Page 1 of Carved

PART I

Chapter 1 - Lila

OCTOBER 2025

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" asks the bailiff, his voice booming in the courtroom.

“Yes,” I lie.

The word slides off my tongue smooth as silk, practiced as breathing. The bailiff doesn't flinch. The judge doesn't blink. They never do. Truth is such a malleable thing in courtrooms, stretched and molded until it fits whatever narrative needs feeding. Today, mine needs to devour.

I settle into the witness chair like I was born for it, spine straight, hands stacked. The black Armani blazer I chose this morning hugs my shoulders just right: authoritative without being aggressive, feminine without the frills. The jury's already watching me with that particular blend of curiosity and respect reserved for expert witnesses.

Good.I've earned every ounce of it.

"Dr. North," the prosecutor begins, his voice carrying that courtroom gravity that makes ordinary words sound biblical, "would you please state your credentials for the record?"

I lean forward slightly—not enough to seem eager, just engaged. "I'm a forensic psychologist specializing in violent offenders and domestic abuse patterns. I hold a doctorate from Yale University and have consulted on over three hundred cases involving intimate partner violence."

My voice carries perfectly to the back of the room. Clear, measured, educational. I don't perform for juries like toomany lawyers do; I teach them. There's a difference between demanding attention and commanding it.

"In your professional opinion, Dr. North, can you explain the escalation cycle typical in domestic abuse cases?"

Here we go. The meat of it.

"Abuse follows predictable patterns," I say, my gaze sweeping across the jury box like a professor addressing students. "It begins with intimidation: subtle control mechanisms designed to test boundaries. The abuser maps their victim's responses, identifies weak points, pressure points."

Juror Three—a middle-aged woman with worried eyes—starts scribbling notes.

"From there, control tactics intensify. Isolation from support systems. Financial manipulation. Psychological warfare disguised as concern." I pause, letting the weight settle. "Violence is rarely the opening move. It's the crescendo."

The defendant shifts in his chair. I don't look at him directly, but I feel his discomfort like heat off summer asphalt. His lawyer—expensive suit, cheap tactics—leans over to whisper something urgent in his ear.

"Dr. North," the prosecutor continues, "why do victims often remain in these relationships? What prevents them from simply leaving?"

The infuriating question everyone asks. The question that reveals how little they understand about surviving monsters.

I lower my voice just enough to make the courtroom unconsciously lean forward. "They learn early that vulnerability is punished. That resistance has consequences. Silence can be a form of survival. That doesn’t necessarily need to be a gendered conversation…but there’s room and validity to it, if you want to go there." Each word drops into the silence like stones in stillwater. "Leaving isn't the simplest choice when you're convinced it will get you killed, from what I have witnessed."

The truth tastes bitter on my tongue. Not because it's false, but because it's mine.

"Some victims adapt by becoming hyper-aware of their abuser's moods, anticipating violence before it erupts. This isn't weakness; it's a sophisticated survival mechanism. They become experts at reading danger because their lives depend on it."

Juror Seven—a young man with earnest eyes—stops writing and just stares. I've hooked him. The psychological profile I'm painting isn't just clinical theory. It's autobiography wrapped in credentials.

The defense attorney rises for cross-examination like a shark scenting blood. He's the type who thinks academic women can be rattled with aggression disguised as questioning.

He's wrong.

"Dr. North," he begins, voice pitched to suggest skepticism, "isn't it true that some women exaggerate or even fabricate claims of abuse for financial gain or custody advantages?"

The question hits exactly where he intends it to. My pulse quickens—not from fear, but from the familiar thrill of intellectual combat. He thinks he's found my pressure point.

Poor bastard.

"The more common lie is minimization," I respond, my voice ratcheting to ice-cold intention. "Victims tell you it wasn't that bad while their ribs heal under their clothes. They apologize for bleeding on his favorite shirt. They convince themselves that surviving means they're winning."

A murmur ripples through the jury box. I've given them something visceral, something that makes abstract statistics suddenly, horribly real. The defendant's lawyer realizes he's stepped into quicksand and tries to back away.