Chapter 190 CHAPTER 190
Michael’s POV
The courthouse was louder than usual. Not with sound but with expectation.
By the time I arrived, the press had gathered outside in thick clusters. Cameras flashed at every car that pulled up. Reporters stood on their toes, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever stepped out.
Today was the day.
Inside, the courtroom was already packed. Council members. Business leaders. Citizens who had once supported Alpha Raymond and those who wanted to see him fall.
He sat at the defense table, composed but visibly thinner than he had been weeks ago. His eyes met mine briefly when I entered. There was exhaustion there. But also resolve. Across the aisle sat Calderon. Calm. Immaculate. Controlled.
He rose first when the proceedings began. His voice carried easily across the room.
“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “this case is not about political rivalry. It is about accountability. Alpha Raymond misled the Council. He created a false narrative surrounding his wife’s alleged death. And his inner circle fostered an environment of aggression and instability.”
He paused deliberately.
“Specifically, the violent tendencies of his wife, Philly Greywood.”
A ripple of whispers moved through the courtroom. Philly sat behind Raymond, wrists no longer bound but guarded. Her expression remained steady. Calderon continued.
“We will demonstrate that she exhibited unprovoked aggression toward multiple parties. That she harbored hostility toward Jon Dover. And that her actions are consistent with the poisoning that followed.”
He stepped back.
“Call Rosaleen Greywood.”
Every head turned as Rosaleen was escorted in. She looked different from the polished socialite she had once been. The recent scandal had drained her of her usual arrogance. But she still carried herself with effort.
She took the stand.
Calderon approached her gently, almost protectively.
“Ms. Greywood,” he began, “can you describe your interactions with Philly Greywood?”
Rosaleen inhaled slowly.
“She was volatile,” she said. “Unpredictable.”
“In what way?”
“She threatened me. More than once.”
“Do you have proof of these threats?”
“Yes.”
She pointed to the ugly scar on her face. And another along her forearm. The courtroom murmured loudly.
“This injury,” Calderon said, “was inflicted by Philly Greywood?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After a confrontation at a private gathering.”
Philly’s jaw tightened slightly, but she did not speak.
Calderon nodded.
“And in your opinion, did she have the capacity for violence?”
“Yes.”
Calderon turned toward the judge.
“No further questions.”
Alpha Raymond’s attorney rose for cross examination.
“Ms. Blackwood, you recently faced public exposure involving explicit materials. Would you say your credibility has been compromised?”
Rosaleen’s eyes flickered briefly.
“I am here under oath,” she replied tightly.
“Did you not previously conspire with Alpha Roman Reign to undermine Evelyn Moon?”
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the witness stand.
“That is unrelated.”
“Is it?”
The attorney stepped closer.
“Is it not true that you had personal motives to destabilize the Greywood’s family?”
“I did not poison Jon Dover.”
“That was not my question.”
Tension filled the room.
But Rosaleen held firm. When she stepped down, Calderon looked confident. Too confident. The prosecution called a few more minor witnesses. Security footage. Character assessments. Subtle suggestions of instability. By midday, it felt as though the narrative was leaning in their favor. Alpha Raymond remained silent beside me. I leaned closer to him.
“Trust the process,” I murmured.
He gave a faint nod. Then the defense attorney stood.
“Your Honor, the defense calls Flora Dover.”
The room shifted instantly. Calderon’s composure faltered for the first time.
Flora entered slowly, supported by a cane. Her face was pale but determined. The gunshot wound had left her weaker, but not silent.
Gasps echoed softly as she took the stand.
“Ms. Dover,” the attorney began gently, “were you present at Anna Trent’s residence on the night of the alleged attack?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
She took a steady breath.
“I went to speak with Philly Greywood. Before I could enter fully, Calderon was already inside.”
The courtroom erupted in murmurs.
Calderon rose immediately. “Objection.”
“Overruled,” the judge said firmly.
Flora continued.
“He shot me.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
“He believed I would die.”
His jaw tightened visibly.
“Did you see him threaten anyone else?”
“Yes. He threatened Anna Trent and her daughter. He demanded Alpha Raymond be handed over.”
Silence.
“Did Philly attack him unprovoked?”
“No.”
“She defended herself.”
The shift was palpable.
The attorney nodded.
“And did you witness any involvement by Alpha Raymond in planning harm against Jon Dover?”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
Next, Maya was called.
She walked carefully to the stand, still recovering but steady.
“Did you hear Calderon make any threats?” the attorney asked.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said if Raymond was not delivered to him, he would kill everyone in our family. Starting with me.”
The courtroom buzzed loudly again.
“And did you see who poisoned Jon Dover?”
“No. But I know something.”
The room quieted.
“Jon Dover visited Calderon the night before he fell ill.”
Calderon stood abruptly. “Speculation.”
“I saw him enter the building,” Maya insisted. “And he left looking unwell.”
The defense attorney seized the moment.
“We request records of that meeting.”
The judge nodded.
Court adjourned briefly while documents were retrieved.
When they returned, security logs confirmed Jon Dover had visited Calderon’s office. The timing aligned precisely with the onset of his poisoning symptoms. The tide had turned. Calderon’s confident posture dissolved into controlled fury. By the time closing arguments concluded, the weight of testimony favored Raymond. When the verdict was announced, the courtroom held its breath.
“Insufficient evidence to charge Alpha Raymond with conspiracy or involvement in Jon Dover’s poisoning.”
Relief rippled through the defense table. Philly closed her eyes briefly. Alpha Raymond did not react outwardly, but I saw the tension leave his shoulders. Outside the courthouse, the press frenzy intensified.
Inside, he turned to me.
“It is not over,” he said quietly.
“No,” I agreed. “But today matters.”
That night, after ensuring everything was settled, I drove to Evelyn’s house. I did not call first. I did not warn her. When she opened the door, she looked surprised.
“Michael?”
“Go out with me,” I said.
She blinked.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
She studied me carefully.
“Alright.”
I took her somewhere simple. No cameras. No politics. Just a quiet restaurant by the river. For the first time in weeks, we spoke without strategy. Without fear. When I walked her home, I felt something inside me settle. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the folded document. She recognized it instantly.
“The contract,” she said softly.
The agreement we had signed at the beginning. Boundaries. Conditions. An arrangement built on caution. I looked at it one last time. Then I tore it in half. Then again. The pieces fell to the ground between us.
“Michael,” she whispered.
I lowered myself onto one knee.
Her eyes widened.
“I do not want conditions anymore,” I said steadily. “I do not want caution. I
do not want temporary.”
Her breath trembled.
“I want you. Fully. Publicly. Permanently.”
I held her gaze.
“Evelyn Moon, will you be my mate?”
Silence stretched for one fragile second.
Then she smiled.
“Yes.”