Page 36

Stevie

When Madame Bertrand found out why I had to be back in New York for an indeterminate period of time, she flew me there on her private jet. And joined me.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she says in her lilting accent. “We will face this together. He is but a small, insignificant little man.”

I give her a shaky smile. “Thank you for coming with me.”

We’re on our way to the courthouse and I didn’t sleep at all last night.

My stomach has been threatening to revolt all morning and the thought of sitting on the stand and reliving all the horror of that day threatens to send me spiraling into a vortex of shame, anxiety, and embarrassment. I’ve finally gotten some semblance of my life together—professionally at the very least—and this is going to be a huge step backward.

I talked to my therapist twice yesterday, and Chey, Saylor, and Effie, are all meeting me at the courthouse. Along with Marcie and Cassius, Alexa Humboldt, and even my sister flew in. I didn’t even ask her to, she simply sent me a text and said she wanted to be here for me.

Madame Bertrand and I are in a limo, and I cringe when I see hundreds of reporters outside the courthouse as we pull up.

“It will be okay, cherie ,” she says, softly squeezing my hand. “Also, I have a surprise for you.”

Cherie . Dear.

The way she talks is enchanting, and I’m usually charmed.

Unfortunately, today I’m afraid I’m going to puke.

“Surprise?” I ask in a halting voice, hands on my stomach.

“Yes, yes. Be patient.”

The limo slows to a stop and the private security I hired jumps out of the SUV that followed us. I wait until they open my door, then I force my legs to move.

These guys are part of the security company Saylor uses, and she asked them to come to New York specifically for the trial. For me .

“Breathe,” says the bigger guy, who’s at least six five and goes by the name of Grim. It’s a nickname—his real name is Landon Grimshaw—but most days I get a kick out of calling him Grim.

“Out of the way, please.” The other guy—who’s six three and built like the broad side of a mountain—is named Rage. Elliott Rageis spent a lot of time at the gallery earlier this year when Saylor had a stalker, so we’re friendly, and I’m grateful they both came to help me today.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions at me, but I keep my head down and walk past them. We get through security, and I see my attorney, Lorna Dobson, motioning to me. There’s a woman with her that I don’t know, and Lorna quickly introduces us.

“Stevie, this is Madeline Aronson.”

My eyes round. “Madeline…” Holy crap. Everyone in Hollywood has heard of her. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I finally ask in confusion.

“When I found out about what was going on, I thought maybe I could help. Sit with Lorna and observe…if you don’t mind?” The eyes behind her glasses are razor sharp and focused on me.

“I…” I frown, struggling to understand what’s going on.

“No charge,” she says softly. “Bettina called me. You did a wonderful thing for Marty—and once I read the details of the case against Damien, I knew I wanted to help if possible. Men like him do not get a pass. I don’t care how good their lawyers are.”

Bettina .

Madame Bertrand.

“I appreciate it,” I whisper, suddenly choked up. “Thank you.”

“All right, let’s do this.”

“Stevie!” I know Chey’s voice anywhere and she sweeps me up in a tight hug. “I’m here,” she whispers. “We’re all here and we’ve got your back. No matter what happens.”

“Thank you.” I’m on the verge of tears, nauseated and anxious, but having this kind of support means a lot.

Hell, it means everything.

“You doin’ okay, baby girl?” The concern in Cassius’s voice makes me smile.

“Hey. Thank you for coming.”

“Marcie had to work but she wants you to know she’ll be here tomorrow.”

“You guys don’t have to be here every day.”

“Every. Day.” He says it firmly. “Until that motherfucker is in prison.”

“Th-thank you.” I hate being so emotional but can’t seem to help it. It’s huge that the people I care about most are all here.

Well, all but one of them.

But that’s my own fault.

“Shall we go inside?” Lorna asks.

We move into the courtroom en masse, and seat ourselves in the gallery. My group of friends takes up the two rows behind us, and Saylor leans over to whisper, “Harper says she would be here if she hadn’t just given birth to a baby boy.”

“Oh!” I turn, giving her the first genuine smile of the day. Maybe even of the week. “I’ll have to call her.”

But first, I have to get through today.

