Page 8 of Matrimonial Merger (Lakeshore Empire #2)

Daphne

I stepped into a courtroom, shaking like a leaf next to my sisters Delanie, Dora, my mother, and Chloe.

Chloe insisted that if Cal wasn’t coming, she was.

Somehow, in this process, she’d stepped into the role of another sister.

And since my pregnancy got outed, she’d only felt stronger.

I sensed that I was the sister she never had.

Either way, having more women on my side comforted me. I had an army of smart women behind me.

Delanie held my hand and whispered, “It’s just a courtroom. You know what to do.”

I shook my head as we took our seats behind the prosecution. “I haven’t.”

“But you’re… a lawyer.”

“I didn’t practice criminal law.”

“Not even in an internship?”

I looked up and saw the man of the hour entering the room in a tailored suit next to his expensive defense attorney. His hair was freshly cut. It was like nothing happened to him. Somehow, even the threat of prison couldn’t bring him down. I shivered.

“The person I interned with is currently on trial. The man has never spent a day in criminal court until now, either,” I whispered back.

Chandler turned around, but missed our side of the court. Instead, he smiled at his parents.

“Where is the other woman?” Chloe asked.

“She’s on bed rest,” I whispered. “If you believe the Mail . Overdue.”

“Shit,” Chloe whispered.

“Leave her alone,” I said. “She’s a victim, too. Just like me, he groomed her. And now, he saddled her with a baby.”

“And he’s about to lose everything,” Mum added. “Poor thing is in for a reality check.”

I hoped they were right. I hoped that Chandler rotted.

I also felt genuine pain at the thought of a young woman being forced to raise a baby alone knowing that the man who impregnated her—the one who promised her everything—had done something so unforgivable.

He’d lose everything. I hoped at least she’d get to live off our divorce settlement for a minute.

We sat through opening statements. I wanted to vomit—both from the pregnancy and the nerves.

And the longer I sat, the more I had to pee.

But, I couldn’t pee. Because I was stuck here.

There was then a discussion of evidence and the long-awaited tape—the one the jurors swore they’d never seen—played.

The jury was a surprise to me. Though common in the US for low-level offenses, they were rare in the UK for anything less than a very serious crime.

It hammered home the importance of the case.

I didn’t watch the video. I stared at the jury, taking in their appalled reactions to the video.

I couldn’t tell if it was me—naked for all to see—or the way I looked strung out and coerced that bothered them.

I dropped my eyes, feeling so sick, and fiddled in my purse for a piece of paper, finding an old receipt, and passed it up to the prosecutor.

I’m pregnant and I really need to wee. -DD

It was the best I could do and I couldn’t be too proud. More than that, I needed a minute for quiet.

At an opportune moment following the horrendous video the prosecution requested a short recess at which point, one of his direct reports led me to the bathroom along with my Mum who refused to leave me behind.

Inside a cordoned off bathroom, I relieved my bladder but also had a bit of a cry sesh.

“Darling, it will be okay,” Mum said. “But you will not let him own this. Did you see the faces of those jurors?”

I flushed the toilet and left the stall, proceeding the to sink. Speaking to her reflection on the mirror before me, I said, “Yes. And do you know what they thought of me?”

“That you didn’t deserve this,” Mum said. “That he forced you to do this and then leaked it to the press.”

“I know,” I said. “But…”

“There is no but,”

I turned off the taps and dried my hands on a paper towel.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mum promised. “You will answer their questions and hold your head high because you are my daughter. And they will nail his ass to the wall or they will have to deal with me.”

Her voice was strong and her face gentle as she pulled me close and squeezed me tight. “You are so strong, Daphne. Your have your father’s desire for righteousness and my stubbornness. You will be fine.”

“I want you to be right,” I sniffled.

“It will be right. Okay. You will be fine. You are too good for him. You always were. You have a family behind you—a lot of angry women—and Cal. We will take care of him. We will end things for him. He won’t do this again, Daphne, because you spoke up.”

I nodded, trying to be brave, and patted my stomach, centering myself. It was all I could do.

“You have built a good life, Daphne. A life on your own?—”

“Yeah, but what if this is the moment that…” Tears welled and my throat tightened.

“What if this is the moment that everyone sides with him and decides I’m just some sort of whore who should have known better?

And now, I get to raise this baby in a media firestorm when I am nothing more than tabloid fodder.

And Cal will never be able to run for a second term and?—”

“We have too much more to do, Daphne,” Mum said. “You have done great things. And Cal will continue to do the same. And she… she will only know how brave her mother was, alright? She will believe only that her mother was great and strong.”

Her hand rested on my belly.

“Mum, I don’t even know?—”

“I just have a feeling. And in six pregnancies, I was never wrong about any of you,” Mum said.

I ignored her oracle predictions, but was grateful for my mother’s compassion in the darkest moment.

“Now, you are a Delphine and a Carlisle. Chin up. Stiff upper lip. You will manage, darling.”

And with that and tears dried, we left.

Walking back to the courtroom, my pulse raced.

I took the stand shortly after, terrified of what could happen.

Chandler smirked in a way that made me want to slap him.

I snapped. My stubborn, enraged, calculating side came out.

I would win this. I sat up, chin straight, and stared right at him.

The smirk faded. He knew I wasn’t giving in.

“Ms. Delphine, it is alleged that the accused distributed pornographic material without your consent in August of the previous year. Is that true?” The prosecutor began.

“Yes,” I answered, hands shaking less.

“And this was distributed without any of your knowledge?”

