1. Marcella
one
Marcella
Eight Weeks Later
Finney Cooper isn’t a law firm.
It’s a war machine.
We’re the lawyers you call when you’re done playing fair and ready to ruin reputations.
I didn’t claw my way to partner in a firm like this by being nice.
I did it by winning.
By making damn sure no one questions whether I belong here.
Despite my confidence in the courtroom, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my office, buttoned into a bespoke power suit—tailored, sharp, commanding—wishing I could shrink myself to fit a world built for someone else.
I feel rage simmer beneath the surface. Rage at every sideways glance, every softened smile. Rage at the way the world measures worth in inches.
Even more rage at the part of me who still cares.
I smooth my hands down the silky fabric and adjust my blazer.
I can see the way the fabric pulls at my hips and doesn’t quite cover the bulge of my stomach.
Despite the custom fit, my ample curves always make everything feel a size too tight.
If I didn’t wear constrictive shaping undergarments, I probably couldn’t even zip up my skirt. My thighs would rub together and chafe.
I know I’m objectively attractive. I have a face people notice—sharp cheekbones, full lips, long, brown hair gleaming in the right light. I take care of myself. I buy the expensive skincare. Go to the finest salons. Never miss a mani/pedi. Work out at the gym three times a week with a trainer.
I put in the effort.
Yet, I’m still a big girl. Alone. Thirty-seven. No prospects. Haven’t had sex in two years.
Let’s be honest, I’m past my prime.
A knock at my door snaps me back. I exhale sharply, forcing my lifelong insecurities down and locking them where I keep all the things I don’t have time for.
Deep, deep inside of me where they can’t be touched.
I call out, “Yes?”
My assistant, Cora peeks in, all efficiency in her crisp navy dress. “The Blacks are here.”
Showtime .
I stride down the hall to the conference room, my heels clicking against the polished floors.
My spine is straight and my expression is deliberately composed.
The weight of the case and what I’m about to ask these grieving parents to relive, settles over me.
I don’t let it show, though. This is about them, not me.
Pushing open the door, I step inside and immediately see Myra and Daniel Black sitting stiffly at the conference table.
Their hands are clasped together, fingers knotted so tightly it looks painful.
Myra’s eyes are puffy. Exhaustion lines her face.
Daniel’s jaw clenched so tightly it looks like he’s going to grind his teeth to dust.
Their grief and anger twist together in the space between them, raw and festering.
God, there’s something about parents in situations like this—the way they hold on to each other like it’s the only thing keeping them from falling apart. It breaks my heart and reminds me why I became a lawyer in the first place.
They may not want to be here.
To receive justice, they need to be.
I offer them a steady, reassuring nod as I sit across from them and open their daughter’s case file in my laptop. “Mr. and Mrs. Black, I’m Marcella Delgado. I’m so incredibly sorry for what you’re going through. It’s too much for any parent to endure.”
Myra swallows hard, her fingers grip and regrip her husband’s. “We don’t know what happens next.”
“I’ve reviewed the medical records, and based on what I’ve seen so far, you have a strong case. What happened to Miranda never should have happened.” I make sure to look at both of them, they need to trust me to seek justice for their daughter.
Daniel exhales sharply. “It doesn’t change anything. How can we be sure we’ll win? Going through a lawsuit might be more than we can endure right now.”
“You’re right to weigh your options.” I tread carefully because I won’t ever make promises I can’t keep. “Medicine is complicated. Surgeons can argue sometimes, even when they do everything right, bad outcomes happen. My job is to prove Dr. Caldwell failed to uphold the standard of care.”
“Dr. Caldwell…” She winces, the mere mention of his name is like an open wound she’s still pressing down on. “He didn’t even seem sorry.”
I’ve done my research. He wouldn’t.
Over the past decade, I’ve gone up against doctors like him many times before—always men. They walk into a room expecting me to believe they’re godlike. Infallible. Hell, I get it. They’ve built entire careers on being revered.
None of it matters when I tear them apart. Reduce them to sniveling shells of their former self.
Ooooh . Now, I feel it—beneath the surface—the same hunger I always get when I’m about to dismantle someone brick by brick.
It’s the fuel driving me and my tank is full.
“He probably isn’t sorry,” I say simply. “Surgeons at his level rarely engage in self-reflection.”
Myra blinks rapidly and her lips press together.
Daniel shifts beside her. “There was another doctor in the room. A younger guy. He was the one who talked to us before the surgery and made it seem like…” He trails off, his free hand curls into a fist. “Like this would never happen.”
“Do you remember his name?” I’ll subpoena the records, of course. At the same time, it’s always helpful to get as much information as possible now.
“Dr. McGloughlin.” Myra’s eyes soften. “ Seamus McGloughlin. He was so kind.”
