Mira Devlin strode into the courtroom like a storm contained in silk and steel. Her navy pencil skirt hugged every curve, the crisp white blouse tucked beneath a black blazer that draped over her shoulders like a mantle of power. A delicate gold collar gleamed against the column of her throat, catching the light like a taunt. Her oxblood lips curled in a dangerous smile, and her kohl-rimmed eyes smouldered with something between vengeance and pleasure. Each step felt like a blade, cutting through the heavy air, her heels striking the floor was nothing short of an executioner's drumbeat wrapped in silk.
The moment she sat at the prosecution’s table, the gallery hushed. Everyone was watching her. But she was watching him.
Ethan Vaughn. Former colleague. Former superior. Former ruin.
Her gaze glittered with dark delight. Not so long ago, Ethan’s eyes had burned with something far filthier than the cold calculation he wore now. That broad-shouldered frame had pressed her against satin sheets, mouthing sins across her skin. She remembered the jacuzzi, steam rising in thick waves as his hands coaxed moans from her throat. But those nights—those desperate, tangled moments—were now twisted into something sharper. His betrayal had sullied them, leaving nothing but the bitter tang of revenge.
His fingers drummed idly against the polished table—still the same broad-shouldered, golden-haired, effortless dominant asshole.
Her lips parted just enough for a smirk.
Clench. Relax.
Interesting.
The doors swung open, and Judge Julian Blackwood entered. The courtroom rose, and the trial began.
The defence had built its case on one thing: Ethan Vaughn’s untouchability. He had won too many cases, charmed too many judges, and controlled too many narratives. The prosecution’s strategy was simple—expose the cracks until the whole thing shattered under undeniable truth.
And Mira? She was a sledgehammer.
The jury watched her like she was spinning a scandalous, bloody tale, and they had front-row seats.
Margaret Lin was the first witness. A former Vaughn & Reese LLP forensic accountant, she was a woman who was once too afraid to speak.
“Ms. Lin,” Mira purred, voice smooth, coaxing. “Can you explain your role?”
“I oversaw financial transactions. Ensuring compliance.”
Mira’s smile sharpened. “And did you ever notice discrepancies?”
A pause. Then—
“Yes. Off-the-record payments. Large sums are funnelled through shell companies. And… altered contracts.”
A murmur rippled through the courtroom. Ethan’s lawyer, Daniel Crowley, shifted in his chair.
Mira turned, meeting his gaze. “Your witness, Mr. Crowley.”
Crowley stood slowly, adjusting his cuffs, circling the witness stand like a wolf testing its prey.
“Ms. Lin, you were terminated from Vaughn & Reese, were you not?”
Margaret tensed. “I was forced to resign.”
Crowley smiled. “And that must’ve made you angry. Resentful, even.”
Mira’s fingers curled around her legal pad, but she didn’t move. She let Margaret breathe through the moment.
“It wasn’t about anger,” Margaret said. “It was about fear. I knew what would happen if I spoke up.”
Mira stood.
“Objection, Your Honor. Leading the witness.”
“Sustained.”
Crowley exhaled sharply, eyes flashing. “No further questions.”
Mira approached the stand again, her satisfaction simmering just beneath the surface.
“Ms Lin, can you tell the court where these payments were funnelled?”
Margaret hesitated, then exhaled. “Offshore accounts. And—personal withdrawals from Mr. Vaughn.”
Ethan was too well-trained to react outright, but Mira caught the flicker—the subtle twitch in his jaw, the flex of his fingers. He was uncomfortable.
Good.
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