Amara's POV:
The courtroom carried that uneasy quiet — where every breath, every shuffle of paper, felt like a confession waiting to happen.
I sat on the witness bench, the faint echo of the gavel still ringing in my ears. Beside me, Vihaan stood at the plaintiff's table — calm, composed, and devastatingly focused. To everyone here, he was the sharp, brilliant prosecutor leading the case. But to me, he was the man who once held my trembling hands and promised that justice would never come at the cost of my peace.
Across the room, Liam Salvatore and his family sat — Mr. Grayson, their lawyer, wrapped in self-righteous calm. Their eyes didn't waver, but their unease hung thick in the air, like static before a storm.
The clerk's voice broke the silence."Case number 289B — Amara Salvatore versus Liam Salvatore and associates."
My name echoed across the walls, and my heart clenched.
The murmurs died when the gavel struck again."Order," the judge said. "Proceed, Mr. Vihaan Mickelson."
Vihaan rose, buttoning his coat with measured precision before stepping toward the center. His tone was steady — too steady — like a calm sea hiding a storm beneath.
"Your Honour, my client, Miss Amara Salvatore, isn't here to reopen old wounds," he began. "She's here because the people responsible for her mother's death — and the attack that nearly took her life — built their lives on lies. Lies they thought would stay buried."
Mr. Grayson smirked. "Objection. Speculation and dramatization. We're here for facts, not emotions."
Vihaan's voice didn't even shift. "Of course. Then let's deal with facts."
He clicked the remote, and the screen behind him lit up — the paused frame of a video. My trembling hand. The blurred figures. The sound of struggle.
Grayson was quick to rise again. "This footage could have been fabricated. Pixel tampering, frame manipulation — all possible. My clients had no involvement."
Vihaan's gaze locked on him, calm but razor-edged."Mr. Grayson, did you just imply a woman fabricated her own assault footage?"
"That's not what I—"
"Answer the question," Vihaan's tone cut like ice.
Grayson swallowed. "No, but—"
"Good. Then we agree she didn't fake it."Vihaan took a slow step forward. "Now, about your claim of tampering — would you like to explain how, despite alleged 'manipulation,' the metadata matches the original timestamp from the night of the incident? Or how your own forensic experts confirmed the device's signature?"
Grayson hesitated. "There could be… a margin of error."
"Indeed," Vihaan said, pacing with calm precision. "But error doesn't explain the voices on the recording. Liam's voice — identified, cross-matched, and authenticated."
He stopped, eyes flicking toward the judge."Your Honour, the defense keeps searching for loopholes. What they truly fear… is that every lie they built is finally crumbling under one thing — the truth."
The judge turned to Grayson. "Do you wish to contest the audio authentication, Mr. Grayson?"
Grayson sighed. "No, Your Honour."
Vihaan straightened. "Then, with permission, I'd like to call my next witness — one of the accused's own men, now in custody. Evan Holt."
The clerk called his name, and a broad-shouldered man stepped forward, hesitating as he took the witness chair.
Vihaan approached, voice quiet but cutting."Mr. Holt, you were with Liam Salvatore the night Miss Amara was attacked. Correct?"
"I… I don't remember," Holt muttered.
"You don't remember," Vihaan repeated softly, leaning just close enough for the man to feel his calm. "Yet the CCTV from the east wing shows you entering with him. Should I replay that for you?"
Holt's jaw twitched. "No need."
Vihaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then tell me — were you ordered to stop her from reaching the basement, or to make sure she didn't come out alive?"
Grayson shot up. "Objection! Leading the witness—"
"Overruled," the judge said.
Holt's breathing quickened. "We were just told to keep her away—"
"From what?" Vihaan cut in. "The files her mother left behind? The ones tying Liam to the fire that killed her family?"
"Objection!" Grayson barked again, more desperate this time.
"Sustained," the judge warned. "Mr. Mickelson, stay within bounds."
Vihaan nodded slightly, tone never breaking. "Of course, Your Honour. Let me rephrase." He turned back to Holt. "Did you or did you not hear Liam Salvatore order, 'She doesn't leave this house alive'?"
The room froze. Holt's lips trembled. He looked toward Liam — then down.
"Yes," he finally whispered. "He said it."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Vihaan stepped back, gaze steady. "No further questions."
Grayson tried to rise again, fumbling for a defense, but his words fell apart under the weight of evidence. His objections grew weaker, his voice smaller. Every claim dissolved — lack of proof, technical errors, tampering theories — all dismantled with calm precision.
Finally, the judge leaned forward. "After reviewing the video evidence, witness testimonies, and forensic reports, this court finds the defendants — Liam Salvatore and his associates — guilty on all counts."
The gavel struck once. Twice. Final.
The room erupted in murmurs, but I couldn't hear any of it.
For a moment, everything stilled — like time forgot to move.
Across the room, Vihaan's eyes found mine. No words, no smiles — just the weight of shared exhaustion and silent victory.
The murmurs dimmed behind me. I heard Vihaan's soft exhale, the kind that carried months of restraint and pain.Liam's handcuffs clicked, sharp and metallic — punctuation to a chapter I never wanted to write but finally finished.
Vihaan didn't smile, and neither did I.We didn't need to.
Peace had never looked so silent.
Outside the courtroom, Jia and Adrian waited while I searched for him. Then there he was — Vihaan, already talking to another solicitor, calm and composed as if he hadn't just torn down an empire inside that room. But the moment his eyes found mine, that calm cracked into something softer — something only I ever saw.
He walked straight toward me, confidence still in every step, but his expression now held that quiet pride I'd come to know too well. His fingers brushed against mine before he leaned in, voice low enough for only me to hear.
"Well done, Miss Salvatore... or should I say, almost Mrs. Mickelson. We won."
I couldn't help the small smile that curved my lips. "Not yet," I whispered back, trying to sound composed, but my heart clearly hadn't gotten the memo.
Vihaan's lips twitched, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner. "Then I guess I'll just have to keep winning until you say yes."
And for the first time in years, the word victory actually felt like peace.
ONE MONTH LATER.....
The morning felt different.
Sitting in front of my laptop at the office desk, the hum of the city outside, it almost felt like life had finally slowed down — like the chaos of the past year had been nothing more than a strange, distant dream.
This year has been a storm — full of highs and lows, testing every piece of me.It took time to find normal again… but somehow, it felt easier with him.
I was half-lost in my thoughts when my phone rang. Vihaan.
A smile crept up before I even answered. "Hello," I said, my voice light, cheerful.
"Ama," his voice came through — rushed, uneven, nothing like his usual calm. "You need to come here. I'm sending you the address. My driver's already outside your office. Please hurry."
I straightened in my chair, the smile fading instantly. "What happened? Are you alright?"
But the line went dead.
The silence that followed was deafening — the kind that makes your chest tighten before your mind even catches up.