#Chapter 74: Self-Incrimination

Ella The golden chandeliers of the courtroom seemed to dim as Judge Milton beckoned Mr. Westbrook and me to his private chambers. The anticipation was suffocating, every step echoing with a gravity that felt overwhelming. The grandeur of the courtroom gave way to the more intimate confines of Judge Milton’s chambers—a room steeped in history, with dark wooden panels, shelves lined with leather-bound books, and a magnificent mahogany desk that seemed to have seen centuries of justice dispensed from behind it. As the door closed behind us, Westbrook wasted no time. “She’s a filthy little liar, Your Honor!” he spat, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. The venom in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, but I wasn’t going to let him see that. Judge Milton, always the embodiment of authority, didn’t look up from his desk. “You will refrain from making personal attacks in my chambers,” he said calmly, though the warning was unmistakable. Gathering my c