Aria’s POV
Patrick pled not guilty despite all the evidence stacked against him. The DNA confirmation of Sophia’s parentage was the mont his lawyer stopped arguing and started managing damage.
The judge found him guilty and gave him fifteen years imprisonnt.
Patrick was led out with his face set into sothing rigid and furious, and as he passed my table, his eyes found mine.
I smiled at him, just slightly, just enough.
He looked away first.
Margaret, still in the gallery, turned her face away from his as he was led past. He noticed. I watched him notice. Whatever else happened in the years ahead, Patrick Darvin would carry the mory of his wife unable to look at him out of the room.
Sophia’s case followed.
Her performance held longer than I expected. She was better at it than Patrick, more practiced in a certain kind of self-presentation, more fluent in the language of innocence. She was a lawyer after all.
But evidence does not care about performance, and when the final pieces were placed in front of the court, she knew it was over. She flipped and ntioned she had not acted alone, but acted with the help of Alpha Richard Cowen.
The confession surprised even .
She turned in the dock, and she turned toward , and the expression on her face was that of rage and grief all collapsed together into a single terrible mont.
"I hate you, Aria," she said. Her voice was shaking but distinct. Every cara in the corridor caught it. "Do you understand that? I have always hated you. Why did it have to be you? Why was it always you that Alpha Nathan wanted?"
The courtroom was silent.
I looked at her. I did not look away, I did not flinch.
"I tried to kill you," she said, the words coming out almost bewildered, as if she herself was still surprised that it had not worked. "More than once. And you’re still here."
The gallery was absolutely still.
"Yes," I said quietly. Calmly. "I am still here."
The judge soon gave his verdict on her case. He found her guilty, sentencing her to twenty years in the werewolf prison. The gavel ca down.
*****
After the court hearing was over, I stepped outside. As soon as I did, the reporters descended.
"Ms. Aria, how do you feel?"
"I’m glad justice was served," I said.
"Are you and Alpha Nathan planning to reconcile now that—"
"No," I said simply, without hesitation and without cruelty. "My focus right now is my daughter and my work. That’s all I have to say on that subject."
With that, I walked away.
Later that evening, a small unplanned party had naturally accumulated in my living room. Everyone was just arriving because there was nowhere else any of us particularly wanted to be that night.
Jonathan and Williams had brought wine. Williams had also brought a cake, which no one had requested, and which had *JUSTICE* written on it in slightly uneven icing, which he was extrely proud of.
Logan was sprawled in the armchair looking comfortable. Rowland had claid the spot on the left side of the sofa nearest to where I was sitting, which he always did, which I had stopped pretending not to notice.
Chloe was telling Williams that the cake was excessive. Williams was explaining, at length, why she was wrong.
I had a glass in my hand and I felt, for the first ti in a very long ti, the specific, rare quality of sothing like ease.
Then Nathan knocked.
I knew it was him before anyone opened the door. Rowland knew too, by the way his posture changed.
"I’ll go," I said, setting my glass down.
"Aria—" Rowland started.
"It’s fine," I said.
Nathan was on the step. He was in the sa clothes from the courtroom, jacket open now, his hands in his pockets. He looked tired. Not the constructed exhaustion of soone performing vulnerability, but actually, genuinely tired.
"Congratulations," he said. His voice was low. "You did it."
"We did it," I said. “Everyone of us played a part."
He shook his head slightly, deflecting the credit. "Can I speak to you?"
I stepped outside and pulled the door mostly closed behind .
The night was cool. The city made its distant sounds. We stood on the step and I waited.
"I know you’ve made up your mind about not coming back to ," he said. He was looking at steadily. "I’m not here to argue with that. I’m not here to pressure you."
"Then what are you here for?"
He was quiet for a mont.
"I wanted to ask you," he said carefully, "to consider. Not imdiately. Not even soon. Just — to consider the possibility that what we had could be rebuilt into sothing better than what it was."
He paused. "I know I don’t deserve the chance after what you went through. But I love you, Aria. I really do and I want you back. I am willing to wait for as long as I need to until you are ready to give us a chance again.."
The night was quiet between us as he searched my eyes, waiting for my response.
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