Layla's Pov
The courthouse smelled like cold marble and nerves. My heels echoed against the floor as I walked into the courtroom, chin high, hands slightly trembling at my sides. Damian was right behind me—Mr. Blackwood—his palm brushing the small of my back. But I needed to do this alone. For myself. For The Amara Initiative. For every young girl watching, wondering if her voice mattered when the world called it too loud, too soft, too late.
The room was smaller than I imagined. Less like the scenes from movies, more intimate. A judge in a grey robe, sharp eyes, and the quiet murmur of reporters lining the back benches. The plaintiff sat at the opposite table—a young woman named Mia Greene. She had been one of our applicants. Her eyes were red-rimmed but defiant. Her lawyer, slick-haire
