Page 94 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
And I did need to. For months, I'd been living with the knowledge that Marcus was out there somewhere, probably plotting his next move, probably convinced that money and influence would get him out of the consequences he'd finally earned. The restraining order had been a start, but this. This was justice.
Micah's hand found mine across the center console, his touch warm and grounding. "Whatever happens in there, you're not facing it alone."
"I know that too." I squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from the steady presence of my pack. "That's what makes this different. Before, he made me feel like I had to handle everything by myself. Now..."
"Now you've got backup," Jonah finished, his own voice carrying the quiet authority that made Charlie feel safe and bad guys think twice.
The courthouse was one of those old brick buildings that had probably been impressive a century ago but now just looked tired. Inside, the hallways echoed with the click of dress shoes and the murmur of legal conversations, all of it designed to intimidate people who weren't used to navigating systems built by and for people with power.
People like Marcus.
Our lawyer, Chloe Martinez, met us at the elevator with a briefcase that looked like it could finance a small country and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Ready for this?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"As ready as anyone can be to watch their ex get what's coming to them," I said, surprised by my own boldness.
Chloe's smile became more genuine. "Good. Because he's not going quietly."
The courtroom was smaller than I'd expected, paneled in dark wood that absorbed sound and light alike. Marcus sat at the defendant's table with two lawyers who looked expensive enough to buy their own courthouse, his posture radiating the kind of entitled confidence that had once made me question my own reality.
He looked the same. Perfectly groomed, expensive suit, the kind of understated watch that cost more than most people's cars. Everything about him screamed success and respectability, which had always been part of his armor.
But armor could be cracked.
"The defendant will rise," the bailiff announced, and I watched Marcus stand with the fluid grace of someone who'd never doubted their place in the world.
Until now.
The charges read like a litany of everything I'd been too afraid to name while I was living it. Harassment, stalking, intimidation, fraud for the fake legal documents he'd used to try to force me back to Chicago, breaking and entering, assault on Jonah, Micah and me.
Each charge felt like a small victory, validation that what had happened to me was real and wrong and punishable by law.
Marcus's lead attorney, a sharp-faced woman who looked like she specialized in making problems disappear, launched into what I assumed was their defense strategy. Something about misunderstandings and emotional distress and a man trying to reconnect with someone he loved.
Loved. The word sat wrong in the air, all sharp edges and bitter aftertaste.
"Your Honor," she continued, "my client is a respected businessman who made some admittedly poor decisions in the aftermath of a difficult breakup. He's prepared to accept responsibility for his actions and make amends..."
"Objection." Chloe's voice cut through the courtroom like a blade. "The defendant's pattern of behavior constitutes systematic abuse, not a 'difficult breakup.'"
And then came the evidence. Months of documentation that I'd barely been aware was being collected. The threatening texts, the fake legal documents, witness statements from half of Hollow Haven describing Marcus's behavior during his brief but memorable visit to our town.
Sheriff Rowe took the stand, his testimony matter-of-fact and damning. Mrs. Carrington followed, describing Marcus's intimidation tactics with the sharp precision of someone who'd dealt with bullies before and wasn't impressed.
Then it was my turn.
Walking to the witness stand felt like the longest journey of my life, even with my pack's support radiating from the gallery behind me. The bailiff administered the oath, and I placed my hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth.
The whole truth.
Chloe's questions were gentle but thorough, walking me through the timeline of my relationship with Marcus, the escalating control, the way he'd isolated me from friends and family, the fear that had driven me to pack up my life and run.
"Can you describe the defendant's behavior during your relationship?" Chloe asked.
I took a breath, finding strength in the knowledge that Jonah, Reed, and Micah were watching, that I wasn't alone anymore.
"Marcus needed to control every aspect of my life," I said, my voice gaining strength with each word. "What I wore, where I went, who I talked to. He convinced me that my job wasn'timportant, that my art was a waste of time, that I was lucky he was willing to take care of someone as... as damaged as me."