Maybe the next couple of weeks. There’s no way to know how long the trial will last. Lorna has been in constant contact with the prosecutor, who says Damien’s lawyer has filed all kinds of motions and the witness list is extensive. What he doesn’t know, though, is that we’re prepared. And for some reason, even though she’s technically not my attorney, having Madeline here gives me hope that things might go quicker than expected.

I’m not on trial—I didn’t do anything wrong—but I know it’s going to be tough to relive the nightmare with Damien sitting just a few feet away. And I’m prepared for them to try to twist the narrative, to make me look like the bad guy.

I tense the moment the doors open.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Damien since that morning eleven months ago.

He looks…older. More mature in some ways. More tired in others.

He’s wearing an expensive suit and has grown a short beard, but he’s still Damien. The same arrogant, spiteful ass he always was. I just didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

When his eyes find mine my skin crawls with disgust. And the hatred I see in his is impossible to miss.

“Breathe,” Lorna whispers. “You’re safe .”

I don’t fucking feel safe.

The need to run is almost overwhelming, but I know Rage and Grim are right behind me.

I’m safe.

Damien cannot hurt me.

I have to keep telling myself that.

My hands feel icy and it’s hard to concentrate as Damien takes his seat and the attorneys make their opening statements. Madeline whispers something to Lorna, who nods and jots something down on her notepad. I honestly don’t even care. All I can do at this point is focus on breathing.

In.

Out.

Slow.

Steady.

I avert my gaze so Damien isn’t even in my peripheral vision, trying to keep my nerves as steady as possible.

His lawyer is smarmy-looking too, with slicked-back hair and beady eyes.

Gross.

His opening statement is even grosser.

A long, rambling diatribe about a man pushed to his limits by a wild, out-of-control girlfriend who was always partying, drunk, and asking for money. How when he discovered the pregnancy test in the trash—and the hidden packed suitcase in the closet—he knew she was going to kill his child. He was driven to protect his child, even though it ultimately hurt the mother.

Temporary insanity.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I look to the prosecutor in horror but she appears totally calm, not even a little bit impacted by his speech.

The prosecutor’s speech is far more believable, talking about how she would show a history of emotional, verbal and even physical abuse that became more intense and more frequent as time went on. How there are multiple witnesses who observed his abusive behavior in person. How I was the one afraid for my life as I tried to escape his ongoing mistreatment and attempts at isolation.

It sounds good but I can tell that the jury doesn’t look convinced.

Instead of looking at him suspiciously, they’re looking at me.

I shiver even though it’s not cold in the room.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and glance back, giving a small, grateful smile to Madame Bertrand.

Today already feels endless, and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.

The first witness is a guy I literally have no recollection ever meeting. Supposedly, he worked with Damien. He talks about a company dinner where I got drunk and embarrassed Damien.

“I swear to you, that never happened,” I whisper to Lorna.

“It’s okay. They’ve got this.”

Madeline is also scribbling on her pad and she passes a note to Lorna, who smiles.

The next guy is Damien’s best friend, Jim. The same guy he desperately wanted to walk with Chey at our wedding party. Damien had been determined to set them up, and I’d gone along with it at first because Chey was single. Then she met Ivan and things got complicated, both for me and for her.

Those were dark days, and I’m still embarrassed about how I behaved, so focused on pleasing Damien I didn’t see how I was pushing away my friends. Thank goodness Chey didn’t just walk away once I started doing everything Damien asked of me.

Luckily, even though he has four witnesses, their testimony is all quick and mostly inane, despite portraying me as a party girl who drove Damien crazy with my wild ways. Drove him to do something drastic. Drove him insane .

By the time we break for lunch I’m in tears.

“I need a minute,” I whisper, rushing to the bathroom.

I get to the toilet in time to heave up the contents of my stomach and then put a hand on the wall for support. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I’m supposed to be the victim.

I am the victim.

He attacked me and essentially changed the course of my life.

I can’t ever have a child because of him.

I’m emotionally scarred because of him.

He fucking broke me, and now they’re making me out to be the perpetrator.

A sob escapes me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to find even a modicum of the strength I’ve been working on the last eleven months.

I hear footsteps and try to tamp down my sobs but I can’t.

“Babe.”

The voice is absolutely not female.

Who the hell is in the bathroom?

I feel a moment of alarm.

“Babe, it’s me . Open the door, honey.”