Page 42 of Double Standards

Daniels blinks, caught off guard. Hell,I’mcaught off guard. This isn’t just sass—it’s protective. She’s defending me. And damn if that doesn’t hit me harder than it should.

Then I hear them—Trigger and Hunter, mostly—their voices cutting through the tension like blades. They’re swaggering toward us like they own the goddamn building, like they’re walking into a fight they’ve already won.Typical. I lift my chin in acknowledgment, a silent greeting, one we’ve all come to recognize in places like this where words don’t carry as much weight as looks do. There’s no time to stop and talk—not with Cassie leading the way like a woman on a mission—so I follow her through the heavy doors, into the courtroom without a word.

My eyes drop the second I’m behind her. Cassie’s ass moves with this effortless confidence, a subtle sway that borders on hypnotic. It’s maddening. The kind of motion that makes you forget where you are, or what’s at stake. My throat tightens, and before I even realize what I’m doing, my tongue swipes across my bottom lip like I’m dying for a taste.

Maybe I am. Not just for her body—though, hell, that’s a given—but for the control she has, the cool, calculated poise that somehow still manages to light me up inside. She walks like she owns the place, and for a second, I’m not sure if I’m following her into a courtroom or straight into hell. Either way, I’ll be behind her.

She stops at the defense table, gesturing for me to sit. I swallow the nerves and obey—for once—without a word. A firmsqueeze on my shoulders from Trigger and Hunter reminds me they’ve got my back and Cassie notices, offering them a quick smile and a subtle nod.

We rise as Judge Michaelson enters. Cassie stands tall, exuding confidence. She glances over at Daniels with quiet defiance, then turns back to me with a wink.

We’ve got this.She’s saying it without words.

And suddenly, that’s enough.

The arraignment begins. Cassie paces in front of the judge like she owns the floor. Not pleading, but commanding the room. Telling them exactly how it’s going to go.

Then Daniels opens his mouth, dragging out some bloated, half-assed argument about my supposed guilt, relying on headlines and hearsay like that’s enough to put me away. His voice is smug, too polished, but there’s a hint of desperation underneath—like even he knows he’s grasping at straws.

Cassie’s jaw tightens, her spine stiffening an inch. I can see it—he’s getting under her skin, and that pisses me off more than the accusations.

Judge Michaelson shifts in his seat, heavy robes rustling as he turns toward her. “Miss Caruthers. How does the defendant plead?”

She rises with all the grace of someone born to command a room. Not a flicker of doubt in her. Her hands smooth down her skirt—sharp and deliberate—and then she looks Michaelson square in the eye. “Not guilty, your honor.”

A beat of silence follows. I swear even the air holds its breath.

“On what grounds?”

“Lack of substantial evidence, a confirmed alibi, and wrongful accusation based on reputation.”

Goddamn. She doesn’t just say it—shemeansit. There’s no stutter, no hesitation. She’s not just defending me; she’s daring the whole room to prove her wrong.

The judge leans forward, turning to address Daniels. By thelook on his face, the judge is already unimpressed. “Can you present evidence to the contrary?”

Daniels is a mess. His confidence is unraveling by the second—he’s sweating through his cheap suit, flipping the pages of the file on his table like maybe the truth’s hiding between the lines. He looks like a priest caught mid-sermon at a strip club.

“Not at this moment,” he stammers, and I swear I hear someone snort quietly behind me.

Micahelson’s face hardens. “You pushed for an early trial, Mr. Daniels.”

“Yes, but?—”

“Miss Caruthers, anything further?”

Cassie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. She’s a statue carved out of cool defiance and raw brilliance. “Yes, your honor. Motion to dismiss the trial.”

The courtroom ripples with quiet murmurs—whispers like wind stirring just before a storm.

“Your honor!” Daniels barks, panic in his tone now.

The gavel cracks once, a warning thunderclap.

“Silence,” the judge bellows before returning his attention to Cassie.

She steps forward, undeterred by the commotion she’s caused as she continues, “…Insufficient evidence against my client. This trial is built on assumption and reputation. You can’t convict a man based on what hemighthave done. And you can’t try a man when there’s no evidence. My client deserves better than that. This courtroom deserves better.”

Her voice rings out, calm and sharp, every word sinking deep into the walls of this place like she’s etching it into history. She’s not just defending me—she’s dismantling the entire case with precision.