"Broke. Desperate. And then a wealthy, attractive widower at the brink of a divorce swooped in, paid your debts, and gave you a job." She tilted her head. "That must have felt like a fairy tale."
"It wasn't like that."
"Wasn't it? He rescued you from poverty. Brought you into his home. Into his daughter's life." Her voice sharpened. "And now you're accusing his wife of abuse, conveniently during a custody battle where your testimony could secure your continued employment. Your continued access to this family you've become so... attached to."
"I'm telling the truth about what I witnessed."
"Are you? Or are you telling the story you need to tell to keep your place in their lives?"
I looked at Nathaniel. His face had gone pale. His hands were white-knuckled on the table, not horror at me, but horror at what was being done to me.
Victoria, beside her lawyer, wore a faint smile. The smile of someone watching a mouse get cornered by a cat.
"Let me paint a picture," Rossi continued. "A young woman with documented attachment issues. A history of seeking out unavailable men. A desperate financial situation. And suddenly, a billionaire needs her. Values her. Looks at her like she matters." She paused. "Isn't it possible, Miss Cross, that you've fabricated or exaggerated my client's behavior to secure your position? To insert yourself into a maternal role you're psychologically driven to seek?"
"No." My voice came out as a whisper.
"You were nothing before Nathaniel Sterling found you. Now you're something. And my client is the only thing standing between you and everything you want."
"That's not… I’m no longer that person. I?—"
"No further questions."
The words hung in the air. I sat frozen in the witness box, my face burning, my chest tight. Every eye in the courtroom was on me, reporters were scribbling notes, strangers were wearing expressions of pity or judgment or morbid curiosity.
"Miss Cross?" The judge's voice was gentle. "You may step down."
The walk from the witness stand to the courtroom doors was the longest of my life. I couldn't look at Nathaniel. Couldn't face Victoria's triumph. Couldn't bear the collective gaze of people who now knew my deepest shames.
I pushed through the heavy doors into the quiet hallway and kept walking. My heels clicked a frantic retreat on the polished floor until I found a deserted alcove near a water fountain. I leaned against the cold marble wall, squeezing my eyes shut, but I couldn't block out the images.
The photocopied therapy notes. The judge's thoughtful expression. Victoria's smile.
My private pain: years of trying to understand myself, to heal, to become someone worthy of love, had been weaponized and displayed for entertainment. My growth was proof of my instability. My healing was evidence of my brokenness.
And the worst part?
Rossi had planted a seed of doubt I couldn't uproot.WasI seeing monsters where there were only flaws?Hadmy need to be needed colored everything? Was my love for Millie—because that's what it was, love—just another manifestation of my pathological need to fix broken families?
I didn't know anymore.
I'd spent seven years in therapy trying to understand myself. In fifteen minutes, Victoria's lawyer had turned all of that work into a weapon against me.
I'd walked into that courtroom to tell the truth.
I walked out feeling like a liar in my own story.
And somewhere back in that courtroom, Victoria was still smiling, because even if she lost custody today, she'd won something else.
She'd made me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself.
Including whether I deserved to be loved at all.
14.Nathaniel
Iwatched Claire walk out of the courtroom, and I knew with the cold certainty of a man watching his own execution that I had just destroyed the best thing that had happened to me since Michaela died.
Her back, usually so straight, was curved slightly as if absorbing a physical blow. Her auburn hair fell in a curtain, hiding her face. She moved through the heavy oak doors like a ghost, and she didn't look back.
