Chapter Five
1828 Words
{ Aria }
“SHIT.”
I saw him.
His eyes—those impossibly sharp, storm-grey eyes—staring back at me like he had been needing me for years. My breath caught, my stomach twisted, and I had to blink fast.
His gaze locked on mine immediately.
My knees nearly buckled.
“Miss Hayes, did you say something?” Lucas Marchand’s voice snapped like a metal ruler, dripping with irritation.
“No, sir,” I whispered, swallowing hard.
What is wrong with Lucas Marchand? Why is he always grumpy? But honestly, that wasn’t even my biggest problem. My hands trembled as I clutched my bag tighter. Inside it was the handkerchief-wrapped pregnancy test—the one with two lines… and the one with only one. Positive and negative. I didn’t understand any of it. After the hearing, I’d show it to Maya. She’d know what it meant.
We approached him.
Then Marchand immediately opened fire.
“Dominic Meyer. Nice to see you,” Marchand sneered. “I thought you ran away out of shame.”
Dominic smiled—slow, amused, infuriating.
“You wish. But don’t worry about me, Marchand. Focus on your collapsing company.”
Marchand’s face scrunched in anger.
“Sir, it’s time for the hearing,” a tall, sharp-looking man said.
Dominic’s eyes never left me. “Thanks, Adrian.”
So that was Mr. Adrian Cole.
Dominic walked past me—too close—his fingers brushing my waist lightly as he passed. His scent hit me.
A shock ran through my body.
I forced a professional mask. Calm. Unbothered.
Inside, I was a disaster.
But I couldn’t let emotions destroy me. I would not lose this case.
---
As I walked behind Marchand, every step felt impossibly loud.
Dominic was already seated at the defendant’s table with Adrian. He looked… calm. Too calm. And the moment I stepped in, his eyes found me, staring openly.
I forced my expression flat.
The bailiff stood. “All rise.”
Everyone rose as Judge Harwood entered—tall, serious, clearly in no mood for nonsense.
“You may be seated.”
Chairs shifted, papers rustled. The air tightened.
Judge Harwood glanced at the file.
“Case number 0512—Marchand Corporation versus Dominic Meyer. Allegations: fraud, corporate theft, and misappropriation of funds.”
My name came next.
“For the plaintiff, Attorney Aria Hayes.”
I raised my chin slightly. “Present, Your Honor.”
“And for the defense, Attorney Adrian Cole.”
Adrian nodded. “Present.”
Then the judge looked at Dominic.
“Mr. Meyer, do you understand the allegations against you?”
Dominic smirked. “Perfectly.”
I inhaled deeply.
This was my territory.
My courtroom.
My job.
I could do this.
Marchand leaned toward me, whispering, “Give it to him hard today, Aria.”
Professional. Stay professional.
“Opening statements,” the judge said. “Plaintiff first.”
Phillips, Marchand’s assistant, nudged me. “Your turn.”
I smoothed my skirt and walked to the front.
“Your Honor,” I began, voice steady, “the evidence will show that Mr. Dominic Meyer intentionally created unauthorized accounts, transferred over seven hundred thousand dollars, and concealed the transactions using forged digital signatures.”
Dominic leaned back, eyebrow raised, amused. His gaze slid down my body.
Pervert. I ignored him.
“This was not an accident or a mistake,” I continued. “It was deliberate theft.”
“Thank you, Miss Hayes,” Judge Harwood said. “Defense?”
Adrian Cole stood, calm and confident.
“Your Honor, the plaintiff presents assumptions disguised as facts. None of the evidence directly connects my client to these accounts. No eyewitness. No verified IP address. And certainly no confession. This case is built on personal anger, not proof.”
Marchand scoffed.
The judge gave him a warning stare. “Mr. Marchand, keep quiet unless spoken to.”
Tension rose instantly.
“Call your first witness,” the judge said.
“Plaintiff calls Mr. Lucas Marchand,” I announced.
Lucas strutted to the stand like he owned the building. He was sworn in, then sat stiffly.
“Mr. Marchand,” I began, “can you explain when you first discovered the missing funds?”
“Three months ago,” he said. “During a routine audit.”
“And what did you find?”
He pointed at Dominic. “I found that he—”
“Mr. Marchand,” I interrupted calmly, “answer the question, not your feelings.”
He huffed. “Fine. The funds were missing. And the digital signature matched Dominic’s.”
I handed a document to the bailiff. “Your Honor, Plaintiff’s Exhibit A.”
The judge accepted it.
Dominic glanced at the papers, then at me. His eyes softened for a second, then slid back to me, dark and hungry. My stomach dropped.
Focus.
“Did you confront Mr. Meyer?” I asked.
“Yes,” he snapped. “And he denied it. Like he’s denying it now.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped back. “No further questions.”
“Defense?” the judge asked.
