“We’re at war,” he murmured.
She didn’t disagree.
“You gave a potent opening,” he said, voice low.
“I didn’t come here to impress you,” she replied, voice flat.
He tilted his head.“You saw yourself in her.”
She shook her head, knowing she was lying.
“You did,” he pressed, and she felt the confession unsheathed in her chest.
“Bianca and Mr.Reddick remind me of us,” she said softly.“A rich family and a middle-class one.Parents who disagreed with his decision.A poor innocent child killed before it had a chance to survive,” she said.
His eyes widened and his body tensed.
“Nicole, if you tell me you were pregnant, I’ll lose my shit right here in this courthouse,” he said, his voice tight with anger.
“No, I wasn’t pregnant.But the similarities are there.”
“No, they’re not,” he defended.
“Oh?Were your mother and father accepting of me?Then why in the hell are we not still married?”
She’d had enough, and she didn’t want to be seen talking to him, so she turned and pushed through the door outside to the existing world.One that didn’t have a dead, young woman she couldn’t help but compare herself to.One where she was a single woman who didn’t trust men because of the hurt she’d experienced as a young girl.
A hurt that at least hadn’t gotten her killed.
Chapter8
The courtroom was humming with quiet tension, the kind that settled beneath your skin like static.Tripp sat at the defense table, reviewing notes, his pen tapping a silent rhythm against the legal pad in front of him.Judge Price had called for a short break before their next witness took the stand.Nicole was across the aisle, conferring with her second chair, a crease between her brows as she gestured toward the autopsy report.
God, she was laser-focused.And brilliant.He hated how much he still admired that about her.Seeing her at her best gutted him.Not because she was dazzling, he’d always known that, but because they belonged together.He’d always recognized she was smarter than him, but to see her now made him remember all the good times they had together.
And soon, he was going to learn who had ripped them apart.
The courtroom door creaked open, and Tripp glanced up, more out of habit than curiosity, and then he saw her.
His mother.
Suzanne Masterson entered with her signature posture: spine straight, chin slightly lifted like she was inspecting the gallery for dust.She was dressed in a tailored ivory suit and pearl earrings, her silver-gray hair swept into a neat twist.Not a strand out of place.
Her gaze swept over the room, found him, and she smiled as if she were walking into a charity gala, not a murder trial.
Shit.
He hadn’t invited her.He hadn’t even told her which courtroom he’d be in.And yet, here she was, taking a seat in the second row with that same regal grace she'd weaponized his entire childhood.
Tripp sighed and looked down at his notes again, but his grip on the pen tightened.
Perfect—that makes it sharper.
The trial resumed, and Nicole called her next witness, Bianca’s best friend, a young woman with wary eyes and a voice that trembled as she swore the oath.
Nicole stood.Calm.Controlled.Every movement deliberate.
“Tell us about Bianca’s last days.Did she fear for her life?”
