Chapter 17: Courtroom Courage
1383words
Cassian should have been here.
"Miss Whitestone! How does it feel to testify against your own father?"
"Seraphina! Will you address the rumors about your broken engagement?"
"Is it true Victoria Whitestone threatened you?"
I kept my expression neutral, moving forward with measured steps. My navy suit—my own design—was both armor and statement: structured shoulders for strength, a silhouette that spoke of dignity rather than fashion.
Inside, the courtroom's hushed atmosphere enveloped me. I took my seat in the witness waiting area, trying not to look at the defense table where my father sat beside his legal team. Victoria was notably absent—her separate hearing scheduled for the following week.
"Nervous?" asked Prosecutor Ricci, a sharp-eyed woman who had spent hours preparing me for today.
"Focused," I corrected, though my racing heart betrayed me.
"Remember, stick to the facts. Don't let them provoke an emotional response." She checked her watch. "They'll call you within the hour."
Left alone, I removed my phone from my purse. No messages from Cassian. Three days had passed since our night at Lake Como. Three days of silence as he worked with investigators to clear his name from Victoria's forgeries. I understood the necessity, but his absence today, of all days, cut deep.
"The court calls Seraphina Whitestone."
My name echoed through the chamber as I rose, smoothing my jacket with trembling hands. The walk to the witness stand felt endless, every eye in the courtroom following my progress. I caught glimpses of familiar faces—Isolde in the back row, pale but composed; Orion beside her, his expression unreadable; journalists scribbling furiously.
After being sworn in, I faced Prosecutor Ricci's gentle questioning, recounting the discovery of my mother's documents, the recordings, the financial ledgers that detailed years of money laundering operations.
"And these records were hidden in your mother's jewelry box?" Ricci asked.
"Yes. In a secret compartment she showed me as a child."
"Why do you believe she concealed them there?"
"She knew they were dangerous." My voice remained steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. "The last entry in her journal, dated three days before her death, indicated she was planning to take this evidence to authorities."
My father's lawyer, a silver-haired man named Donati, rose for cross-examination. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Miss Whitestone, you've undergone quite a transformation since leaving London, haven't you?"
Ricci objected immediately. "Relevance, Your Honor?"
"I'm establishing the witness's motivations," Donati countered smoothly. "Her credibility is central to this case."
The judge allowed the question. I straightened my shoulders.
"Yes, my appearance has changed."
"Quite dramatically." Donati approached, holding photographs—the same ones Victoria had leaked to the press. "From this—" he held up an image of my scarred, hunched former self, "—to this." A magazine cover from Milan Fashion Week.
"Objection!" Ricci stood. "Counsel is badgering the witness."
"Sustained." The judge frowned at Donati. "Move on, Counselor."
"Miss Whitestone," Donati continued, undeterred, "isn't it true that your relationship with Cassian Vexley began immediately after you left London? That he provided financial backing for your fashion career?"
"Mr. Vexley helped me escape an abusive household," I replied evenly. "Our romantic relationship developed later."
"How convenient." His smile was venomous. "And now that relationship has ended, just as these proceedings begin. Another convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"
I met his gaze directly. "There was nothing convenient about ending my engagement to the man I love to protect him from false accusations manufactured by my stepmother."
A murmur rippled through the courtroom. Donati's eyes narrowed.
"So you admit your testimony is motivated by revenge against your stepmother?"
"My testimony is motivated by truth," I countered. "By justice for my mother, whose death was no accident."
"Speculation," Donati snapped. "Your mother's death was ruled accidental fifteen years ago."
"By investigators on my father's payroll."
Donati changed tactics. "Let's discuss your mother's mental state before her death. Isn't it true she was suffering from paranoid delusions? That she imagined conspiracies where none existed?"
Anger flared within me. "That was the narrative my father and Victoria created to discredit her. The financial records prove her concerns were entirely justified."
"Records you conveniently 'discovered' just as your fashion career was launching." He turned to the judge. "Your Honor, this entire case rests on documents that could easily have been fabricated by a young woman seeking revenge and publicity."
"The forensic analysis confirmed their authenticity," I said before Ricci could object. "As did the independent financial investigators."
Donati's smile tightened. "Let's talk about your father, Miss Whitestone. You claim he was emotionally abusive, yet he provided you with every advantage—education, social standing, financial security."
"He provided the minimum required to maintain appearances."
"And in return, you've dragged his name through the mud." He gestured toward my father, whose impassive expression hadn't changed throughout my testimony. "Is that how you repay his years of care?"
Something inside me snapped. "Care? Is that what you call threatening to institutionalize me when I discovered evidence of his crimes? Is that what you call standing by while his wife psychologically tortured his daughter for years?" My voice remained controlled, but vibrated with intensity. "My father cared about one thing only—his reputation. And now that reputation will reflect the truth of who he really is."
Silence fell over the courtroom. Even Donati seemed momentarily at a loss.
"No further questions," he finally said, returning to his seat.
As I stepped down from the witness stand, my father's eyes met mine for the first time—cold, calculating, but with something else beneath the surface. Not remorse, exactly, but recognition. He saw me now. Not as the scarred, invisible daughter he'd dismissed, but as a force to be reckoned with.
The remainder of the hearing passed in a blur. When court adjourned for the day, Ricci squeezed my arm.
"You did brilliantly," she whispered. "His lawyer's tactics backfired completely."
Exhaustion washed over me as I gathered my belongings. The emotional toll of facing my father, of speaking my truth publicly, left me drained. All I wanted was to return to my apartment, to collapse in private.
As I pushed through the courthouse doors, the waiting journalists surged forward, questions flying like arrows. I paused at the top of the steps, preparing to deliver a brief statement as Ricci had advised.
Then I saw him.
Cassian stood at the bottom of the steps, tall and resolute amidst the chaos. Our eyes locked across the distance, and everything else—the cameras, the questions, the courthouse behind me—faded away.
I moved toward him as if drawn by an invisible force, barely conscious of the photographers documenting every step. When I reached him, his hands gently framed my face.
"I'm sorry I wasn't inside," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "The investigators only cleared me an hour ago."
"You're here now," I whispered, tears threatening. "That's all that matters."
"I'm here now," he agreed. "And I'm never leaving your side again."
His kiss was both tender and fierce, a public declaration more powerful than any press statement. Camera flashes exploded around us, but I was beyond caring. After weeks of separation and secrets, of pretending our love was negotiable, we were finally free to stand together in the light.
When we broke apart, Cassian kept his arm around me as we faced the press.
"Mr. Vexley! Does this mean your engagement is back on?"
Cassian's smile was radiant. "It was never truly off."
"Miss Whitestone! How do you feel about today's testimony?"
I leaned into Cassian's strength as I answered. "The truth has a way of emerging, no matter how long it takes. Today was just the beginning."
As we walked to his waiting car, the headlines were already writing themselves. But for once, I welcomed them. Let the world see us together. Let them witness what real love looked like—not the sanitized fairy tale of beauty and wealth, but something harder-won and infinitely more precious.
A love that had survived every attempt to destroy it, and emerged stronger for the battle.
