CHAPTER 15
Selene
I don't sleep at all the night before the hearing, cycling through every worst-case scenario my exhausted mind can generate, and by the time morning arrives, gray and cold over the Oakhaven courthouse steps, I feel like I've aged a decade in twelve hours.
Damon secured a lawyer by midnight — a sharp, formidable woman named Patricia Reyes who apparently owes the club a favor substantial enough that she dropped whatever she was doing to fly in from Seattle on four hours' notice, and who spent the early morning hours going through every detail of my marriage, my flight from it, every piece of evidence I still have buried in the bottom of a storage box that documents two years of Richard's escalating control.
"The filing's built on manufactured allegations," Patricia tells us as we climb the courthouse steps, her heels clicking sharp against the stone, Damon beside me in a suit I didn't know he owned, the cut and patches replaced for the day by something that somehow makes him look no less dangerous.
"Claims you're an unfit mother, unstable, potentially involved with a criminal organization that poses a direct threat to the child's safety.
He's trying to use the club against you, Selene — paint your relationship with Damon as evidence of instability rather than protection. "
"That's insane," I say, fury climbing hot in my chest. "The club is the only reason we're still safe."
"I know that. You know that. We need the judge to understand that too, and we've got twelve hours to make the case instead of the months it should take to prepare something like this properly.
" Patricia's expression is grim but focused, a woman clearly used to fighting uphill battles and winning them anyway.
"The good news is emergency ex-parte orders are exactly that — emergency, temporary.
Even if the judge grants something today, it's not permanent.
We'll have grounds to challenge it immediately in a full hearing.
The bad news is if the judge grants temporary custody to Richard today, getting her back could take weeks, and weeks in his custody is —"
She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to. I've spent two years imagining exactly what weeks in Richard's custody could mean for my daughter, and the thought alone nearly buckles my knees on the courthouse steps.
Damon's hand finds the small of my back, steady, grounding. "She's not losing today," he says, quiet but absolute. "Whatever it takes."
Inside, the courthouse corridor buzzes with the particular tense energy of a building full of people whose lives are about to be decided in rooms they don't fully control. Patricia leads us toward a private conference room to prepare final arguments, and that's when I see him.
Richard, standing near the far end of the corridor in an impeccable navy suit that probably costs more than I make in three months, flanked by two lawyers who carry themselves with the polished, expensive confidence of men who've never once lost a case that mattered.
He hasn't seen us yet, and for one frozen second I feel every instinct from two years of running scream at me to turn and go the other way.
Then he does see us, and his expression shifts into something I remember with sick, visceral clarity — the charming mask sliding into place, the one that fooled me completely for the first four years of our marriage before I learned what waited underneath it.
"Selene." He says my name like we're old friends reuniting rather than a man and the woman he's trying to strip a child from. "You look well. Motherhood suits you, even if the circumstances have gotten a bit — colorful."
"Don't," I say, voice sharper than I intend, and beside me I feel Damon go rigid, every protective instinct in his body coiling tight.
"I'm simply saying hello." Richard's eyes flick to Damon, assessing, dismissive in the particular way wealthy men assess anyone they've decided is beneath their notice.
"And you must be the mechanic. I've heard interesting things.
Motorcycle club president, is that right?
I have to say, Selene, running from a stable, successful marriage into the arms of an actual criminal enterprise is quite the character reference to bring into a custody hearing. "
"The Iron Vipers have kept us safer in two weeks than you managed in four years of marriage," I say, forcing my voice steady despite the fury and old fear tangled together in my chest. "You should be more careful throwing around the word criminal, Richard.
Considering you're the one who hired a rival motorcycle club to run surveillance on my daughter. "
Something flickers across his face — brief, controlled, but real, the tell of a man who didn't expect me to have that information yet. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Save it." Patricia steps between us smoothly, professional and unbothered by the tension crackling in the corridor. "Whatever you have to say to my client, Mr. Vance, you can say it through counsel. This conversation is over."
Richard's mask flickers again, something colder and more dangerous surfacing briefly underneath the polished charm, and he lets his lawyers pull him a step back, professional distance restored.
But before he turns fully away, he catches my eye one more time, and drops his voice low enough that only I can hear it.
"You think a dirty biker can save you?" he says, quiet and venomous, all pretense of civility gone from his voice entirely. "Look outside, Selene. You have no idea what I'm capable of, and you have no idea how much it's already cost me to be this patient."
Cold fear spikes through my chest, but before I can respond, Damon's already moved, stepping directly into the space between us with a stillness that carries more menace than any raised voice could.
"You've got about ten seconds to walk away," Damon says, low and absolutely lethal, "before I stop caring that we're standing in a courthouse."
Richard's eyes flick between us, calculating, and whatever he sees in Damon's expression is apparently enough to convince even a man as arrogant as him that pushing further isn't worth the risk.
He straightens his jacket, offers one last cold smile, and turns to follow his lawyers toward the courtroom without another word.
I'm shaking by the time he's out of sight, and Damon turns to me immediately, hands coming up to frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes instead of spiraling into the fear Richard just planted.
"Hey. Look at me. You're okay. Mia's okay, she's safe at the compound with Bear and half the club standing guard, and nothing he said just now changes that.
" His thumbs brush gentle along my cheekbones, steady despite the fury I can still feel humming beneath his calm exterior.
"He's scared, Selene. Men like that only get vicious when they're scared, and he's scared because he can feel this slipping out of his control.
That's not weakness on our end. That's proof he's losing. "
I nod, forcing my breathing to slow, drawing strength from the steady certainty in his eyes. "I hate that he still gets to me like that. Two years, and one sentence from him and I'm right back to feeling seventeen years old and terrified."
"You're not that girl anymore." His voice goes fierce, low.
"You're a woman who packed a bag and drove across two states to save her daughter.
You're a woman who's spent two years working double shifts and never once let him find you until he threw enough money at it to buy information he had no right to.
And you're a woman standing in this hallway right now with the full weight of the Iron Vipers behind her, about to walk into that courtroom and win.
" He presses his forehead against mine, grounding, certain.
"You're not facing him alone. Not today, not ever again. "
The bailiff calls the case a few minutes later, and I walk into the courtroom with Damon's hand steady at the small of my back and Patricia's confidence squared beside me, and even though fear still sits cold and heavy in my chest, I feel something else underneath it too — a steadiness I haven't fully felt in two years, the particular strength that comes from finally, finally not carrying every weight alone.
Whatever Richard's planned for this hearing, whatever lies his lawyers have built into their filing, I'm walking in ready to fight for my daughter with everything I have, and for the first time since I drove away from his mansion two years ago, I'm not walking in alone.