“That is correct.”

“Can you confirm what your relationship is to the accused?”

“He is my ex-husband,” I answered.

“And at the time this allegedly occurred, was the accused still your husband?”

Unfortunately, yes. I responded with a stern, “Yes. Our decree was signed but not yet approved by the judge. We legally were still married. However, we were both in committed relationships elsewhere.”

The prosecutor nodded and stepped back to grab a screenshot of the tape.

“I apologize for how hard this is, but I must confirm it. This is you, is it not?”

He showed me a photo of my drunken, likely drugged face, looking up at Chandler like an actress in a bad amateur porn.

“It is me,” I agreed. “However, that tape was taken probably a decade ago. I barely recognize that woman.”

“Understood. We all do change. Ms. Delphine, when did you find out about this tape’s circulation?”

“My divorce attorney called and warned me. It was shortly posted on various news sites and social media—usually slightly censored—but the whole tape made it to adult sites quickly. I had to issue takedown notices. It was awful.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Objection!” Chandler’s attorney said, rightfully so. “Relevance.”

The prosecutor sighed, “Withdrawn. Ms. Delphine, can I ask why you believe the tape was circulated?”

“I can only speak to my own belief,” I said in my best legal way.

“But, Mr. Walker was upset about his divorce settlement amount. This is well-documented in the numerous messages he sent to my email and phone. I gave those records to you all. However, I cannot confirm if the other intent was just to embarrass me. However, my belief is that he did want to hurt me in retaliation.”

“An act of revenge?”

I nodded. “That is what I believe. Either way, he did this without my consent. That I know for a fact.”

“Thank you. No more questions, My Lord.”

The defense attorney rose at his desk as Chandler looked on.

“Ms. Delphine, did you originally consent to the tape being taken?” He asked.

“I said he could take it at the time—or I must have. However, I realize I was under the influence which speaks to the fact that I was unable to consent to both the act performed and the filming of said act.”

The attorney smiled, satisfied. “Well, we’ve all done a little bit of that while drunk, certainly. Didn’t you go to university?”

“I attended Oxford. I can say to this day the only partner who has ever come onto me when I was so out of it was Mr. Walker.”

The court room murmured and the judge called for order. Once they were settled things continued.

“So, your current partner has never asked for something similar? You do not send intimate messages to him?”

I set my jaw, mortified that I was being led down this road. Thankfully, I was prepared for this and much worse.

“My fiancé would never do that, no. We established firm boundaries with consent soon into the relationship—largely due to my past history. Mr. Walker pushed this line frequently over the course of our relationship.”

“So, you’ve never sent a cheeky text or video?”

“Objection. Relevance? Is the witness on trial?” The prosecutor called out.

“I will answer it,” I said.

“Ma’am, I know you’re a barrister, but I will be the judge,” the judge said with a chuckle.

“It speaks to their relationship, which is relevant,” the defense said.

“I will allow it, then.”

I took a deep breath. “I do sometimes send cheeky text via encrypted messenger—as most couples do. However, I do not send these sorts of messages, no. But if I did, that would be between my future husband and me.”

“Why did you allow this to be recorded?”

“Because he pushed me into it. I told him to delete it later. He swore he did. Obviously, he did not.”

“So, Mr. Walker agreed to delete the video?”

I nodded. “Yes. And showed me that he had. However, I would now believe he kept a copy somewhere else.”

“Have you ever done this with any other partner?”

“Objection—”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Mr. Park, can you please stick to relevant details?”

The defense attorney didn’t show his anger.

He’d planted the seeds of me being a whore in the minds of the jury and that was the whole point—cruelty to discredit me.

Chandler crossed his arms, knowing the same.

I turned from him back to my mother and sisters.

And Chloe—the woman shooting daggers into the back of Chandler’s head. It gave me strength.

“Ms. Delphine, did you not engage in electioneering to harm my client after learning about the existence of the tape?”

“Electioneering?” I cocked my head to clarify.

“Did you fly to the UK to meet with a shadow cabinet minister who is currently Home Secretary?”

“I asked him what he knew about the matter,” I said.

“And interfered in an election.”

“Objection—”

“Relevance, yes, yes,” the judge said. “Can you explain your point, Mr. Park?”

“It speaks to motivation.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge sighed, annoyed.

“I am a citizen of this country. I was born here. I was a voter?—”

“And you voted in this election?”

“No,” I answered. “I left the UK. But there was no malice?—”

“Ms. Delphine, is your current partner a member of the Democratic National Committee in the United States?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And did he give the keynote address at their recent party conference?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And did you—alongside him—host a fundraiser for a presidential candidate in October of this year?”

“I did not,” I answered. “My mother did. And my mother is also a dual citizen who was born here. What is your point? Are you alleging I helped the Labour Party, which lost in a landslide? Or that I helped the Conservatives who ultimately won?”

“I ask the questions, Mrs. Walker.”

The name set me over the edge.

“It is Ms. Delphine. I reached out to an old friend and colleague after hearing concerning things about someone distributing my tape to members of the party. Lest you forget, I was actively involved in politics here—as a citizen and the wife of a prominent politician. But he was also a friend. It was not some great political plot. I was asking for help. Is that not allowed?”

I felt the eyes of the jury and looked back to see several members glaring at the attorney.

It was then that I realized I had the upper hand.

Or, rather, I realized Chandler and I both recognized it.

In what was hopefully only another few days, we’d have reason to celebrate a small victory—one that would restore me in a way I needed.