Page 28

MIA

The courthouse feels like a sauna.

I have no idea why. It’s not even April, for God’s sake. But the place is packed to the brim, the vents aren’t working, and my coat clings to me like a second and third skin.

I tell myself it’s the nerves, but Mom isn’t faring any better. “Oh, my,” she sighs, fanning herself with a magazine. “Ginny, where’s?—?”

“Here,” Ginny says, handing her a water bottle.

“Thank you, dear.”

Ginny . She isn’t meeting my gaze at all.

When she did her grand exit the other day, I was ready to take Eli and excuse myself, too, but Mom stopped me.

Apparently, Kallie had let the cat out of the bag about my court date, and my parents insisted on being there for me.

I tried my best to tell them it wasn’t necessary, that it was just a preliminary hearing, but they would not budge.

“You’re our daughter,” Dad said, like that explained everything. “Of course we’ll be there.”

Despite all my protests, part of me is glad they’re here. That they’re willing to stand by me even after I didn’t do it for them.

Guilt floods me at the thought. Ginny’s words from that afternoon are sticking in my mind. Because she was right, wasn’t she? I didn’t act like a good daughter. Didn’t even act like a halfway-decent sister.

You were acting like a mother, my conscience whispers. You couldn’t have done anything else.

Yeah. But maybe I could have.

“How ‘bout I take you folks inside?” Kallie says brightly to my family, trying to cut through the gloom with a forced cheer. “Show you all the cool bits of a city courtroom.”

She’s trying to give me space, I know. I love her for that—knowing what I need before I even know it myself.

Mom and Dad catch on quickly. Ginny scoffs, but doesn’t protest.

“See you in there!” Kallie says, then herds everyone neatly away.

Finally, I let out a big breath.

“Smart move,” Nikita whispers once they’re out of reach. “Now, you can stop being rattled by your witch sister.”

I lean against the wall and sigh. “Right. Better to be rattled by my impending doom.”

“Not with the best defense attorney in New York City.” Nikita shrugs. “Or so they tell me. Haven’t actually met the guy. Could be a myth for all I know.”

“That’s a reassuring thought.”

“Hey, the best ones stay out of the courtroom. Haven’t you ever watched TV? Boom, bam, motion, settlement. Home in time for happy hour.”

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

“Because of Brad?”

Yes. I press my lips tight and keep that answer locked inside me.

If there’s one thing Brad’s good at, it’s making everything so complicated you can’t see straight anymore.

It worked once, it worked twice, and a quick glance across the hallway tells me he has no reason to believe it won’t work a third time.

He’s standing there, all put together in his perfectly pressed white suit, hair freshly cut and face smooth as a baby’s rosy cheeks. He looks like he’s heading straight to Hollywood after this. Maybe Marvel will let him be their next supervillain.

For a second, our eyes lock.

He flashes two white rows of perfect teeth, mouthing something I can’t quite make out.

That’s a lie. Actually, I can.

See you soon, sweet thing.

I tear my gaze away. Moments later, Nikita is stepping between us, hackles raised. “Forget that douche,” she snaps. “You’re better than him. Any judge worth their salt will see that.”

But will they? I glance down at myself. I’ve done my best to clean up and dress up, courtesy of Yulian’s black card, but anyone could tell these clothes don’t belong on me.

My simple black dress is too nice, my blazer is too wide, and my brand-new pumps are cutting into my feet with every step.

I’m not made for this—pretending to be someone I’m not. Pretending to be better.

Then my phone buzzes.

I glance down, worried that it might be the school, but it’s not.

It’s Yulian.

Knock them dead.

His name on the screen immediately fills me with warmth. His words, too, slicing straight through the fog of my doubts.

I wish he could be here. I want him to hold me through this, want to squeeze his hand so badly it fucking hurts.

But he made it clear it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to appear at my side.

From what he told me, our lawyer’s already going to be hard to swallow: he’s got a bloody streak, a shady reputation, and the Bratva rumors following him out every door he steps through.

If Yulian was spotted sitting in my corner, too, it wouldn’t look good for me.

But I almost don’t care. I just want to feel his warmth, breathe in his scent. Want him to tell me it’s going to be okay.

“It’s almost time,” Nikita says, snapping me back to reality. “We should go in.”

That’s when I notice our party’s one man short. “But the lawyer…”

“You really need to watch more TV,” she sighs. “He’ll make an entrance. They always make an entrance.”

I’m not sure that’s accurate, but I don’t exactly have any other options.

I let her lead me inside.

We walk up to the defense table. Nikita sits behind me, in the audience but still within earshot. On the other side, Smithers is straightening up his papers, his half-moon glasses propped tidily on his nose. Brad is sitting next to him, a model citizen and a model father.

And a model fucking snake, too.

Meanwhile, my lawyer is nowhere to be seen.

The judge walks in. My pulse spikes.

Suddenly, all I can think about is everything that could go wrong. A million what-ifs, all crowding my mind, all ending up the same way.

With me losing my son.

“Good morning,” the judge says. She doesn’t look like her morning has been good so far, or like she’s glad to be awake at all.

