café audio file metadata.
The doxxing posts and the preserved URLs.
The platform preservation confirmation letters.
Fiona Wang’s employment records.
HR’s investigation summary.
And finally, Vivian’s security footage from the townhouse.
Mrs. Tang’s slap.
The words about drowning.
Stella’s face changed when that played.
Not sorrow.
Alarm.
Because the story wasn’t controllable anymore.
It was documented.
The judge looked at Stella.
“You understand,” the judge said, “that continued contact can result in arrest.”
Stella shook her head, tears falling.
“I just wanted Ethan to remember,” she whispered.
The judge’s expression didn’t move.
The law didn’t care about longing.
The order was granted.
No contact.
No third-party harassment.
No posting about Ava by name.
No approaching Ethan’s home or workplace.
A clean boundary drawn by the state.
Outside the courthouse, Stella’s attorney tried to speak to reporters.
Stella tried to look tragic.
But her phone was already buzzing with the next problem.
Daniel’s subpoenas were coming back.
IP logs.
Payment trails for boosted posts.
A burner email tied to a hotel Wi-Fi network Stella used.
And Fiona Wang, suddenly facing her own liability, had started cooperating.
Stella didn’t confess.
She didn’t have to.
The data spoke.
At the next hearing, the judge sanctioned Stella for deleting messages after being served.
Spoliation.
A word that sounded clinical and destroyed cases.
Stella’s face went gray when she heard it.
Her attorney put a hand on her arm like a brace.
The settlement offer that arrived the next day was massive.
Money.
Apology.
Non-disclosure.
A retraction drafted by PR.
Ethan asked me, quietly, in our kitchen.
“We could end it here,” he said. “Do you want to?”
I looked at the bruise blooming faintly on my cheek.
I looked at the receipts folder on my laptop.
I looked at the restraining order in my email.
And I thought about the next woman Stella would target if this ended quietly.
“No,” I said.
Ethan nodded once.
“Okay,” he replied. “Then we finish it.”