Objection My Lord

Chapter 3: After being in that Courtroom

Daya Hepburn hated losing.

The words of the verdict had echoed in her skull all afternoon, chasing her back to the office like a cruel refrain: "We rule in favor of the defendant."

She sat alone now, lights dimmed, staring at the neat stack of files on her desk as if glaring at them long enough might rewrite the outcome. Outside her office window, the city glowed with neon and headlights, alive and indifferent. Inside, the silence pressed down like a sentence.

She replayed the trial again and again. Every time she gained ground, Hillary Fischer had cut it out from under her. Every sustained objection, every witness he shredded with surgical precision, every smug flicker of his mouth when she faltered.

The same mouth that had been on hers the night before, that infuriated her the more, how could she had let that happen??

Her hand clenched around her pen until it snapped in half. Never again, she swore. She’d been careless, reckless, and it had cost her case and probably, her client.

As if summoned by the thought, her phone buzzed. A message from her client lit the screen:

"We’re moving firms. We need someone who can actually win."

The words stung, but she forced herself to type a polite reply before setting the phone facedown. Fine. Let them walk. She’d rebuild her portfolio from scratch if she had to. She always came back stronger.

The knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. She didn’t look up.

“Not a good time.”

The door opened anyway.

“Daya.”

Her head snapped up. Standing in the doorway was Charles Whitmore, senior partner and head of the firm. His presence was commanding even when he wasn’t trying; tall, silver-haired, eyes sharp as a hawk. The kind of man who could smell weakness a mile away.

“Sir,” she said, rising to her feet. “I was just—”

“Don’t bother.” He closed the door behind him. “I heard the jury’s decision.”

Her throat tightened. “It was a difficult case—”

“Every case is difficult,” he cut in, voice flat. “That’s why clients pay us instead of the competition. You don’t get to lose high-profile trials, Hepburn. Not when this firm’s reputation is on the line.”

Daya swallowed the retort burning on her tongue. “It won’t happen again.”

Whitmore studied her for a long moment, then leaned against the edge of her desk. “See that it doesn’t. Because I’ll be very clear—if you lose to Fischer again..... well there is this offer on our table now that we've been putting off because we thought you were our weapon, Daya, people choose us because you are that young and beautiful lawyer that hasn't lost a single case since her 2 years in practice, that was why we retained you after your internship, you are the only one keeping this ship afloat and one wrong move from you.... and well, Whitmore and Co. Becomes a Fischer firm....”

The air left her lungs in a rush. “What is that supposed to mean?” she obviously knew what it meant but she asked irrespective, for the benefit of the doubt. the statement from Whitmore can as a blow to her, of course the Fischers wants this too, they just have to have everything, those greedy f***s.

“I'm just trying to cut our losses.” His expression didn’t waver.

This day just had to get worse.

"It's your move Daya" he said an with that, he straightened and walked out, leaving the words hanging like a death sentence.

Daya sat frozen, pulse hammering in her ears. Losing had always been bitter, but now it was lethal. One more misstep, and Hillary Fischer wouldn’t just be her rival. He’d be her boss. And she would never survive that.

She was still reeling when the door opened again.

“You know,” Hillary’s voice slid into the room like smoke, “I didn’t expect to see Whitmore himself walk out looking that grim. Rough day, Counselor?”

Daya shot to her feet, fury igniting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, as though her office belonged to him. The faintest trace of cologne lingered—dark, expensive, familiar. Infuriating.

“Relax,” he drawled. “I’m not here to gloat… well, not entirely. I just wanted to see how you’re holding up after our little duel.”

Her glare sharpened. “Get out.”

But he stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. “Funny thing, Daya. A new case just landed on my desk. Class action, multi-million-dollar stakes. And guess whose firm is on the other side?”

Her stomach dropped. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Wish I were. Looks like fate’s determined to keep throwing us together.”

“Or fate has a sick sense of humor.”

“Or,” he countered, lowering his voice as he approached her desk, “it just knows chemistry when it sees it.”

Her pulse betrayed her, quickening, even as she forced her expression into ice.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Fischer. You may have won this round, but next time, I’ll bury you.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound curling through her like smoke. “Careful, Counselor. That almost sounded like flirting.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her breathless, furious, and terrified.

Because now the stakes were higher. If she lost again, she wouldn’t just lose a case.

She’d lose everything, like she had lost to his family 16 years ago

She remembered the first time sat in a courtroom at a very young and tender age, Young Daya was there, sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching the Fischer name win at the expense of her family’s life.

Daya’s dad was killed in a drunk-driving accident when she was very young.

The case was open-and-shut — the driver was clearly guilty.

But then, Fischer Sr. stepped in as the defense attorney.

Using loopholes, technicalities, and his intimidating courtroom presence, he managed to get the driver acquitted.

The verdict devastated her mother, who was left a widow with a child, no financial support, and no justice.

she wasn't supposed to be there that day but thank God she was, that day changed the entire trajectory of her life.