Chapter 78: The courthouse pt 2
The moment her feet hit the pavement, the noise hit her like a physical wall.
Isabella flinched, her head snapping back as the barrage of noise slammed into her senses.
She couldn’t see the crowd, but she could hear everything with a terrifying, magnified clarity, the sharp, metallic clack-clack-clack of hundreds of camera shutters, the shouting of desperate voices, the heavy scrape of boots against frozen concrete, the sharp smell of cold exhaust and cheap perfume. It felt as though the air itself was pressing against her skin, crowding her, closing in on all sides.
"Isabella! Look over here!"
"Did you leave your husband for Kazarov?"
"Isabella, are you safe?"
A reporter surged forward, his arm reaching past a security guard’s shoulder, thrusting a thick microphone within inches of her face. "Mrs. Carter! Is it true you’re being held against your will?"
Isabella froze, her breathing stopping entirely. She couldn’t orient herself. She didn’t know how close the man was, where the steps began, or which way to move. The sheer volume of the noise swallowed her whole, threatening to knock her off balance.
Then, a heavy, warm arm slid firmly around her waist.
Aaron pulled her back against his side, his body blocking her completely from the crowd on her left. His grip was broad, solid, and utterly unyielding, locking her securely against his chest.
"I’ve got you," his low voice grumbled right against her hair, deep and steady enough to cut straight through the wall of noise. "Don’t listen to them. Step up."
Instantly, the terrifying chaos outside fell away, shrinking until the only thing that mattered was the solid weight of his arm and the firm pressure of his hand holding her steady.
She let out a ragged breath, her hand reaching up to grip the fabric of his lapel, relying entirely on his movement to guide her feet.
On the middle of the marble steps, Kian stopped.
He turned around slowly, looking down at the pavement below.
The world seemed to slow down into a sharp, painful stillness.
For the first time in over a month, Kian looked at his wife.
She was dressed in a simple, elegant dark coat, her soft dark hair tucked neatly behind her ears, her pale face lifted slightly as she moved up the steps. She looked fragile, beautiful, and completely untouched by the scandal tearing her name apart.
And beside her was Aaron.
His hand was resting broad and heavy on the curve of Isabella’s waist, his fingers pressed firmly into the dark wool of her coat. He wasn’t just guiding her; he was holding her like something that belonged to him, something he had no intention of ever letting go.
Kian felt something deep inside his chest snap... a cold, sickening crack that turned his blood into ice.
He remembered holding her hand on these very steps two years ago.
He remembered how she used to lean into his side when she was tired, how she used to reach for his fingers whenever she felt overwhelmed. Now, she wasn’t reaching for him.
She was burying her face into Aaron’s chest, her fingers clutching Aaron’s suit, her entire body leaning into the Russian’s strength as if he were the only safe place left in the world.
Aaron looked up.
His grey eyes met Kian’s across the short distance of the marble steps.
Aaron didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. His expression was entirely flat, entirely cold, carrying the silent, absolute authority of a man who knew he had already won the only thing that mattered.
He didn’t break eye contact as he guided Isabella past Kian, his shoulder brushing inches from Kian’s jacket as they moved toward the heavy bronze doors.
Kian stood frozen on the steps, his hands clenched into tight, silent fists inside his pockets, watching them disappear into the building.
Inside the courthouse, the deafening noise of the street vanished instantly, replaced by the heavy, echoing silence of marble hallways and high plaster ceilings.
The heavy wooden doors of courtroom 402 closed behind them with a firm, final click.
Isabella let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging as the tension finally released its grip on her body. She stood in the center of the aisle, her hand still resting against Aaron’s arm, her breathing slowly evening out.
"Better?" Aaron asked softly, looking down at her.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice still a little tight. "Thank you."
"Told you," Niko said cheerfully, walking past them toward the defense table with a thick leather briefcase in hand.
He pulled out a chair for Isabella, setting his tablet down on the polished oak surface. "The shouting is just for show. Inside this room, the only voice that matters is the guy in the black robe."
Niko turned to face Isabella, his expression shifting from lighthearted to sharp and focused.
"Before we sit down, I need you to listen to me, Isabella," Niko said, his voice dropping into a clean, steady tone. "You’re allowed to be nervous. You’re allowed to hate this. You’re even allowed to panic if you feel like it."
Isabella tilted her head slightly, her pale eyes fixed in his direction. "What?"
"You’re allowed to feel all of those things," Niko repeated, a confident smile touching his lips. "But you are not allowed to think for one second that we are losing."
Aaron’s mouth twitched slightly, a faint trace of approval catching in his eyes. "That’s my lawyer," he remarked idly, leaning against the edge of the table.
Niko shot him a quick grin. "Technically, I’m her lawyer."
"Unfortunately," Aaron muttered.
"I charge extra for emotional support, by the way," Niko added, pulling a pristine set of paper files from his case.
The side door near the front of the courtroom clicked open, and a bailiff stepped out, his voice echoing off the high wood-paneled walls.
"All rise for the Honorable Judge."
The small group stood as the judge walked in with an unreadable expression.
He sat down at the high bench, adjusting his glasses as he began sorting through the thick stack of papers waiting for him.
Across the aisle, Kian took his seat at the plaintiff’s table, flanked by three senior attorneys in immaculate dark suits.
Sitting right beside Kian was Arthur Pendleton, his face completely smooth, his posture relaxed, looking as though he were attending a standard business luncheon rather than a bitter family dispute.
Arthur caught Aaron’s eye across the room, giving him a small, polite nod of recognition.
Isabella sat down, her fingers lightly touching the edge of the polished table. She couldn’t see the judge, she couldn’t see Arthur, and she couldn’t see the quiet, dangerous game of chess that had already begun around her.
She only knew that the air in the room felt heavy, cold, and electric with waiting.
The judge cleared his throat, the dry sound echoing sharply through the quiet room.
"In the matter of Kingston versus Carter," the judge read aloud, his voice flat and mechanical. "We are here for a preliminary hearing regarding the petition for dissolution of marriage and the respondent’s motion to contest."
He looked up over his glasses, his eyes sweeping across both tables.
"Let’s begin."