But will they?I glance down at myself. I’ve done my best to clean up and dress up, courtesy of Yulian’s black card, but anyone could tell these clothes don’t belong on me. My simple black dress is too nice, my blazer is too wide, and my brand-newpumps are cutting into my feet with every step. I’m not made for this—pretending to be someone I’m not. Pretending to bebetter.
Then my phone buzzes.
I glance down, worried that it might be the school, but it’s not.
It’s Yulian.
Knock them dead.
His name on the screen immediately fills me with warmth. His words, too, slicing straight through the fog of my doubts.
I wish he could be here. I want him to hold me through this, want to squeeze his hand so badly it fucking hurts. But he made it clear it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to appear at my side. From what he told me, our lawyer’s already going to be hard to swallow: he’s got a bloody streak, a shady reputation, and the Bratva rumors following him out every door he steps through.
If Yulian was spotted sitting in my corner, too, it wouldn’t look good for me.
But I almost don’t care. I just want to feel his warmth, breathe in his scent. Want him to tell me it’s going to be okay.
“It’s almost time,” Nikita says, snapping me back to reality. “We should go in.”
That’s when I notice our party’s one man short. “But the lawyer…”
“You really need to watch more TV,” she sighs. “He’ll make an entrance. They always make an entrance.”
I’m not sure that’s accurate, but I don’t exactly have any other options.
I let her lead me inside.
We walk up to the defense table. Nikita sits behind me, in the audience but still within earshot. On the other side, Smithers is straightening up his papers, his half-moon glasses propped tidily on his nose. Brad is sitting next to him, a model citizen and a model father.
And a model fucking snake, too.
Meanwhile, my lawyer is nowhere to be seen.
The judge walks in. My pulse spikes.
Suddenly, all I can think about is everything that could go wrong. A million what-ifs, all crowding my mind, all ending up the same way.
With me losing my son.
“Good morning,” the judge says. She doesn’t look like her morning has been good so far, or like she’s glad to be awake at all. “This court is now in session. This matter concerns a petition for custody, filed by the plaintiff, Mr. Bradley James Baldwin, regarding the minor child Eli Winters. The respondent is Mia Winters. Are both parties ready?”
Shit.What happens if my mystery lawyer doesn’t show up? I try to rack my brain, but I didn’t prepare for this. I’m a nurse, not an officer of the court—just what the hell am I supposed to do? Stand up, shout “objection,” and pray?
“The plaintiff is ready, Your Honor.” Smithers’s calm, firm voice carries across the courtroom.
“Good. Let the record reflect both parties are present and represented by—” the judge stops. “Ms. Winters, where is your counsel?”
“Where the hell is our guy?” Nikita mutters under her breath.
Fuck.The judge is staring right at me, expecting an answer. “Your Honor,” I blurt, standing up. “My, my counsel is?—”
“Right here, Your Honor.”
Thank fucking God.
A man in a tailored navy blue suit strides confidently up to me. He has dark, slicked-back hair and a hint of stubble. His eyes are odd: deep blue, almost as dark as his suit, but with an amber center you can’t help but stare at.Central heterochromia,I remember from my med school textbooks. The effect is eerie. Like he sees more than everyone else does.
But right now, I don’t give a shit if he’s aPlayboymodel. All I care about it’s that he’s finally here.
