The Unintended Bond

Chapter 1: Crossing Paths

The plum rain season had arrived, and the summer breeze carried with it a fine, unrelenting drizzle. The rain crept into every crevice, determined to press dampness into each corner of Silverridge.

At 5:40 PM, there were twenty minutes left before the commencement of the Hawthorne Legal Group’s twentieth-anniversary gala.

Legal assistant Ethan Brooks had been tasked with retrieving a few guests who had lost their way en route to the venue. Exiting through the back door to take a shortcut, he was suddenly stopped by a girl who dashed out in front of him.

She was small, clad in a Silverridge Elementary School uniform, the badge on her chest marked “Grade Three.”

“Sir, are you a lawyer?” she asked urgently.

Ethan Brooks nodded.

Her eyes lit up. “Can you help me, please?!”

“What is it?”

“Please help my mom get a divorce!”

Ethan froze for a moment.

He had never heard of a child seeking legal aid to help her mother file for divorce. Yet the ticking watch on his wrist reminded him that he had neither the time to inquire further nor the authority—this was well beyond the scope of his assignment.

He offered the girl an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I have something else to attend to. If your mom wants a divorce, she should speak directly with a divorce lawyer.”

He turned to leave, but the girl burst into tears.

“But my mom’s too scared to find a lawyer! She’s afraid my dad will hit her again! He won’t agree to a divorce, and my mom has no money… Please, lawyer sir, please help my mom!”

Ethan Brooks was taken aback.

The matter was far more complicated than he had anticipated—it involved domestic violence.

The girl’s slender frame, more fragile than that of her peers, trembled with every sob, tugging at one’s heartstrings with silent desperation.

He was about to speak when his phone rang.

A composed, efficient voice came through the receiver. “Ethan, have you found them yet?”

“Attorney Reed, not yet. I’m heading over now…”

But the girl, in a panic, clutched at his sleeve. Her eyes, brimming with tears, pleaded with him between gasps.

“Please, sir, I’m begging you… Dad almost hit Mom again today. When he comes back next week, it’ll be worse. When he’s drunk, he hits me and my little sister too…”

Ethan’s attempt to gently free his arm faltered.

“Ethan? Is that a child crying? What’s going on over there?”

Ethan didn’t dare delay Attorney Reed over something so personal and off-mission. “It’s nothing serious, sir. I’ll make sure the guests are picked up promptly.”

“Good. They’re from out of town. Don’t make any mistakes.”

The call ended, but the girl’s quiet weeping persisted.

Ethan looked at her, helpless. “I’m truly sorry, sweetheart. I can’t help you—I’m not a divorce lawyer. That’s not my area of work.”

As he spoke, his eyes drifted to the sign by the back entrance. It read, “Welcome, Esteemed Attorneys.”

He added, “None of the lawyers here handle divorce cases. You should go home now. And if your dad hurts your mom again, call the police immediately.”

The sorrow and pleading on the girl’s face froze, replaced by wide-eyed confusion.

“Aren’t lawyers supposed to go to court and help people with lawsuits? Why can’t you do it?”

Ethan Brooks was momentarily at a loss, uncertain how to explain the distinction between transactional and litigation attorneys to a third-grade child.

Transactional lawyers rarely step foot in courtrooms; they provide legal services to corporations and institutions. And at Hawthorne Legal Group—one of the top-tier firms in the legal world—every attorney specialized exclusively in non-litigation fields. Even those attending tonight’s anniversary gala shared the same expertise.

He couldn’t find the words to explain it, but the girl’s tiny hand, clutching his sleeve like a lifeline, refused to let go.

Just then, a voice drifted through the wind and rain—clear, composed, and somehow reassuring.

“Little one, I can help your mother.”

Ethan looked up. A woman in a deep navy dress stepped out from the narrow path. The tailored fabric of her skirt flared in the wind, revealing slender calves below the knee. She held a transparent umbrella, and beneath the neatly tucked hair behind her ear, Ethan saw a face both serene and striking.

It was his turn to grasp at a lifeline. “Attorney Morgan!”

Rachel Morgan of Sloane Law Firm, Silverridge’s legal aid attorney.

