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Chapter 143: What Remains After Collapse
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2026-01-16 19:03:35
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His Choice Wasn't Me Chapter 143: What Remains After Collapse
The morning after the verdict arrived without ceremony.No sirens. No cameras. No shouting crowds. Just a quiet, grey dawn that settled over the city like an exhausted sigh. For Melissa Striker, the world did not feel louder or dramatic. It felt hollow.She sat on the edge of her bed, fully dressed, her school bag untouched in the corner of the room. The house was no longer hers, not really. It had already begun to feel like borrowed space, rooms too large, walls too quiet, memories hanging in the air like dust no one bothered to wipe away.A woman she barely knew stood near the door, holding a slim folder, her posture careful, professional, distant.“Melissa,” the woman said gently, as though speaking too loudly might break her. “We need to leave now.”Melissa didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching the trees outside sway lazily in the morning breeze. Life, apparently, had not received the memo that hers had fallen apart.“I’m not going to school?” she
His Choice Wasn't Me Chapter 142: The Verdict
The jury took longer than anyone expected.Hours passed, slow and heavy, each minute stretching like it was being pulled by hand. The courtroom emptied and filled again in cycles.Inside, the air stayed tense, like the room itself was holding its breath.Sarah remained seated throughout. She did not pace. She did not check her phone. She simply sat, hands folded loosely on her lap, eyes forward. Mr. Briggs spoke to her once or twice, but she barely registered his words.This was no longer a legal process in her mind. It had crossed into something final, something irreversible.Across the aisle, James sat rigid, his back too straight, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. He had stopped sweating.It was as if his body had already accepted what his mind was still trying to resist.Tiana, on the other hand, looked composed again but it was a different kind of composure. Not confidence. Control. The kind that comes from deciding, consciously, not to fall apart in public
His Choice Wasn't Me The Evidence
The courtroom was already full long before the judge took his seat. It was the kind of fullness that carried weight, not noise.Every bench occupied, every aisle watched, every breath measured. People did not come this morning for speculation. They came for confirmation.Sarah sat upright, hands resting lightly on the table before her. Mr. Briggs leaned in occasionally, whispering instructions, but she barely heard him.Across the room, Tiana sat with her lawyers, posture composed, chin lifted just enough to suggest defiance rather than fear.Only someone who knew her well would notice how still she was. Not calm. Still.James sat behind the prosecution line, shoulders hunched, hands clasped as if in prayer though no words left his lips. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.When the judge entered, the room rose and settled again into silence."The court will now proceed with the presentation of the sealed evidence," the judge said. "Prosecution, you may begin."The federal prosecutor s
His Choice Wasn't Me Chapter 140: She Refused to Fall Quietly
The courtroom felt different the moment Tiana was called to the stand. There was no collective intake of breath like there had been with James, no sense of a man about to unravel.Instead, there was anticipation.The kind that made people sit straighter, adjust their clothes, glance at one another as if to confirm they were about to witness something deliberate.Tiana walked to the witness stand with measured steps, her back straight, her face calm in a way that felt intentional rather than natural. She did not look at James as she passed him. She did not look at Sarah either.Her eyes stayed forward, focused, almost serene. When she raised her hand to take the oath, her voice was clear, steady, unshaken. It was the voice of someone who had already decided how this story would be told.Once seated, she adjusted herself lightly, crossing her hands on the table, as though this were a boardroom meeting rather than a criminal trial. The prosecutor began, outlining basic facts, but Tiana d
His Choice Wasn't Me Chapter 139: The Stand That Broke a Man
The courtroom fell into a silence so thick it felt physical, like a weight pressing down on everyone present.When James stood from his seat and walked toward the witness stand, the sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoed louder than it should have.Every camera lens adjusted. Every pen paused. Every breath was measured. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for, though no one could agree on what they expected to see; redemption, denial, collapse, or something far uglier.James sat, adjusted the microphone with trembling fingers, and raised his right hand to swear the oath. His voice, when he spoke, sounded steady enough, practiced even. He had rehearsed this.He had gone over answers with his lawyer, memorized phrases that were safe, neutral, clean. Corporate language. Legal phrasing. Distance without refusal. Survival without confession.The prosecutor began gently, asking about his role at Striker Holdings during its early expansion years. James answered smooth
His Choice Wasn't Me Chapter 138: The Line James Crosses
James did not plan the meeting. That was the lie he kept telling himself as he sat in his car across the street from a quiet café tucked between two supermarket stores and a closed florist.The place was forgettable on purpose, the kind of spot people used when they did not want to be remembered. Rain streaked down his windshield, blurring the world outside into pale gray smudges.He could have driven away. He should have driven away.Every warning the prosecutor had given him echoed in his head, loud and unforgiving. Do not contact her. Do not contact anyone from her legal team. Do not try to fix this yourself.But James had never been good at living inside rules when fear had its claws in him.The truth was that James had been wrestling with this decision for three days. Each night, he would lie awake staring at the ceiling of his apartment, running through scenarios in his mind.Each morning, he would wake up more desperate than the day before.The pressure of choosing between his
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