Objection My Lord

Chapter 2: The verdict

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Courtroom 12B, casting long shadows across the polished wood floors. Daya had arrived thirty minutes early, her ritual for important cases, but today felt different. Every time she glanced toward the defense table, her concentration fractured like glass.

She had spent weeks preparing. Every argument, every precedent, every cross-examination lined up in her mind like bullets in a chamber.

“Your Honor, the plaintiff will show that the defendant’s breach of contract caused irreparable harm—”

Her voice was steady. Confident. Until her gaze fell on the defense table.

Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, the same maddening smirk she’d seen hours ago when his hands had been on her skin instead of resting on legal briefs. His suit today was charcoal, his tie burgundy, his demeanor unreadable—but his eyes were locked on hers like a private joke neither of them would repeat out loud.

“Your Honor,” he said as he stood, the movement fluid and precise, “the defense will prove that any losses suffered by the plaintiff were entirely self-inflicted.”

He didn’t blink. Neither did she.

The next three hours were a masterclass in legal warfare. Daya presented her case with surgical precision—documents highlighting the defendant's failure to deliver promised software updates, expert testimony on the financial impact, emails showing clear breach of contract terms. Her witnesses were solid, her arguments airtight.

The trial unfolded like a chess game where he anticipated her every move. Her strongest witness faltered under his cross-examination. Key evidence she’d counted on was struck from the record after his surgical objections. Every time she gained ground, he took it back with twice the force.

He didn't just defend; he dismantled. With each cross-examination, he peeled back layers of her case like he was solving a puzzle he'd already completed. When her tech expert testified about the software failures, Hillary produced internal emails showing her client had been warned about compatibility issues months earlier.

"Mr. Patterson," Hillary said, his voice silk over steel, "isn't it true that your company ignored three separate warnings from my client about potential system conflicts?"

The witness shifted uncomfortably. "Well, we thought—"

"Yes or no, Mr. Patterson."

"Yes."

Daya's stomach dropped. She'd seen those emails but had dismissed them as cover-your-ass documentation. Hillary had turned them into smoking guns.

By the time closing arguments began, Daya’s confidence had cooled into controlled rage. She delivered her final statement like a blade—measured, deliberate, sharp enough to draw blood. Ethan countered with a smile and words that sounded like silk but cut like steel.

Hours later, when the jury filed back in, Daya kept her expression neutral. Professional.

“We find in favor of the defendant.”

The words hit her like a punch, but she didn’t flinch. She gathered her files with mechanical precision, ignoring the weight of Hillary’s gaze.

As people started leaving the courtroom, he approached, stopping just close enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne.

“Good game, Counselor,” he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. “But I did warn you—I don’t lose.”

"This isn't a game, Fischer."

"Isn't it?" He stepped closer, close enough that she caught that same smoky scent from the night before. "Everything's a game, counselor. The only question is whether you're playing to win."

Heat flashed through her—anger, attraction, frustration all tangled together. "You're enjoying this."

"I'm doing my job. The fact that you're taking it personally suggests you might not be doing yours."

Her jaw tightened. “Enjoy your victory, Fischer. It’s your last against me.”

His smirk deepened, eyes glittering. “Careful. I might start thinking you’re flirting.”

He didn't have to be a jerk about the whole thing,

'oh my goodness, am I really reading meaning into the whole thing?' she thought to herself

As the courtroom emptied, she sat alone at the plaintiff's table, staring at her files. Two years since Daniel. Countless victories. And now this—defeated by a man she'd slept with twelve hours earlier.

Outside the courthouse, her phone buzzed with a text from her assistant: "Three reporters called about the verdict. What should I tell them?"

Daya stared at the message, then at the courthouse steps where Hillary Fischer was probably giving his own victory interview to those same reporters.

She typed back: "Tell them no comment. And clear my schedule for the weekend. I have some research to do."

If Hillary Fischer thought one victory made him untouchable, he wa

She had not lost a single case in a long time but she had already seen this coming, losing a case to HILLARY FISCHER of course, not the guy that was all up in her guts the night before, that she hadn't expected. it was infuriating.

She brushed past him without a word, but her pulse betrayed her, pounding in her ears.

Because she knew this wasn’t over.

Not the case.

Not him.

Not them.