Adrian walked up smoothly. “Mr. Marchand, isn’t it true your IT manager was arrested last year for manipulating financial systems?”
Marchand stiffened. “…Yes.”
“And he had access to every account in the company?”
“Yes.”
“And he disappeared immediately after the audit?”
Marchand clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
Adrian folded his hands. “So the person with the most access and proven criminal history could have done this.”
“That doesn’t mean—” Marchand began.
“Just answer the question.”
Marchand deflated. “Fine. Yes. It’s possible.”
A small drop of panic hit me. Not good.
Judge nodded. “Very well. Call your next witness.”
I stood.
“Plaintiff calls… the defendant, Mr. Dominic Meyer.”
---
Dominic rose, walked with slow confidence to the stand, and sat.
He was sworn in.
Then he looked at me, smirking. He did not break eye contact.
Oh God, what had I gotten myself into?
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Meyer, did you create the unauthorized accounts?”
“No.”
His voice was low, calm—almost lazy.
“And did you transfer the missing funds?”
“No.”
“Where were you during the transaction?”
His eyes warmed slightly. “You really want to know?”
My throat tightened. “Just answer.”
“With my attorney,” he replied.
Adrian nodded. “Correct.”
“Mr. Meyer,” I said firmly, “do you expect this court to believe someone else framed you?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Why?”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Because it’s the truth. And because you, of all people, should know I don’t lie.”
My breath caught.
He said it softly, only I could hear the second meaning.
“Mr. Meyer,” the judge cut in, “stick to the case.”
Dominic relaxed back, still watching me.
“Do you personally know who could have created the accounts?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I leaned in. “Who?”
He smirked. “You’re the attorney. You tell me.”
I clenched my teeth. “Answer the question.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t answer, or no, you don’t know?”
“No, I won’t answer.”
I exhaled, annoyed. “Mr. Meyer, this is a federal—”
“Aria,” he said softly, cutting me off, stepping closer, locking eyes with mine.
Heat surged through me.
“Don’t try to intimidate me. It’s cute, but it won’t work.”
I almost dropped my pen.
Marchand slammed his hand on the table.
“Your Honor!”
“Order,” the judge snapped.
“Mr. Meyer, stop provoking counsel. Miss Hayes, continue.”
I swallowed, refocusing.
“Did you ever have access to the accounts used for the transfer?”
“Yes,” Dominic said. “But so did half the company.”
“And you still deny involvement?”
His eyes softened again.
“Absolutely.”
I exhaled. “No further questions.”
Judge: “We will continue next Saturday.”
Relief washed over me.
Dominic walked out last, glancing back at me—slow, memorizing.
My knees felt weak.
I thought of the pregnancy test in my bag. I had to show Maya. I couldn’t be pregnant with my opponent’s child. My career would be destroyed.
I texted Maya quickly.
---
In the hallway, I turned a corner too fast and slammed into a solid figure.
My files scattered.
“Oh my God—sorry—”
“I’ve got it.”
That voice.
I froze.
Dominic stood over me, eyes steady, unreadable.
“I can do it—” I swallowed.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”
My heart jumped.
I didn’t even realize my entire bag had spilled until a pen clattered to the floor.
I knelt to gather everything—case files, notes, sticky tabs, my phone.
“Perfect timing,” I muttered.
Dominic crouched beside me, suit stretching across his shoulders. He picked up a file slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world to watch me unravel.
He picked up my pen, twirling it between his fingers, eyes glinting.
“Aria,” he said quietly. “You left.”
My heart stuttered.
Our fingers brushed as he handed me the pen. Electricity shot through me.
“And then,” he continued, leaning closer, “you vanished.”
“This isn’t—” I tried to say.
His voice dropped, darker, possessive.
“I’ve got you now.”
My lungs tightened.
I shoved the files into my bag, pulse hammering.
“You’re not leaving this time,” he added.
Panic surged.
I grabbed my bag—half-zipped, uneven—and stood.
Dominic rose, towering.
Our fingers brushed again.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I tried to escape.
“Aria.”
I turned.
He held the handkerchief.
“You forgot something.”
My stomach dropped.
He stepped closer.
“You should be more careful,” he murmured, offering it.
I reached—
It slipped.
The pregnancy test slid across the floor.
We froze.
Dominic bent down slowly, picking up the tests, his movements deliberate, almost torturous in their slowness.
He turned it over in his hand, and the world seemed to narrow to just him, me, and those tiny strips of plastic.
His storm-grey eyes lifted to mine.
Cold. Sharp. Deadly.
“Aria,” he said, stepping closer, voice low—soft, almost a whisper, but carrying the weight of a threat, a promise, and something I couldn’t name.
My heart slammed against my ribcage. My fingers curled around my bag as if it could anchor me to reality.
“Are you,,,,,, pregnant?.”
- Writer