There’s something almost guilty in the way she says it, like she wants to be angry at him but isn’t sure she can be.
“He sat with Miranda before the surgery,” she continues as I type his name into Google. “Talked to her like she was a person, not just a patient. Told her she was a ‘superstar.’ She adored him.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
The search loads, and suddenly, I’m staring at him. He’s young. Younger than me, at least by a handful of years.
Overwhelmingly handsome in a way making my stomach twist and awakening something dormant deep inside of me.
Against my will, my pussy clenches and my clit begins to pulse.
Holy mother of God, Seamus McGloughlin exudes sex. The kind of man who makes my breath stutter.
He’s big—broad shoulders and strong arms. A body built for capability. For endurance. Light-brown hair falls past his shoulders. It looks like it’s been raked through a thousand times by impatient fingers. Stubble frames a too-perfect mouth.
Good God, his eyes stop me cold.
Blue. Deep. Soulful.
The kind of eyes you want to trust. Eyes that make you believe you’re safe. That promise he’ll fix whatever’s broken.
There’s something else. Behind the warmth, the strength. A sadness, maybe. A weight he carries, hidden beneath the surface…
Oh. Hell. No . These thoughts are wildly inappropriate.
I force my gaze back to Myra and Daniel, ignoring the way my pulse is suddenly in my ears. “He was in the operating room?”
Daniel nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I don’t know if he helped or if he was another part of the lie.”
I flick my gaze back to his face on the screen—strong, striking, capable.
For the first time in my career, I yearn for something entirely off-limits. Something impossible.
I do my best to keep my composure. “Dr. McGloughlin is a resident. He wouldn’t have been the one making the final decisions.”
“He was there. He was part of it. She’s—” His voice chokes off, his grief slamming into the room like a physical force.
I let the silence stretch for a beat, giving them the space to breathe through it. Then I sit forward slightly. “We’re going to hold the right people accountable. Dr. Caldwell was the lead surgeon. He made the calls. If Dr. McGloughlin played a role, we’ll uncover it.”
Daniel nods tightly, tears stream freely out of the corners of his eyes.
“Will we have to go to trial?” Myra manages to utter through her sobs.
“Most cases settle before we see a courtroom.” I fold my hands neatly on the table.
They need to be able to trust me to hold things together.
“Washington law requires mediation before trial which means, even after we file, we’ll have a chance to settle.
This is when I’ll take their depositions, to see how strong our case is.
Make no mistake—I prepare every case for trial.
When we sit at the negotiating table, we’ll be ready no matter what. ”
Daniel exhales. His features pulled tight though his expression loosens a fraction. Like he’s choosing to believe I can give them justice for Miranda. “What do we do next?”
I meet his gaze, steady and unwavering. “From here, I’ll do a deep dive into the medical records, file an initial claim, and start the process of gathering evidence including interviewing the doctors involved, as well as the hospital itself, to assess their defenses and strategy.
” I pause, letting my words settle. “Once we have a clearer picture, we’ll decide on our next move—every step will be taken with your best interests in mind. Sound like a plan?”
Myra nods quickly, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to. “Yes. Please.”
I stand, and they follow. As I walk them to the front, they thank me profusely, their gratitude thick with exhaustion and something close to hope. We finalize the engagement letter, formalizing what they already knew the moment they stepped into my office.
They need me to fight.
I will.
This is what I do. I seek justice for parents like Myra and Daniel.
Once they’re gone, the firm’s hallway swallows the sound of their retreating footsteps. I turn and head back to my office, my own heels sharp against the floor. A rhythmic reminder about the work ahead.
I close the door behind me and sink into my chair. The room is silent. A type of quiet seeping into your bones making you think even when you don’t want to.
I should be focusing on strategy. On how I’ll break Caldwell apart.
Instead, Seamus McGloughlin’s face permeates my thoughts. I let myself imagine what it would feel like—his strong hands on my skin. Mouth against mine. The quiet, steady way I instinctively know he’d hold me.
Like I was something worth keeping.
My fingers trail over the polished surface of my desk. All I want to do is shove them down my panties and rub myself to oblivion.
It’s ridiculous. I don’t even know this man, yet I can’t shake the way Myra said his name, like she couldn’t possibly believe he fucked up.
The thing is, he might have been kind to Miranda and he probably made her parents believe she could be saved.
Now she’s in a hospital bed, locked inside herself. The image of her helpless body knocks some sense into me. I shake my head, dismissing my stupid sexual fantasies about some cocky resident because I’m lonely.
It doesn’t matter who he is. If he was part of this, I’ll find out.
This isn’t about me. It never is.
Seamus McGloughlin is a distraction I can’t afford.
Loneliness doesn’t win trials.
Miranda’s parents are counting on me to burn the system down.
I intend to light the match.