His Favorite Verdict

"Objection, Your Honor." Swasti Chaudhary's voice cut through the courtroom like a blade. The room instantly fell silent. The witness sitting in the box visibly stiffened while the prosecutor looked up from his notes with barely concealed irritation. Standing behind the defense table, Swasti adjusted the sleeve of her black blazer before taking a slow step forward. The click of her heels echoed against the marble floor. Confident. Measured. Unshaken. At twenty-five years old, she was one of the youngest criminal lawyers in the country. People called her many things. Brilliant. Relentless. Arrogant. Dangerous. Swasti personally preferred none of them. She simply did her job. And she did it better than most. "Mr. Sharma," she said calmly, turning toward the witness, "you testified under oath that you saw my client enter the warehouse at exactly 9:15 p.m. Correct?" The middle-aged man nodded immediately. "Yes." "You're certain?" "Absolutely." Swasti hummed thoughtfully. A smile touched her lips. The kind of smile that usually meant someone was about to regret their life choices. The witness shifted uncomfortably. The judge noticed. So did everyone else. Swasti opened a file and pulled out a document. "That's interesting." The witness frowned. "What is?" Without answering immediately, she walked toward the judge's bench and handed over the paper. The judge adjusted his glasses. His eyebrows slowly rose. The prosecutor's expression darkened. Only then did Swasti look back at the witness. "Because according to your food delivery records," she said softly, "you ordered a large pepperoni pizza to your apartment at exactly 9:12 p.m." The witness froze. The courtroom went silent. "You remember ordering it, don't you?" "I—" "And according to the delivery confirmation, you personally accepted the order at 9:21." Sweat appeared on the man's forehead. "So tell me something, Mr. Sharma." Swasti folded her arms. "If you were accepting pizza at your apartment..." Her gaze sharpened. "...how exactly were you watching my client at the warehouse across town?" A collective gasp rippled through the courtroom. The witness looked trapped. The prosecutor closed his eyes. And the judge looked thoroughly unimpressed. The case was over. Everyone knew it. Especially Swasti. Two hours later, the courtroom doors opened. Reporters immediately rushed forward. Microphones were raised. Cameras flashed. Questions flew from every direction. "Advocate Chaudhary!" "Do you have a statement?" "How did you expose the witness?" "Was the evidence planted?" Swasti ignored all of them. Professional. Calm. Detached. Her assistant Rhea struggled to keep up beside her. "One day," Rhea complained while juggling three different files, "I swear these reporters are going to tackle us." Swasti laughed quietly. "Then start running faster." "You're impossible." "I've been told." They entered the elevator. The doors slid shut. For the first time all day, silence surrounded her. A small blessing. The city beyond the glass walls glowed beneath the evening sky. Traffic lights flickered. Buildings shimmered. People hurried home. And for a brief moment, everything felt normal. Then her phone rang. The screen lit up. AGASTYA CALLING. A genuine smile appeared instantly. One that very few people ever got to see. She answered before the second ring. "Finally." Her brother's familiar laugh echoed through the speaker. "Hello to you too, little monster." Swasti rolled her eyes. "You called twenty minutes late." "I'm running a company, Swasti." "And?" Agastya laughed again. Thousands of miles away in Italy, and somehow he still sounded exactly the same. Warm. Protective. Safe. "How was court?" he asked. "I won." "Of course you did." "You're supposed to sound surprised." "I'm physically incapable of being surprised by your victories anymore." That made her smile. For the next several minutes, they talked about everything. Work. Italy. His terrible cooking. Her impossible schedule. The conversation flowed effortlessly. It always did. Agastya was home. No matter how far away he was. Then came the question she hated most. "How's Dad?" The smile vanished immediately. A familiar tension settled inside her chest. Her fingers tightened around the phone. Outside the elevator, people moved through the lobby. Inside, the air suddenly felt too thin. Too heavy. Too much. "Swasti?" His voice softened. She forced herself to breathe. "He's fine." The answer came automatically. A rehearsed lie. One she had perfected years ago. Because the truth wasn't something she could say out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "You're sure?" Agastya asked quietly. "Yes." A pause. Long enough for guilt to settle in. But eventually he sighed. "Okay." The subject changed. The conversation continued. Yet the knot in her chest remained. Because she knew something her brother didn't. Some wounds never really healed. They simply learned how to hide. By the time she reached her office, night had fallen. The city sparkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rhea entered carrying a thick black file. She looked nervous. Extremely nervous. Swasti immediately noticed. "What happened?" Rhea hesitated. Then placed the file on the desk. "Someone requested a meeting." "Who?" "The representative didn't say much." Swasti raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you look like you're about to faint?" Rhea swallowed. Because she had only heard one name. One name that made politicians nervous. One name that controlled headlines. One name whispered in boardrooms, courtrooms, and dark corners of the city alike. "Aarav Malhotra." The room fell silent. For the first time that day... Swasti looked genuinely interested. Very interested. Slowly, she opened the file. And unknowingly stepped toward the beginning of a story that would change both their lives forever.