Chapter 113 Day Of Trial 2
Chapter 113 Day Of Trial 2
Danika's Pov.
We walked out of the mansion together, the bright morning sun hitting my face. Waiting at the end of the driveway was our private luxury vehicle. The driver was already standing by the rear door, holding it wide open for us. The windows were heavily tinted, shielding us from the outside world, which was a massive relief because I knew the courthouse would likely be crawling with local reporters eager to catch a glimpse of the Laurent-Ashworth family.
Lysander helped me slide into the leather backseat first, making sure the hem of my dress didn't get caught in the door frame, before climbing in right after me. The door closed with a solid, heavy thud, sealing us into the quiet, air-conditioned sanctuary of the car.
As the vehicle smoothly shifted into drive and began navigating down the long, private driveway, the reality of the situation came rushing back. The playful mood in the car shifted, settling into a quiet, focused determination.
I looked out the window, watching the gates of the estate recede into the distance. Lysander didn't say anything. He didn't offer empty platitudes or tell me not to worry. Instead, he simply reached across the space between us, his large palm sliding over mine. He laced his fingers tightly through mine, pressing his hand down against the seat, offering a silent, unyielding support that spoke louder than any words ever could.
I gripped his hand back, squeezing it with all the strength I had left. The courthouse was thirty minutes away, and Jared would be waiting.
The thirty-minute drive felt like both an eternity and a single, fleeting second. As the car rolled up the final avenue towards the courtroom, I gasped lightly. Just like I thought, there were already a lot of reporters there, packed tightly behind metal barricades, their massive camera lenses pointed like weapons. Microphones were raised in the air, and a low, buzzing hum of chatter vibrated through the glass of our car even before we came to a complete stop.
My heart did a familiar, nervous flutter, but I didn't let my expression change. The moment the driver pulled our car up to the designated drop-off zone, I noticed something else. Two identical black SUVs pulled up in perfect synchronization right behind us. The doors of those vehicles flew open immediately, and half a dozen heavily built men dressed in matching dark suits and earpieces stepped out onto the asphalt.
Lysander actually brought bodyguards. I shouldn't have been surprised, given his immense status and the high-profile nature of this trial, but seeing them deploy with military precision sent a profound wave of relief straight down my spine.
Lysander gave my hand one final, firm squeeze before releasing it. "Stay right next to me, sweetheart. Don't look at the cameras. Just focus on the doors."
"I'm ready," I murmured, my voice sounding much steadier than I actually felt.
The driver opened our door, and the chaotic noise of the world rushed into the backseat. Flashbulbs began exploding in rapid succession, creating a blinding, strobe-like effect across the plaza.
“Mrs. Laurent-Ashworth! Look over here!”
“Mrs Danika, do you have a statement regarding the nature of the charges?”
“Is it true the President of Ashworth Holdings personally financed the prosecution?”
“How were you able to meet Mr Laurent and how did he help you get rid of Jared Fox?”
“What is your next move?!”
The questions were completely crazy, hurled at us like rapid-fire ammunition by journalists desperate for a sensational headline. But Lysander’s team didn't give them a single inch. The bodyguards quickly formed a tight, impenetrable human wall around us, their massive frames physically shielding me from the aggressive press.
Lysander’s arm slid securely around my waist, his large hands resting against my hip as he guided me forward with powerful strides. The heavy, glass-paneled doors of the courthouse opened for us, and the moment we stepped inside the lobby, the deafening roar of the media was instantly cut off, replaced by the strict, echoing silence of a legal house.
We didn't loiter in the hallways. Escorted by a court bailiff, we were led directly into the main courtroom. The gallery was already partially filled with legal observers, a few sketch artists, and the prosecution team. Lysander and I walked down the center aisle, the sharp click of my pointed heels drawing every eye in the room. We took our seats behind the prosecutor's table, right in the front row of the wooden gallery.
I took another huge, centering breath, smoothing the fabric of my dress. The air in the courtroom was incredibly cold, smelling faintly of old wood and floor wax. I kept my eyes fixed on the empty wooden tables at the front, refusing to look back toward the doors. A few minutes later, a heavy metal side door chimed, and a sudden hush fell over the entire room.
The moment we had all been building toward had finally arrived. The trial started as Jared was brought into the court by some uniformed law enforcement officers.
I couldn't stop myself from looking. My eyes tracked him as he walked through the threshold, and a strange, unexpected sensation washed over me. Jared was dressed in a standard, bright orange department of corrections jumpsuit. His hands were bound together by a heavy set of handcuffs, which were chained securely to a leather belt around his waist, causing his ankles to shuffle awkwardly in his standard-issue slip-ons. His hair, which he used to spend hours styling to maintain his arrogant, upper-class image, was completely unkempt and messy. His face looked hollow, pale, and entirely devoid of the terrifying, smug confidence he used to wield like a weapon over me.
For a split second, our eyes met across the room. In the past, a single look from him would have sent me into a spiral of blind panic. But today, wearing my sharp revenge suit, sitting next to a man who truly cherished me, I felt absolutely nothing but a cold, detached nonchalance. Jared looked at my matching clothes with Lysander, his eyes lingering on the expensive fabric and the proud way I sat, and his shoulders slumped even further. He looked completely defeated before the judge had even entered the room.
The bailiff banged his gavel sharply against the wooden block. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Raymond Vance."