“This court is now in session. This matter concerns a petition for custody, filed by the plaintiff, Mr. Bradley James Baldwin, regarding the minor child Eli Winters. The respondent is Mia Winters. Are both parties ready?”

Shit. What happens if my mystery lawyer doesn’t show up? I try to rack my brain, but I didn’t prepare for this. I’m a nurse, not an officer of the court—just what the hell am I supposed to do? Stand up, shout “objection,” and pray?

“The plaintiff is ready, Your Honor.” Smithers’s calm, firm voice carries across the courtroom.

“Good. Let the record reflect both parties are present and represented by—” the judge stops. “Ms. Winters, where is your counsel?”

“Where the hell is our guy?” Nikita mutters under her breath.

Fuck. The judge is staring right at me, expecting an answer. “Your Honor,” I blurt, standing up. “My, my counsel is?—”

“Right here, Your Honor.”

Thank fucking God.

A man in a tailored navy blue suit strides confidently up to me.

He has dark, slicked-back hair and a hint of stubble.

His eyes are odd: deep blue, almost as dark as his suit, but with an amber center you can’t help but stare at.

Central heterochromia, I remember from my med school textbooks.

The effect is eerie. Like he sees more than everyone else does.

But right now, I don’t give a shit if he’s a Playboy model. All I care about it’s that he’s finally here.

He settles next to me and puts his suitcase on the table. “Isaak Noskov for the defense.”

The judge doesn’t look too impressed with him. “You’re late, Mr. Noskov.”

“I prefer to think of it as right on time.”

“This is outrageous,” Smithers protests. “Your Honor, Mr. Noskov has been remiss in his duties. He has had the audacity to arrive late and waste this court’s time. I ask that he be held in contempt of?—”

Just as Smithers is about to finish his sentence, the courtroom clock strikes nine.

“I think we can dispense with the outrage, counsel,” the judge sighs, waving away whatever Smithers was going to say next. “We all know Mr. Noskov likes to make an entrance. Now, tell me, Mr. Noskov: are you ready?”

“I was born ready, Your Honor.” He says it with a hint of cockiness, like he’s quoting a bad cliché on purpose.

The judge looks even more exhausted by him. “Yes, yes, we are all in awe. Now, if you please…”

Smithers begins his pompous opening statement. It goes on forever, detailing my appalling conduct as a mother, a woman, and generally a human being. I feel like this would be a good place to object, but my lawyer doesn’t lift a finger.

I’m about to say something myself when he leans in and whispers, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk.”

“But he’s lying,” I grit. “He’s?—”

“Ms. Winters,” Isaak interrupts, “Yulian asked me to step in for your defense. If you want me to do that, you’ll need to do exactly as I tell you.”

“Says the guy who didn’t even bother to show up on time,” Nikita mutters.

Isaak shoots her an amused glance. “The way I see it, Ms. Morozova, everyone else is simply obsessed with being early.”

Nikita’s hackles rise at the mention of her last name. I can tell it’s a power play: they’ve never met, but he’s letting her know he knows her. It’s the kind of thing Yulian would do, I realize.

Whoever this guy is, he’s danger in a striped tie.

Which means Brad is in for one hell of a rude awakening.

“Today,” Smithers keeps droning on, “we will not only prove Ms. Winters is an unfit mother, but also?—”

“That she kills puppies for sport?” Isaak finally cuts in.

Smithers looks like he’s about to have a stroke. “How dare?—!”

“Your Honor, if opposing counsel is done testifying, I’d like to petition the court to dismiss this case.”

Finally, the judge looks up. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that it’s complete bullshit.”

My heart freezes. Is this guy insane? Is he trying to get us kicked out of the courtroom?

But the judge just massages the bridge of her nose. “In legal terms, Mr. Noskov, if we may?”

“Certainly.”

Isaak pulls out a picture. I recognize it from the Baldwin Construction gala—our grand entrance on the red carpet. Only, this one is enlarged on my wrist, a few bruises showing where my cuff had slid down.

“The plaintiff is a known domestic abuser, Your Honor. Putting a child in Mr. Baldwin’s house is all but guaranteeing a weekly trip to the hospital, if not worse.”

“That is an absurd allegation!” Smithers bellows. “My client has never been reported for domestic violence in his life. He’s an upstanding member of the community and?—”

Time slows down. I lose track of the discussion—of everything. My eyes are fixed on that spot, those bruises on my body in the picture. My heart is hammering, my breaths cut shorter and shorter.

“C’mon, sweet thing. You know I hate it when you make me hurt you.”

“Sidebar!” the judge roars. “Now!”

Isaak scoops up the pictures and walks up to the bench, whistling jauntily. Smithers follows him, still spewing his ongoing outrage for all to hear.

I stare at the empty spot in front of me and try to remember how to breathe.

“Hey,” Nikita whispers. Then, when I don’t answer: “Your Honor! Something’s wrong with her.”

Isaak swirls around. There’s a hungry glint in his eye, like he’s just seen something he can use.

Good, is my last coherent thought. Use it. Use me.

Anything to keep my son safe.

Then the world goes dark.