Earlier this year, she had been featured on television for her remarkable work in legal aid, and had since been selected as one of the youth delegates for the upcoming National Lawyers’ Conference.

Legal aid is a service offered free of charge—an embodiment of public interest law. Few choose to dedicate themselves to such a path, yet it was precisely what the girl’s mother needed. And in all of Silverridge, no one was more patient or suited for the task than Attorney Morgan.

Without delay, Ethan Brooks guided the girl over to Rachel Morgan.

“Attorney Morgan, I’ll leave her in your capable hands.”

Rachel Morgan offered a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. Go take care of your responsibilities.”

Ethan dared not delay any further. With Reed’s instructions still echoing in his mind, he dashed off into the mist.

The rain fell softly over the quiet street, veiled in a silvery haze.

Rachel Morgan brushed a hand lightly over the girl’s hair, then knelt down and tilted the umbrella to shield her. The girl tilted her small face upward, wide eyes glistening with a hopeful sparkle.

“Auntie Lawyer, can you really help my mom?”

Rachel smiled tenderly, drawing a business card from her bag and pressing it into the girl’s palm.

“You were very brave today. Don’t be afraid. Make sure your mother calls me—Auntie will help you both.”

Meanwhile, Ethan Brooks had successfully picked up the final guest.

With the list now complete, he handed the final roster to his superior—Hawthorne Legal Group’s youngest partner, Nathaniel Reed.

“Attorney Reed, all guests have arrived.”

Ethan offered the list. The man beside him accepted it, flipping through the pages with practiced precision.

Though Ethan hadn’t been Reed’s assistant for long, he had quickly learned that this founding partner, handpicked from overseas by the firm’s most senior figures, was nothing short of formidable—meticulous in every detail, swift in execution, and seemingly incapable of error. Everything he touched appeared to fall seamlessly under his command.

Ethan Brooks, himself a graduate of a prestigious law school with solid credentials, had initially harbored some reluctance when assigned as an assistant to a peer barely older than himself. Yet it didn’t take long for him to realize what a rare opportunity this truly was. Within just a year of joining Hawthorne Legal Group, Attorney Reed had ascended to the rank of partner—a meteoric rise few could dream of.

Tonight’s anniversary gala revolved around him. He was, undeniably, the evening’s central figure.

Ethan watched as Reed flipped through the guest list, his long, slender fingers pausing atop a single name. A faint lift of his brow followed.

“I’ve been at the front—why haven’t I seen Rachel Morgan?”

His voice drifted out with the wind, light yet commanding.

Rachel Morgan, just beyond the bamboo grove at the rear of the venue, was replying to a few client messages on her phone when she heard her name.

She looked up, gaze following the direction of the voice.

Through the gentle sway of the bamboo leaves, the sharp lines of a man’s profile emerged—his high-bridged nose and sculpted features faintly visible in the filtered green light.

“Did you see her?” he asked Ethan Brooks, standing nearby.

“She came in through the back entrance,” Ethan replied.

The man nodded slightly, murmuring an acknowledging “Mm.”

Rachel Morgan’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer. Her messages remained unread, the screen dim in her hand.

He wore a classic white dress shirt, complemented by a rust-red tie with tiny white polka dots. Perhaps it was the rare moment of reprieve amidst the evening’s bustle, but the man appeared unusually at ease. He accepted a water bottle from Ethan Brooks with a nod.

With one hand, he loosened his tie ever so slightly and took a sip, listening quietly as Ethan briefed him on a few remaining matters.

Once the report was complete, Ethan reached into his bag and offered him two small pastries.

As he ate, Ethan, perhaps seeking to fill the silence, began recounting the incident with the little girl outside the back entrance.

“…You know,” Ethan began, “when the little girl asked me why I didn’t go into court to defend people, I was caught off guard. It suddenly struck me—after all these years practicing law, I’ve never once donned a robe and formally appeared in court.”

Nathaniel Reed tilted his head back and took a long sip of water, his Adam’s apple shifting with the motion. He glanced at Ethan Brooks.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice calm. “Non-litigation work is a different path entirely. It doesn’t intersect with courtroom practice.”

Ethan snapped back to awareness.

