Chapter 34

• The courtroom doors swung shut behind them, the clang echoing the finality of their victory, yet simultaneously failing to fully silence the insistent whisper of unease that clung to Cleo. The celebratory champagne tasted bittersweet on her tongue, the sweetness quickly overtaken by a metallic tang of fear. The acquittal was a monumental victory, a hard-won battle against a formidable opponent, but it felt less like a triumphant ending and more like a temporary reprieve. The shadows of the past, it seemed, were far from vanquished.
• Rowan, sensing her apprehension, squeezed her hand, his thumb stroking the back of her fingers, a silent reassurance in the midst of her internal turmoil. His smile, usually bright and infectious, held a guarded edge, reflecting his own unspoken anxieties. He knew, as well as she did, that the legal battle was over, but the war, the true fight for their lives and their future, was far from won. Julian Harding had lost in court, but the venomous gleam in his eyes during the trial, the subtle yet chilling threats conveyed through his lawyer's dismissive gestures, had spoken volumes about his capacity for revenge.
• Their apartment, a haven they’d painstakingly rebuilt after escaping Julian’s suffocating control, now felt exposed, vulnerable. Each creak of the floorboards, each rustle of the wind against the windowpanes, sent a jolt of adrenaline through Cleo, her senses heightened, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Sleep became a luxury she could barely afford, haunted by vivid nightmares of Julian’s enraged face, his cold, calculating eyes promising retribution. The quiet moments, once filled with the comforting warmth of Rowan's presence, were now punctuated by a silent tension, a shared awareness of the lingering threat.