Xavier sat in the cool, dim light of his office, the weight of solitude pressing against him like a physical force. It was suffocating, this silence—a month since Cathleen's voice had pierced through it, a month since their bodies had spoken the primal language they both understood so well."Sir, there has been a package delivered for you at the reception." Caleb's voice sliced through his brooding, an unwelcome interruption."Open it," Xavier commanded without looking up, his fingers curling before him.The crisp sound of tearing paper cut through the room as Caleb complied. A momentary pause, then, "Sir, it's from madam."In an instant, Xavier was on his feet, the chair clattering behind him. He snatched the envelope with a predatory swiftness that belied his usual composed demeanor. His heart hammered—anxious, expectant—as he tore into the missive.Divorce papers.A smirk twisted his lips, though his eyes were cold as steel. "She knows where I work, and I don't know shit about her,
The sound of hushed whispers filled the marbled lobby as Cathleen strode through the revolving doors of her law firm. Her heels clicked sharply, a metronome to the undercurrent of scandal that thrummed in the air. "Oh my God, have you seen the headlines?" The receptionist's voice sliced through the murmurs.Cathleen's gaze swept across the reception, where eyes darted and papers rustled with feigned nonchalance."What headlines?" A worker feigned ignorance, grasping at the bait."The billionaire playboy—that handsome bachelor everyone has been wanting to know if he's married or not?" The receptionist's voice quivered with the thrill of gossip."Ah, Mr. Knight... on headlines about rape." Disbelief laced with desire bled from the worker's words. "Don't believe stories like that; that man is the owner of Knight Group International. Any woman would kill to sleep with that man; did you see how fine he is? Rape isn’t his thing."A cold shiver crawled down Cathleen's spine, freezing her in
Xavier's fingers curled into fists atop the mahogany desk, his knuckles bleaching white as he struggled to piece together fragmented memories. The silence of the room pressed against him—a suffocating shroud of unanswered questions. He propelled himself up, the leather chair squeaking in protest, and walked to the window. His reflection stared back at him, like a ghost amid the expanse of New York's freedom below. His mind whirled with the accusation that clung to him like a vile second skin."Who was she?" The question echoed in the cavernous space of his chest, hollow and haunting. He didn’t understand anything about the lady who accused him of rape. Worse, he has never seen the lady before; he just knows he woke up next to her the next day. How did she get to his suit? He doesn’t know how she got there. What the fuck is going on? He thought as he shoved both his hands into his pants.The door crashed open. Xavier didn't flinch; he watched the reflection of his father storming in,
Xavier's silhouette stretched thin and foreboding across the soft carpet of his study as he made his way in, the weight of the night's revelations weighing heavily on him. Like a predator, he moved towards the decanter, its amber contents glinting in the dim lighting, pouring himself a generous amount of whiskey with graceful ease. The crystal glass chilled his lips, while the heat of the drink burned fiercely down his throat—an intense contrast to the numbness that had settled into his mind.A mirthless chuckle, rough and guttural, escaped him, sounding more like a growl than a laugh. Life, with its twisted sense of humor, had dealt him a hand that he couldn't even begin to remember being dealt before. An accusation so foul, from a woman whose face remained a blur, gnawed at his insides like a relentless parasite. He took another sip of his drink, the amber liquid burning down his throat as he fought off the urge to hurl the glass and watch it shatter into a million sharp fragments o
James flicked through the grainy footage, his fingers poised over the keyboard like a pianist ready to strike. "Check this out," he said, his voice low and laden with urgency. The screen displayed a timestamp frozen at 8:38 PM.Cathleen leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she observed the woman in the video. "That's Anastasia. And that's not Xavier." Her lips twisted into a grim line, the revelation igniting a spark of vindication within her. "She lied.""Exactly," James replied, his tone matching the gravity of the situation. He clicked play, and the footage resumed, showing Anastasia entering the hotel lobby without Mr. Knight in tow."Where the hell is Xavier then?" Cathleen muttered more to herself than to James. It was a puzzle, each piece meticulously falling into place, but with gaps still yawning between truth and deceit."Wait for it..." James paused the footage once more, bringing up another clip. "Mr. Knight leaving his office at 10:51 PM." He turned to face her, his expr
Cathleen's eyelids fluttered open to the sterile light of dawn filtering through her sleek, modern office. She'd spent the night there again, with the couch becoming a makeshift bed more often than not. The ritual of morning coffee and case briefs lay shattered; James had always been her metronome, setting the rhythm of her day with uncanny precision. Today, silence greeted her as discordant and wrong.She perched on the edge of her desk, the screen in front of her already alive with the courtroom's austere ballet—lawyers pirouetting around legal precedents, the plaintiff's counsel animated and bold. Yet the space for defense was empty—an absence that gnawed at her gut. "Where the hell are you, James?" she muttered, her thoughts jagged in her mind.Her hand reached for the phone, a lifeline to clarity, but it buzzed first, disrupting the stillness. "James, you are running late?" She snapped before he could speak, her voice a whip crack in the quiet office."Fuck, Cathy..." The strain
The plaintiff's lawyer paced before the jury, his voice rising like a prosecutor from an old noir film, dripping with accusation. "Mr. Knight," he began, his index finger pointedly directed at the defendant, "the rape case came in not as a surprise." He paused for effect, letting the words hang heavy in the air. His gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with each juror. "You have had so many scandals in the past about changing women like you were changing your underwear."Murmurs skittered through the courtroom, but Xavier's steel gaze never wavered, fixed on the one person who mattered: Cathleen, his wife."Language!" barked the judge, a stern admonition that momentarily stilled the whispers. But the lawyer pressed on, undeterred."This man was found butt naked in his own hotel with my client, your honor," he continued, brandishing the photographs like a victorious gladiator. The images flashed before the court, explicit and damning—a tableau of flesh and guilt. "And he had the gu
The courtroom hushed, the air thick with tension, as Cathleen's lips curled into a knowing smirk. She pierced Anastasia with her gaze, unyielding and as sharp as a scalpel. "Miss Brown, I would like you to repeat your statement," she demanded, her voice cutting through the whispers that had begun to swirl like vultures around a carcass.Anastasia's voice trembled, her eyes darting about, seeking an escape that wasn't there. "I said I don't know. I don't remember."Cathleen spun on her heel to face the judge, the hem of her tailored gown flirting with the edge of aggression. "Your honor, Miss Brown doesn't remember what happened that night. How then did she remember she was raped?" Her query hung in the air, an accusation cloaked in concern. "How can we take a statement from someone who remembers nothing at all into consideration? If Miss Brown's memory is a blank slate for that night, your honor, I'm afraid there's no goddamn case here."Nods rippled across the room, silently assentin