Surrounded by so many transactional lawyers, he had nearly forgotten that litigators made up the majority of the profession.

But regret? No—there was nothing to regret. If anything, the barrier to entry was steeper for trial lawyers attempting to cross into their domain.

Who wouldn’t be tempted by the tantalizing salaries often associated with non-contentious legal work?

“It’s just… watching Attorney Morgan helping that little girl just now, I had a fleeting thought—what if I tried litigation?” Ethan said with a quiet chuckle.

Nathaniel Reed finished the water and twisted the cap shut with a clean click.

Lifting his gaze, his eyes glinted with a steady light.

“Once you’ve made a well-considered decision, never waver. You must have clarity about the course of your life. Even a moment’s hesitation can cause a deviation—and that single misstep could lead you entirely off course.”

Ethan stood silent for a moment, struck by the weight of his words. When he looked at Nathaniel again, his eyes were filled with newfound respect.

“You’re right, Attorney Reed. I’ll remember that.”

Nathaniel didn’t revisit the conversation. Instead, he turned his attention back to the guest list.

“You mentioned seeing Rachel Morgan at the back entrance. Make sure she’s actually inside the banquet hall.”

Ethan moved quickly to confirm.

Just then, Rachel Morgan, having overheard, tucked her phone back into her bag and stepped lightly into view.

“There’s no need to look for me, Attorney Brooks. I’m right here.”

Nathaniel Reed lifted his gaze, meeting Rachel Morgan’s eyes at once.

For a fleeting moment, the drizzle in the wind seemed to pause.

Rachel offered him a gentle nod and a faint, familiar smile.

A trace of amusement touched Nathaniel’s lips as his gaze lingered on her briefly.

The deep navy dress draped softly over her slender frame, highlighting her enduring delicacy—she seemed unchanged, still the quiet classmate who used to sit at the edge of a crowd, listening with a soft smile and few words.

“It’s been years,” he said. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“You two know each other?” Ethan Brooks blinked in surprise.

“We were classmates in university,” Nathaniel replied calmly.

Ethan’s expression shifted to mild astonishment.

Nathaniel Reed had earned his undergraduate degree in law from the nation’s most prestigious university—a program so selective it turned out industry elites more often than not.

But when Ethan looked at the slight figure of Rachel Morgan, carrying a plain canvas bag from which a thick stack of case files peeked out, he couldn’t reconcile the image.

It was said that Attorney Morgan had worked in Silverridge for years, living in a modest rental on the outskirts and enduring an hour-long commute each day.

Whereas Attorney Reed not only owned a marital home in the city center but also a villa in a scenic suburban district.

Could it truly be that this Rachel Morgan had once been a student at Harvard Law School?

She and Reed seemed to hail from worlds that never touched.

His curious gaze lingered a beat too long—blatantly so.

Rachel caught it at once.

She offered a faint smile, about to speak, when suddenly, darkness fell around them.

The once warm glow of the streetlamps flickered twice before vanishing, and the banquet hall, radiant only moments before, was abruptly swallowed by shadow.

A power outage.

The wind grew heavier, the rain thickening into a steady sheet that chilled the skin.

Nathaniel Reed’s brows drew low in the dimness.

He no longer had the leisure to exchange further pleasantries with Rachel Morgan. With a brisk nod, he excused himself.

“I’ll head inside first.”

His footsteps were heavy and hurried as he quickly disappeared into the shadowed depths of the hotel, vanishing from Rachel Morgan’s line of sight.

She remained still, standing quietly beneath the dimming sky, her thoughts drifting back to their university days.

Nathaniel Reed and she had always occupied the top two ranks in their program. Though classmates occasionally spoke of them in the same breath, the two had scarcely exchanged more than a handful of words.

Perhaps it was much like litigation and non-litigation—fields that existed within the same profession, yet seldom truly intersected.

Rachel Morgan gave a small shake of her head. Nathaniel Reed had his course in life, one carefully charted and precise.

So did she—only hers ran parallel, never crossing his.

Half a minute later, the streetlights flickered and came to life once more. The banquet hall, too, resumed its brilliance, aglow with warm, orderly light.

As if nothing had ever faltered.

Rachel Morgan lifted her foot and stepped quietly toward the building.