The prosecution’s case was airtight, built block by block until there was no room left for doubt.

When the court finally recessed for the day, the hallway was packed with reporters and cameras.

Gabriel met me at the door, his hand finding the small of my back to guide me through the crowd.

“You did well,” he murmured, his voice low against the noise of the reporters shouting my name.

“Is it over?” I asked as we reached the elevator.

“The trial is almost over,” Gabriel said.

“But the fallout is just beginning.”

We rode the elevator down to the garage, where his driver was waiting.

As we stepped into the back of the car, my phone buzzed in my purse.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was an alert from a local news outlet, showing a live feed of the courthouse steps.

But then, another notification popped up.

It was a private message from an unknown number.

I tapped it open, and the breath caught in my throat.

“You think you won,” the message read.