Chapter 69 69. Bail Hearing
He looked at me the way someone might look at gum stuck to their shoe. His mouth pulled tight, his eyes cold as they moved from my legs swallowed by Lucien's shoes, to the expensive jacket drowning me, to my tangled hair.
Judge Raymond Caldwell.
I'd seen that expression before-on my mother when I disappointed her, on precinct guards who thought I was a spoiled rich girl begging for special treatment.
This man had already decided I was guilty.
Miranda stood beside me, her hand brushing my elbow in a quiet attempt at comfort. Across the aisle, the prosecution team watched me like sharks scenting blood.
"All rise," the bailiff announced, though we were already standing.
Judge Caldwell settled back in his chair like a man preparing to deliver a verdict he'd written in advance.
"Miss Sterling, you're charged with vehicular manslaughter. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty, Your Honor," Miranda answered before I could.
"Mm." The sound was dismissive. He looked down at the papers in front of him. "I've reviewed the evidence. The prosecution may proceed with their bail recommendation."
The lead prosecutor-a man in his fifties with silver hair and a granite face-stood.
"Your Honor, the People request that bail be denied. Miss Sterling is a significant flight risk. She has access to substantial financial resources through her relationship with Lucien Hayes. The evidence is overwhelming."
I didn't flinch. I'd spent all night preparing to hear this.
"Furthermore, Miss Sterling has shown a pattern of erratic behavior. Her statement to police suggests possible delusional thinking, claiming the victim had already been dead for months. She's a danger to society."
A ripple of low judgment filled the courtroom.
Judge Caldwell's gaze cut to me. "Defense?"
Miranda stepped forward. "Your Honor, Miss Sterling has no criminal record. She has deep ties to the community through Mr. Hayes and her charity work. She's willing to surrender her passport, wear a monitoring device, and comply with any conditions the court sets."
"The toxicology report," Judge Caldwell interrupted. "Is it complete?"
The prosecutor handed a document to the bailiff. My stomach twisted as the judge read, his expression giving nothing away.
The silence stretched. I could hear someone coughing in the back row. The scratch of a pencil on paper. My own pulse thundering in my ears.
Please, I prayed. Please, please, please.
Judge Caldwell set the paper down.
"The toxicology report confirms the presence of psychoactive substances in Miss Sterling's blood at the time of her arrest."
My knees almost gave out. Miranda's hand was suddenly at my elbow, holding me steady. I couldn't process anything after that. Not his words, the whispers, nor the shifting bodies around me.
"The defense has raised valid points about Miss Sterling's lack of prior criminal history..." something in his tone made me look up, "...and her ties to the community."
Wait. What?
"Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars."
The courtroom erupted in murmurs. The prosecutor looked shocked. Miranda's grip on my elbow tightened. Relief or surprise, I couldn't tell.
"Conditions are as follows," Judge Caldwell continued. "Miss Sterling will surrender her passport. She will wear a GPS monitor. She is not permitted to leave New York City. Curfew is 8 PM to 7 AM. She will reside at an approved address-" his eyes landed on mine, and a thin, unsettling smile touched his mouth, "-not with Mr. Hayes. Weekly check-ins with her probation officer. No contact with anyone tied to this case. Violate any condition and bail is revoked."
The gavel struck.
"Next case."
Just like that, my life splintered.
Miranda was pulling me toward the side door, but I couldn't stop looking back at Judge Caldwell. He was already reviewing some papers probably for the next hearing.
Why had he let me go?
Our eyes met across the courtroom for just a second. His were still unreadable, while mine was searching for answers, and then Miranda was pushed me through the door into a hallway where Lucien was waiting.
It took three hours to process everything. The bail money, the ankle monitor that they fitted to my leg like a shackle, the paperwork outlining every restriction on my freedom.
Maya arrived with clothes which I changed into at the bleach-stinking bathroom.
When I emerged, Lucien was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looked charming as always, even with his heavy eyes that told me he didn't sleep well last night.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready for what came next. The car ride was silent, Maya in the backseat, Lucien staring straight ahead. Too many things unsaid.
When we entered the living room, Maya cleared her throat awkwardly.
"I'm going to... check the mail. Or something." She grabbed her keys and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Lucien stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on me like he wasn't sure if he had permission to breathe.
"I should go," he said, though his feet didn't move.
"Yeah."
He closed the distance between us in two strides. His hands cupped my face, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
"Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Okay."
"We're going to figure this out, Camila." His voice broke on my name. "I swear to you."
He kissed me, desperate, almost frantic like he could pour all his promises into that moment. I kissed him back, clinging to him, terrified this might be the last time.
"I love you." He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He left before I could fall apart.
The moment the door closed, I sank to the floor. My body shook slightly from the sobs threatening to start, but I held it all back. Maya came back inside, because of course she hadn't actually gone to check the mail, and she held me.
"You're innocent," she rocked me like a child. "We'll prove it."
"What if we can't? What if I go to prison?"
"You won't."
"But what if I do?" I pulled back to look at her. "Maya, I'll lose everything. Lucien, you, my life, everything I've been trying to build. Do you know, I want to become a published writer now. I also want to start a mental relief fund for first time mothers in honor of Clara..."
"Aww, baby," she kissed my hair. "We will fight with everything we have, and you will do all that you want to do, including that penthouse dream, okay? I love you, cupcake."
The tears finally fell, and I cried until there was none left, until my throat was raw and my head pounded. Maya made me tea I didn't drink and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.
The ankle monitor was heavy on my leg. A constant reminder that I wasn't and might never be free again.
\--Lucien's POV--
The penthouse felt cavernous without her.
My sleep lasted maybe twenty minutes before giving up and moving to the kitchen. Made coffee I didn't want. Stared out at the city lights and tried to think.
There had to be a loose thread. Ronan is sloppy. He wouldn't have framed her this cleanly without leaving something behind.
I was so focused on my thoughts that I didn't hear the door or the footsteps until Rafael's voice cut through the silence.
"Lucien-"
"It's sir," I said without looking at him. "Or Mr. Hayes, if you prefer."
A pause. "It's been a month, and you're still mad at me? This isn't how brothers fight."
"I'm not your brother."
I heard him shift his weight. Good. Let him be uncomfortable.
"I overstepped," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry."
I finally turned to look at him. He stood with hands at his sides, looking more uncertain than I'd ever seen him.
"I'll be away from Hayes Corp for a while. Handle things in my absence. Send daily reports. That's all."
"Lucien-"
"And don't enter my penthouse again without ringing the bell first."
Rafael's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Understood, Mr. Hayes."
He turned to leave, and I went back to staring at my coffee. The silence settled over the penthouse once again.
At 2 AM, my phone rang.
"Miss me, brother? We need to talk about your girlfriend's future."