Chapter 57 CHAPTER 57
Judgement
The courtroom was so quiet you could hear the creak of the judge’s chair as he shifted his weight. The air was thick, heavy, as though every breath taken by those inside carried the weight of destiny. Chloe sat on one side with her lawyer, shoulders trembling, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
Across the aisle, Tessa sat composed, Ayisha at her side but noticeably distant, her eyes dim with regret and confusion. By this time, lady Bianca was absent, but her influence was everywhere, hanging like a poisonous mist over every whispered comment in the gallery.
Ares sat stiff in the back row, silent. He hadn’t taken the stand, hadn’t been asked to testify. His role here was reduced to a spectator. But his heart thudded violently inside his chest, his fists curled so tight he could feel his nails cut into his palms. Every fiber of him screamed to fight, to stand and declare the truth, but the machinery of the court had swallowed his voice long ago.
The judge adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. A ripple of anticipation washed through the courtroom.
“After reviewing the evidence submitted before this court,” the judge began, his voice low but steady, “including the testimonies, the medical reports, the incident records, and the charges filed…” He paused, glancing at the faces before him, “this court finds the defendant, Chloe Langford, guilty of assault and aggravated harassment.”
A gasp rose from the gallery. Chloe’s lips trembled, her lawyer squeezed her arm, whispering something, but she didn’t hear it. Her world tilted.
The judge continued. “Furthermore, in the case concerning negligence and the near drowning incident of one of the minors, coupled with prior aggressive behavior, this court rules in favor of the plaintiff, Tessa Monroe. Therefore, Chloe Langford is hereby sentenced to ten years in prison.”
The words cracked like a whip across the room. Ten years. Ten years. The sound echoed in Ares’s ears like a cruel drumbeat. He surged forward in his seat, his breath caught in his throat, but his body froze when Chloe collapsed forward, covering her face in her hands.
The judge wasn’t done. “As for the custody of the minors—Jamal, Kamal, Beauty, and Pretty—this court recognizes their biological mother, Tessa Monroe as the rightful guardian. Custody is hereby awarded to her.”
The children’s names cut through the air like sacred bells, stabbing into Ares’s chest. His head dropped, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
Tessa sat up straighter, her lips curving into a thin smile that she quickly masked with a look of faux sorrow. Ayisha beside her stared straight ahead, motionless, as though carved from stone. She didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe.
The judge closed the file. “This case is hereby concluded. Court adjourned.”
The gavel struck the block, final, irreversible.
The room erupted into murmurs. Journalists scribbled furiously, cameras clicked, some people rushed to the exits to send the breaking news to the internet. Already, headlines would be forming:
“Chloe Langford sentenced to 10 years in prison!”
“Custody of Quadruplets awarded to Tessa Monroe!”
“Ares loses everything—no wife, no children, no victory.”
Chloe sobbed as the bailiff touched her arm gently, urging her to stand. Her knees buckled, and for a moment she clung to the table, eyes searching the room desperately. When they found Ares, her lips parted, her eyes pleading.
Ares rose instantly. He wanted to run to her, to tear her away from the guards, to hold her and promise it wasn’t over. But his body felt chained, his power clipped. He could do nothing but lock eyes with her, silently screaming, I’m sorry. I failed you. You weren’t the best, but ten years?
The guards escorted her out. Her cries echoed in the hallway until they were gone.
Ares slumped back into his seat, his heart cracking open, bleeding in a way he hadn’t felt even in his darkest days. His children. Chloe. All stripped away in one morning.
Tessa, however, stood and gathered her things as though nothing had happened. Ayisha followed slowly, her expression stormy.
“Congratulations,” one of the reporters called out. “How does it feel to finally reclaim your children?”
Tessa smiled tightly. “It feels like justice.”
Her words burned Ares’s ears. Justice? The word was an insult, a blade to everything he had done for those kids—the sleepless nights, the scraped knees, the lullabies, the birthdays, the sacrifices.
As Tessa brushed past, she dared to glance at him. Their eyes locked. Hers gleamed with triumph, but deep inside, something flickered—fear? doubt? He couldn’t tell. Ayisha, however, slowed near him, her lips pressing together as though she wanted to say something, then thought better of it.
She left with Tessa.
When the courtroom emptied, Ares remained. He sat alone in the echoing chamber, staring at the judge’s bench as though answers might still fall from it. His lawyer approached, gathering papers into a briefcase.
“I’m sorry,” the lawyer said softly. “We’ll appeal. There are inconsistencies in their claims. But… it will take time.”
Ares didn’t respond. He simply stood, pushing his chair back with a hollow scrape, and walked out into the blazing sunlight of the courthouse steps.
The world outside was chaos. Journalists surged forward like a tidal wave, shoving microphones in his face, flashing cameras blinding him.
“Mr. Ares, what do you have to say about losing custody of the children?”
“Do you regret marrying Chloe?”
“Will you fight for appeal?”
Ares kept walking. His black car was waiting at the curb, his driver tense and alert. Security guards tried to hold back the crowd, but the noise was deafening. Every step he took felt like trudging through quicksand.
Finally, he reached the car. He paused before entering, turning to face the cameras just once. His eyes burned with raw grief and fury.
“I will never stop protecting my children,” he said, voice low, steady, and terrifying in its calmness. “This is not the end.”
Then he slipped inside the car, and the driver pulled away.
The ride home was silent, except for the hum of the engine. Ares sat staring out the window, the city blurring past. His reflection in the glass looked hollow, broken.
When they reached the mansion, he stepped out into the quiet driveway. No laughter, no voices of Jamal, Kamal, Beauty, or Pretty running to greet him. No Chloe waiting with her evil smile. The house was cavernous, a monument of wealth now stripped of meaning.
He walked inside. Each room mocked him, the children’s toys in the corner, Chloe’s favorite mug in the kitchen, the framed photos on the walls. He reached one and touched it: Chloe cradling the babies when they were barely a year old, his arm around her shoulders, both smiling.
Now he had nothing.
Night fell heavy. Ares sat alone in the living room, lights off, a glass of whiskey untouched beside him. Memories flooded his mind—the first time he held Jamal and Kamal together, the way Beauty used to cling to his leg, Pretty’s endless giggles when he tossed her in the air. Every bedtime story, every scraped knee, every kiss Chloe pressed to his cheek.
His chest heaved. His breath came ragged.
He had been stripped, humiliated, abandoned by a system that never cared for truth. His mother had maneuvered every thread, weaving a web that crushed Chloe and ripped his children from his arms. And Tessa, their mother, had played her part willingly.
But he wasn’t finished.
Rising, he stood before the darkened window, his reflection tall, cold, unyielding.
“They can take everything from me,” he whispered into the empty room, “but they cannot erase who I am. I will fight for my family. I will fight until my last breath.”
Outside, the night swallowed his vow.
By morning, the internet was on fire. News channels replayed the verdict on loop. Social media split in half—some rejoiced that Tessa had reclaimed her children, others wept for Chloe, calling her sentence unfair. Hashtags trended: #JusticeForChloe, #QuadrupletsCustody, #AresFallsFromGrace.
The world moved on. But Ares could not.
He had lost Chloe to prison. He had lost his children to Tessa. And for the first time in years, he went to bed with nothing—not even hope.
But deep inside, beneath the wreckage, a fire still smoldered.
And it would burn again.