Guilty by Desire

Chapter 2: Behind Closed Doors

I poured myself a cup of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter to drink it in the quiet of the morning. Oliver walked over, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek, and then my lips.

"Have a good day at work, baby," he said, grabbing his briefcase and travel mug. "I love you."

"I love you too. Have a good day." I smiled, tossing him the car keys he had almost forgotten on the counter.

The moment the front door clicked shut, my cell phone began to ring. I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Escarra," Joseline’s voice came through the speaker, laced with a rare sense of urgency. "I know today is your day off, but Mrs. Dubois is here. She says she needs to see you immediately. It's urgent."

I sighed, setting my coffee cup on the living room table. "I'll be down as soon as possible."

Hanging up, I jogged up the stairs to my closet. Being one of the most sought-after female defense attorneys in the city was exhausting, but I didn't have time to complain. I quickly slipped into a pair of black, high-waisted wide-leg trousers and a loose, black strappy tank top. I paired the outfit with a set of sharp, shiny black stilettos and added a quick curl to my hair, leaving my face bare.

When I stepped off the elevator and into the firm, the shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Junior associates nodded respectfully in my direction; a few even scurried out of my path. They all knew I had two sides: fiercely loyal to my clients, and ruthlessly cold to anyone who wasted my time. I wouldn't be where I am today by playing nice. In this industry, fear bred respect.

Mrs. Dubois—formally recognized as one of the most powerful women in Atlanta—was sitting in the lobby, with Joseline gently trying to comfort her. Brinda Dubois was a titan in her own right, known for running multi-million dollar companies and making massive charitable donations to Peachford Hospital. She had a daughter, Bella, and a husband who was supposed to be her equal.

As I approached, they both stood. Brinda hurriedly wiped away her tears.

"Mrs. Escarra," Joseline greeted.

I gave my assistant a slight nod, thanking and dismissing her in one motion. "Follow me," I said gently to Brinda.

I led her into the privacy of my office. I handed her a box of tissues as we both took our seats. "How can I help you, Mrs. Dubois?"

She let out a wet, broken chuckle, dabbing under her eyes. "Please, call me Brinda."

I nodded.

"I'm sure you know who I am, and you know my husband. I... um..." She started to stutter, fresh tears spilling over her lashes.

I stood up, walking around the desk to place a comforting hand over hers. "Take your time, Brinda. Just take a few deep breaths."

She nodded, using the tissue to blot her eyes again. "It hasn't made it to the media yet, thankfully. But I'm taking my husband to court. He... he..."

I gave her a soft, encouraging smile as she took a few shaky breaths to steady herself.

"He sexually assaulted me," she finally whispered, the words trembling. "He has been hitting me, too. On multiple occasions. I need a lawyer, Athena. A woman lawyer. You win practically all of your cases. Please. The men in this city won't fight for me as hard as you will."

She squeezed my hand tight, using a fresh tissue to wipe her face.

A familiar, icy rage settled in my stomach. I absolutely despised these cases. Narcissistic husbands who abused their wives behind closed doors, often with their children in the next room.

"Of course," I told her firmly. "We will get started right away."

Brinda let out a massive breath of relief.

"I promise you, Brinda, I will put Mr. Dubois behind bars for as long as the law allows," I said, squeezing her hand back.

For the next three hours, we meticulously went through the dark reality of her marriage. She recounted the first time he hit her, the assaults, and the sickening cycle of apologies. She showed me the text messages where he begged for forgiveness, promising he would never do it again. Then, she pulled up the photos. There were a lot of them.

I had learned long ago never to ask why a victim stays. Usually, it was a twisted sense of love, or the paralyzing fear of tearing their family apart. In Brinda's case, I suspected it was the latter.

I slipped the printed photos into a secure file on my desk. "If you don't mind me asking... what was the catalyst? Why did you decide to report it now?"

Brinda took a shuddering breath. "Last night, we were arguing. It got heated, and my daughter, Bella, walked in. Zac started screaming at her to go back to her room, and when she froze... he went after her. That was it. I realized I couldn't let her live like this. I won't put her through that suffering."

My heart ached for her, but my resolve only hardened. Mr. Dubois was a pathetic excuse for a man, and I was going to ruin him.

After another hour of mapping out our legal strategy, we wrapped up the meeting. I walked her to the door and gave her a hug—something I rarely ever did with clients.

Once she left, the heavy silence of the office settled over me. Getting a domestic abuse case the serious attention it deserved in court was notoriously difficult, but Brinda’s high-profile status in Atlanta would give us the leverage we needed. It sickened me that a woman had to be rich and famous just to be heard, but I would use every weapon at my disposal.

Since I wasn't technically supposed to be working today, I packed up the Dubois file and headed home early.

I changed into something comfortable, put my phone on silent, and filled the house with music. I always worked best when I could lose myself in the details without any interruptions.

As I pored over the case files, the gravity of the situation weighed on me. Brinda's husband was a wealthy, manipulative abuser who would throw everything he had into avoiding jail time. If I didn't win this case, I wouldn't just be failing Brinda and Bella. I felt like I would be failing every other woman who hadn't yet found the courage to speak up.