Page 81 of Double Standards

The room erupts into murmurs—whispers of disbelief and confusion spreading like wildfire. Behind me, the guys are slapping my shoulders, cheering in my ear. I exhale slowly, the weight lifting from my chest, but the tension remains.

I stay still, face stoic, while Cassie quietly packs up the documents on the table.

We’re not out of the woods yet. But for now, this battle is won.

I feel her stare before I even lift my head, like heat pressingagainst my skin, sharp and deliberate. When I finally meet her eyes, the world narrows to that one glance. No words pass between us, but they aren’t needed. It’s all there—pride, frustration, something deeper underneath.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for her to say something. Or maybe she’s waiting for me to. Instead, it’s tension wrapped in silence. I can still hear her voice from earlier, confident and cutting. And beneath that, the question I’ve been avoiding since I woke up this morning:What the hell are we now?

She steps toward me, hand extended like this is any other moment. Like this is just routine. But this isn’t just a handshake, and we both know it.

I clasp her hand anyway. It's automatic. Expected. A performance for a room full of nobodies. Her grip is firm, polished, practiced. There's no warmth in it. No emotion. It feels transactional. Cold.

It shouldn’t feel like a goodbye, but it does.

When she pulls away, she turns without hesitation. She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t hesitate. And I just stand there, hand still tingling with the ghost of her touch and a tightness in my chest I wish I didn’t recognize.

And as I stand there in a room full of people and still feel completely alone, I realize something I never thought I would.

I might be a free man now. But I’ve never felt more locked out than I do when she lets go of my hand.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ileave him behind with the quiet click of my heels and the echo of everything we didn’t say ringing in my ears.

The hallway outside the courtroom is colder than I expected. I don’t know if it’s the air conditioning or the weight of the moment finally sinking in, but my arms wrap around my body out of instinct. I don’t look back. I can’t.

That handshake was meant to be professional—clean, final, necessary.

But it felt like cutting a wire I wasn’t ready to admit was still connected.

I told myself this was always going to be transactional. That what happened between us—behind doors, in stolen seconds and charged silences—was a byproduct of proximity, pressure, adrenaline. But walking away from Axel now feels like more than ending a case. It feels like tearing out a piece of myself and leaving it in that goddamn courtroom.

What are we now?

The question loops in my head like a record skipping on the same lyric. Whatarewe? Because I sure as hell don’t know.

He looked at me like he was waiting for more. Like that one touch wasn’t enough. And maybe it wasn’t. For either of us.

But I can’t give him anything right now. Not clarity. Not comfort. Not love—whatever that even means in a world as warped and dangerous as his.

I keep walking.

Down the corridor, towards the bathrooms where I can hide for just a minute before facing the world again. No doubt reporters will be storming the steps, awaiting the official verdict and statement from yours truly, but somehow I can’t stomach that simple part of my job, the easiest part of all.

The hardest part? It’s knowing that I’ve fallen for a man I might never get to have.

Not really. Not safely. Not freely.

And even if he’s out of a cell, we’re both still trapped—in pasts we haven’t outrun, in choices we keep making, in whatever this thing is between us that refuses to die.

He’s free. But I’m not sure I am.

I thought winning this trial would give me peace. But it’s only raised more questions than I know how to answer.

Get yourself together.

I push open the bathroom door and let it swing shut behind me, the echo bouncing back like judgment. Cool, sterile light hums above as I stagger toward the sink, gripping the edge of the counter like it might anchor me to something solid.