Chapter 56 up
“All rise!”
The clerk’s voice rang sharply through the overcrowded courtroom, bouncing off polished walls and high ceilings. Chairs scraped loudly as everyone stood in unison. Media cameras were instantly lifted, flashes exploding without mercy, indifferent to who might be blinded by the light.
Clark rose half a second too late.
Not out of negligence—but because his chest felt as if something invisible were pressing down on it. His breath came heavy, uneven. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, restraining the instinctive urge to turn his head to the right.
He knew Selena was there.
“Be seated.”
The judge entered. The black robe swept across the floor, each step firm and deliberate. The moment he took his seat, the previously restless room froze. The only sounds left were shallow breaths and the hurried click of cameras being reluctantly turned off.
“This criminal court session in the case against the defendant, Selena, is hereby declared open and open to the public,” the judge said, his voice flat yet piercing. “Clerk, please record.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the clerk replied promptly.
Selena sat in the defendant’s chair. Her face was pale, eyes swollen, lips trembling uncontrollably. Both hands were clasped tightly over her abdomen, fingers gripping one another as if afraid something precious might slip away if she loosened them.
Her mother whispered faintly from the visitors’ bench, “Selena… calm down, my dear…”
The words were barely audible, swallowed whole by the tension thickening the air.
Beside her, Selena’s father sat rigid. His hands were folded neatly, his jaw clenched tight. He did not look at his wife, did not reach out, did not offer any sign of comfort—present only as a silent shadow.
“Prosecutor,” the judge called. “Please read the charges.”
The prosecutor stood. His shoes struck the floor with measured confidence as he approached the podium.
“Your Honor,” he began firmly, “the state charges the defendant, Selena, with premeditated kidnapping, physical assault, psychological intimidation, and the use of third parties to commit unlawful acts.”
A wave of whispers rippled across the room.
“What?”
“Kidnapping?”
“Is this real?”
Clark swallowed hard. His eyes closed briefly.
The prosecutor continued, his voice cold and precise. “On the night in question, the defendant allegedly issued direct instructions through private communication to hired individuals to abduct the victim—Nyla—and detain her illegally.”
“No!” Selena’s mother cried out suddenly. She half-stood, her face drained of color. “My daughter would never—”
“Ma’am!” a court officer barked sharply. “Please sit down or you will be removed from the courtroom.”
Selena’s mother collapsed back into her seat, her body shaking violently as tears spilled freely.
The prosecutor did not pause.
“The victim suffered severe physical and psychological trauma,” he went on, opening a thick folder. “This is supported by medical examinations, psychological evaluations, and witness testimonies—along with financial transaction records and communication recordings.”
Clark opened his eyes.
Each word struck his temples like a small, relentless hammer.
“Recordings?” someone whispered behind him.
Selena lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled. Her breathing turned ragged, as though the air in the room was no longer sufficient.
The judge fixed his gaze on her. “Defendant, you will have the opportunity to speak. Remain calm.”
Selena slowly lifted her face. Tears streamed down without restraint.
“I… I never wanted it to go this far,” she sobbed. “I was just afraid. I’m pregnant. I was under pressure. I was alone.”
She turned toward the media. “I’m a victim too. Everyone abandoned me. I only wanted to protect myself and my child.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” the prosecutor interjected swiftly. “The defendant’s statement does not negate the element of premeditation.”
“Noted,” the judge replied curtly.
Clark lowered his head. His hands trembled in his lap.
He had heard those words before. Too many times. Always wrapped in tears. Always strong enough to make him doubt his own sense of right and wrong.
“Clark…” Selena’s mother whispered, turning toward him with reddened eyes. “You know she’s not a bad person. Say something.”
Clark slowly raised his head.
But he did not stand.
He did not speak.
He did not defend.
He only shook his head slightly—so subtly it was almost invisible.
Selena’s father finally turned. Their eyes met for a brief moment. There was no anger in his gaze. Only quiet devastation.
The judge tapped the desk lightly. “Enough. The court has recorded all statements.”
Silence fell again.
The empty seat in the front row felt painfully conspicuous.
Nyla was not there.
Her name was spoken repeatedly today, yet her body did not occupy this room. She chose distance—for her own survival, for the fragile breath she had only just begun to reclaim.
“With this,” the prosecutor said, “we request that the case proceed to the evidentiary stage.”
The judge nodded slowly. He lifted the gavel.
Clark straightened unconsciously.
Tok.
“This hearing is adjourned.”
Tok.
“And will resume as scheduled.”
The sound of the gavel echoed—far louder than Clark expected.
People stood. Chairs scraped. Urgent footsteps and flashing cameras once again filled the room. Selena was helped to her feet by court officers.
“Clark!” she cried hysterically, turning back in panic. “Clark, please—I’m not alone, am I?”
Clark stood.
But he did not approach.
Their eyes met for a single, fleeting second. Then Clark turned away.
Selena’s mother broke down in sobs. Her father walked ahead without looking back, his shoulders slumped, his spine seeming to age ten years in a single morning.