The judge’s courtroom smelled faintly of old paper and lemon polish, like someone was trying to scrub history into something presentable.
Mira sat at the petitioner’s table with Priya beside her and Imani two seats back, still as a statue. Theo sat behind them—not in the row reserved for “support,” but close enough that Mira could feel him like a hand at her spine.
Across the aisle, Ethan arrived late on purpose.
He looked crisp—tailored suit, practiced calm—like he could dress his way out of consequence. But his eyes were too bright, his smile too sharp. He wanted the room to feel his presence, to remember him as the protagonist.
Mira kept her gaze forward.
Priya leaned in. “He wants you to look at him. Don’t.”
Mira whispered, “I won’t.”
Theo’s phone buzzed once, then went silent. His hand found the back of Mira’s chair, fingers resting there—not gripping, just existing. *I’m here.*
The bailiff called the case. The judge, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and no patience for theater, read the file like she’d already decided she didn’t like anyone’s nonsense.
Priya stood. “Your Honor, Ms. Chen requests a temporary restraining order based on repeated harassment, stalking behavior via third parties, and professional sabotage. We have documented messages from multiple numbers following blocks, distribution of non-consensual video, forged documents sent to Ms. Chen’s employer and media outlets, and threats of escalation.”
Ethan’s attorney rose—young, smooth, overconfident. “Your Honor, my client denies these allegations. The so-called documentation is circumstantial. There is no proof Mr. Hale created or distributed these materials.”
Priya didn’t flinch. “We anticipated that claim. We subpoenaed platform data. We also have a sworn statement from Vantage event operations that Mr. Hale offered cash for ‘anything embarrassing’ from the gala.”
Mira’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t let it show. She’d expected lies. She hadn’t expected *someone to speak the truth for her* in a room designed to doubt women.
Ethan turned his head slightly as if to glance at Mira, then looked away, bored. Like he could afford boredom.
The judge adjusted her glasses. “Ms. Chen, stand.”
Mira’s knees wanted to betray her. Theo’s hand pressed once against her chair—steadying.
She stood.
The judge’s voice softened, but only slightly. “Did you ask Mr. Hale to stop contacting you?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mira said. “Multiple times. I blocked him. He kept using new numbers. He also contacted my workplace and attempted to damage my employment.”
“And the video?” the judge asked. “The one where you’re crying.”
Mira’s throat tightened, but her voice stayed level. “It was filmed without my consent. It was posted with captions implying I was paid for sex or silence. It was intended to shame me.”
A flicker of something—anger, maybe—crossed the judge’s face.
Ethan’s attorney tried again. “Your Honor, the internet is full of content. We can’t hold my client responsible for what anonymous accounts do.”
Priya slid a document forward. “Then explain why the anonymous account logged in from the IP address of Mr. Hale’s coworking office on three occasions—two of which coincide with his own badge swipes, which we obtained through discovery after a separate civil filing.”
Ethan’s face tightened. For the first time, the mask slipped.
The judge looked at Ethan. “Mr. Hale, stand.”
Ethan rose, the confident posture just a little too rehearsed. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge’s gaze was sharp. “Do you understand that forging documents and interfering with employment can cross into criminal conduct?”
Ethan smiled, small. “I understand, Your Honor. But I didn’t do those things.”
The judge’s expression didn’t change. “That’s not what I asked.”
Ethan’s smile faltered a millimeter.
The judge continued, voice firm. “Temporary restraining order is granted. No contact. No third-party contact. No online posts referencing Ms. Chen directly or indirectly. Any violation will be grounds for contempt. I am also referring this matter to the DA’s office for review based on the materials submitted.”
Mira’s breath left her in a slow, shaking rush.
Ethan turned his head toward her now, anger flashing through the polish. *You did this to me,* his eyes said.
Mira didn’t look away.
Theo’s hand slid to the small of her back as she sat. Not possessive. Protective. Like he was reminding her body she was still in it, still safe.
Outside the courtroom, reporters waited like wolves with microphones.
Priya stepped in front of Mira immediately. “No comment.”
Theo didn’t. He just took Mira’s hand.
A camera snapped. Someone yelled, “Theo, is Reyes Systems financing this legal action?”
Theo stopped.
Mira’s stomach clenched—public, always public.
Theo looked at the reporter, calm and lethal. “I would finance it if she needed it. But she doesn’t. She has counsel. She has evidence. And now she has a court order.”
He turned to Mira then, his voice lowering only for her. “You did it.”
Mira swallowed. “We did.”
Theo’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, gentle. “No. Today was you.”
Mira wanted to cry again—this time from relief—but she refused to give Ethan the satisfaction of seeing her break anywhere near his orbit.
Still, as they walked toward the car, Mira felt something settle in her chest.
A line had been drawn by someone other than Theo.
By the law.
By a judge.
By reality.
And Ethan was finally on the wrong side of it.