My mother-in-law dragged me to court, accusing me of pretending to be pregnant to snatch the inheritance. Then, right there in the courtroom, she lunged forward and kicked my stomach. “See? It’s all fake!” Gasps erupted. What she didn’t realize… the man behind the judge’s bench was my father. And in that instant, her case didn’t just fall apart. Her life did haj.

Judge Alexander Thorne descended the steps of the bench. He didn’t look like a judge in that moment; he looked like an ancient god of war wrapped in black silk. His robes billowed behind him as he walked past the lawyers, past the stunned court reporter, and straight toward the woman who was still standing over me, panting with exertion.

Agatha was still high on her own adrenaline. “You saw it, Judge! She didn’t even bruise! It must be a cushion—”

The Judge reached out and gripped Agatha’s wrist. It wasn’t a gentle restraint. I heard the faint pop of her expensive watch strap breaking. Agatha’s face went from triumph to confusion, then to a sudden, piercing fear as she looked into his eyes.

“You just assaulted a pregnant woman in my courtroom,” Alexander Thorne said. His voice was quiet, which was infinitely more terrifying than if he had been shouting. “You just committed a felony in front of a thousand witnesses, on camera, in the house of justice.”