𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 52: 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐩-𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°° 

Antonio held the phone to his ear as Mateo debriefed him about the trial.

“That’s quite a head start,” he growled.

“Yes,” Mateo agreed, “but I doubt I’ll get anything from the boy.”

“You’re right,” Antonio exhaled. “Considering he’s Breanna’s son—she must’ve brainwashed him.”

 A call buzzed through and Antonio briefly casted a gaze on his screen. “I’m getting another call. Handle the cross-examination. I’m counting on you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mateo replied before the line clicked dead.

Antonio switched lines. “What’s the situation—any change?”

“No, sir,” the caller replied. “The meal’s still untouched. Maybe she doesn’t like—”

“Lowell order something else,” Antonio snapped. “Do I have to spell out every command?”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll do that right away.” Lowell apologized, 

The line went silent. Antonio leaned back, irritation creasing his jaw. “Dumb a*s”

###

Meanwhile, Nevena sat curled up in her corner—silent, trapped in her own thoughts.

Junior was the only witness in this case. So what possible evidence could her lawyer even gather?

“Hey.”

Sophia’s voice came from outside the bars.

Nevena looked up and scoffed, saying nothing. Undeterred, Sophia unlocked the cell and stepped inside.

She glanced lazily at the untouched meal on the floor, picked it up, and crouched near her.

“What’s this?” she asked. No response. Unhesitatingly she sat down beside her.

 

For a long while, neither spoke. The silence stretched—thick, heavy—until Sophia finally placed the plate down in front of Nevena’s toes.

“Before anything… recharge.” Her soft voice drifted as she sprawled up. “That’s what my mother always says.”

Nevena’s gaze lifted slowly from the floor to Sophia’s face. “What day exactly is my next hearing?” she finally croaked.

“Tomorrow,” Sophia replied, a small smirk curling her lips—mission accomplished.

“In case you were wondering who your lawyer is…”

  “Who?” Nevena cut in impatiently. “Cause I never contacted anyone for help.”

“I don’t know who sent him,” Sophia said, “but Andrés Mateo is the top-ranking counselor in New Mexico right now.”

Nevena straightened a little. Interested. “Really?”

“Yes. And here’s the kicker—, all through his career he’s never lost a case.”

Nevena exhaled deeply, realizing she’d been holding her breath. She reached for the food. “Then his services must be expensive.”

 “Who cares?” Sophia rolled her eyes, crouching back beside her. “When you’re obviously not the one going to pay.”

  “Yeah—but I do wonder who this mysterious philanthropist is.” Nevena uttered, swallowing a mouthful. "Any ideas?”

Sophia shrugged and stood. “No idea. Maybe you saved a country in your past life, and God sent him to repay the favor.”

 

“Huh.” Nevena arched a brow, but Sophia was already at the door.

“Rest,” she said, pausing before leaving. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

  ☆☆𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐨'𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦☆☆.

The clock on the nightstand blinked: 11:00 p.m.

Antonio scoffed quietly and leaned back in his chair, jaw working, eyes fixed on the phone as though he could force it to ring.

A part of him wanted to call — But hell no. He was Blade Knuckles, not some sleepless fool pacing over a woman's case.

 

He dragged a hand down his face—exhaled, and pushed the phone away, now facing his dimly lit laptop.

The lamp on his desk cast a tired glow across the scattered files and the half-drunk glass of whiskey beside them.

For the tenth — maybe twentieth — time in five minutes, he refreshed the call log, pretending it was work-driven, not worry.

Still nothing.

With a grunt, he pushed up from the chair. "Damn it," he muttered, pacing aimlessly before stopping at the window.

It shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t supposed to.

A soft chime echoed. He sprinted back to his desk and snatched the phone up.

The screen stared blank, mocking him with silence.

It wasn't a call—just the room's automated system switching to midnight mode.

Frustrated, his fingers drummed once on the glass table. Then twice.

"Pathetic," he exhaled — though it wasn’t clear who he meant, but the sound carried irritation disguised as control.

He poured himself another drink he wouldn’t taste, and with a frustrated swipe, he silenced the phone —dropping it on the nightstand.

 After a few minutes, he retreated to his king-sized bed, keeping his drink near the phone.

He switched off the lamp, but even in the dark, his mind refused to quiet.

With one arm folded beneath his head, he stared into the ceiling’s darkness, thoughts circling like vultures — too many questions, none he’d even ask aloud.

He rolled over and forced his eyes shut. But sleep didn’t come easy.

Then like an unexpected tide— his phone lit up, emitting the faintest glow.

 

Antonio snapped upright, every muscle alive in an instant.

The screen glowed brighter across the nightstand; he caught it, thumb already swiping before thought caught up.

"Yes." His voice was low, steady — but the edge was there.

"Sir — she finally ate," Lowell said carefully. "Half the meal. And she’s asleep now."

Antonio didn’t answer right away. His breath slowed, but his pride wouldn’t let him ask what he wanted to ask.

"Good," he said finally, then a pause. "Keep it that way."

He ended the call and downed the untouched drink.

By the time the first light hit the glass, he was back to the man he should be.

Briefcase in hand, polished shoes and a sleek designer suit defined him as he walked into another of his subsidiaries.

Greetings poured in, but every ounce of softness was sealed behind his icy precision.

He stepped into the elevator and went up to the top floor — his office.

Settling into his chair, he skimmed through the day’s appointments on his notepad, then focused on the reviews.

But the phone stayed close — closer than he’d ever admit.

By afternoon, his patience had thinned to air — meeting after meeting.

He reached for the phone, not minding the staff surrounding him, but stopped halfway, rolling back in his chair.

Then, as if obeying an unspoken desire, the phone buzzed.

The sound tore through the meeting like a ghostly intruder.

He reached out, placed it over his ear, and stood.

Unhesitatingly, he turned to his secretary.

"Let’s call it a day. Reschedule all my appointments."

The staff stood as he exited the room.

He didn’t go back for his briefcase — just took the elevator straight to the basement.