Page 94 of Atlas
I clear my throat, nerves tightening around my vocal cords. “How’s Leo?”
“Get to the point,” he says, voice flatter now.Impatient.
Tom leans forward slightly, finally drawing Damien’s attention. “We wanted to be upfront. Some new information has come to light. We’re giving you the chance to respond before it goes through the courts.”
Damien’s gaze flicks to him, sharp and dismissive. “Such as?”
“Kasey Green,” Tom says evenly.
It’s brief, but I see it—the faint twitch in Damien’s jaw, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knows the name.
“Who?”
Tom chuckles, low and humourless. “Let’s not insult each other with that. I don’t have time for games.”
Damien drums his fingers on the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. He’s rattled, yet trying to cover it with arrogance.
Then, casually, like tossing a grenade with a smile, he turns back to me. “Are you still hooking up with the biker, Anita?”
Tom doesn’t rise to it. “Do you have evidence of that?”
“Do I need it?” Damien replies, smirking slightly. “Your client doesn’t have the cleanest reputation.”
Tom laces his fingers together and rests them calmly on the table. It’s a calculated move, done with quiet authority. “Yes, Mr. Carpenter, youdoneed it. Because this time, we’re doing things by the book. No backdoor judges. No fabricated scandals. Just facts.”
Damien’s expression falters. Only for a second. But it’s enough. “I see you’ve been taken in by my wife.”
“Ex,” Tom corrects without missing a beat.
Damien huffs a dry laugh. “Ex-wife. Trust me when I say, she will make a fool of you in that courtroom once I present what I’ve gathered.”
Tom doesn’t blink. “Judge Griffin is meticulous. And fair. I look forward to hearing what stories you’ve crafted. I’m confident the truth will speak louder.”
For once, Damien has no clever comeback.
I glance down at my hands under the table, pressing my fingers together until they ache. This is it—the beginning of the war.
But for the first time in a long time . . . I don’t feel alone.
He finally stands, yanking his suit jacket into place and straightening his tie like he still has control of something.
“I’ll see you in court,” Damien mutters, his voice tight with the effort of keeping his temper in check.
And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him with more force than necessary.
For a beat, I just sit there, staring at the empty space he left behind. The tension still clings to me, like static after a storm. But then it cracks and something warm blooms in my chest.
I turn to Tom, barely containing the rush in my voice. “Oh my god, you were amazing,” I breathe, grinning wide. “He didn’t know what to do. I’ve never seen him so . . .lost for words.”
Tom allows a small smile, but it’s measured, the kind of smile you earn from him, not the kind he hands out.
“He’s not used to being challenged,” he says simply, reaching for his coffee. “Especially not by someone who knows the law better than he does.”
I lean back in my chair, exhaling the tension I hadn’t even realised I was still holding. “I needed that,” I admit. “To see him flinch.”
“You needed to see he bleeds like everyone else,” Tom says.
I nod, and for a moment I let myself enjoy the silence. The weight of Damien’s presence has lifted, and in its place, there’s just me and Tom. Calm, capable, quietly victorious.
