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“You’re saying that as if I had a chance to lose.”
“You did.” It’s Aspen who speaks with a slight lift in her brows. “In fact, you might have gotten lucky at the end.”
“Turning the defense’s witness against him isn’t lucky, Aspen. It’s hard work.” Though luck might have played a little part in it.
Our evidence wasn’t rejected as we thought it would be. Not only that, but Karen, Sandra’s stepmother, visited me late at night to tell me she wanted to make up for her mistake.
The look on Matt’s face was priceless when she took the stand as a witness in Sandra’s favor for all the shit she’d witnessed over the years.
Pearce wasn’t even trying to save face at the end and kind of let Matt fall on his own. I demanded his entire fortune for compensation but only got sixty percent, and Sandra just announced to the press that she’d donate most of it to the women’s and children’s organizations in hopes of helping people like her.
Now, the prosecutor is pushing harder for the criminal case. He gave Matt a plea deal to take twenty-five years in prison or he won’t only charge him with a Class B felony, but will also file each case of physical assault separately.
I demanded that of the prosecutor after I met with him or I would’ve dragged him in front of the media. They’re fans of me, Sandra, and Lauren, and started a movement called #SaveSandra, so if I called for a press conference and accused him of slacking, he would’ve received huge backlash.
So he decided to do the right thing. For once in his bloody rotten existence.
I still think twenty-five years in prison is too little for all that Sandra suffered, but it’s better than the alternative.
Even though she still has a long road ahead of her, this is a good start.
Despite my relief about the outcome, the sense of joy I thought I would feel is nonexistent. It’s muddied by a gloomy shadow that keeps hovering over my head.
A shadow so large and thick that I can’t see through it.
I don’t let anything show on my face, though. I smile and take the others’ congratulations with my usual arrogance while all I want is to vanish into thin air.
When I finally get to my office, I throw my weight on the sofa and close my eyes. My hand fists then flexes on my thigh in sync with my loud heartbeats.
I might have won today, but something is off. Or more like, a few things.
First, Pearce’s apathy. Second, the general atmosphere in the courtroom. And last but not least, the way everything fell into place without any interference.
It’s almost as if Matt was dropped by the mob, which explains his pale face even before he lost. It’s like he had a premonition about what would happen and only waited for the other shoe to drop.
There’s a knock on my office door and I open my eyes as Daniel walks in.
It’s been a week since the day I nearly beat him to death, but instead of giving us the space we both need, he’s been there like a thorn in my side, one I’m tempted to punch every time I see him.
“I see congratulations are in order.” He smiles, flopping on the chair across from me.
“You fuck off.”
“You sure? I thought you’d want to hear what Anastasia told me that day.”
I sit up straighter, every bone in my body coming to attention at the mention of her name. It’s only her name, but it’s gained a presence, a sharp one at that, and it’s slashing through my chest and fucking up my organs.
For a whole week, I haven’t been able to live properly. Each inhale is filled with the suffocating lack of her presence. And each exhale is choked with the emptiness she left behind.
Whenever I look, there’s no sign of her soft smile and peaceful presence. It’s as if she was never there in the first place.
But she was.
Every inch of me remembers her sweet scent, her delicate skin, and how right she felt in my arms. Every inch of me remembers her, whether as Anastasia or Jane doesn’t matter. She was only ever one person to me.
And I got used to her more than I’d like to admit. I got so used to her that my life has felt dysfunctional since she’s been gone.
It’s become so bad that I smelled the orange-scented shampoo she left behind in a fruitless attempt to recreate her presence.
