Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
The other two prosecutors high-five each other under the table.
“Solid statement and perfect delivery, Jones. No notes,” Kayden says with a look of pride. Why the fuck is he giving Zara that look?
Is she one of the students he’s also messing with?
I’ll fucking ruin him if that’s the case.
I’ll ruin him either way, but if he truly sees me as a toy of many toys, I’ll end him in the goriest way ever.
You know, to rid society of predators.
Just kidding. It’s only for pure personal gain.
“Thank you, Professor.” Zara smiles with utter arrogance as she resumes her place.
“Defense,” Kayden says without even looking at me, seeming busy checking his laptop. “It’d be hard to beat that, but the floor is yours.”
He’s belittling me again. The motherfucker.
I bottle down those emotions as I stand right before the jury, speaking in a tone lower than Zara’s but more confident. Unlike her, I have no notes, and I’m making eye contact with all of them. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard the prosecution’s version of events, but what they won’t tell you is the other side of the story—the part they conveniently left out to make their case seem cut and dried. Yes, something happened to Rebecca Blake that night, but that doesn’t mean that what the prosecution is trying to force you to believe is accurate. They’ll tell you that she was assaulted, that she was drugged and unable to consent. But what they won’t tell you is that Rebecca Blake went with him to that hotel room willingly. She wasn’t dragged there, she wasn’t coerced—she chose to go. And there are witnesses who will testify to this fact, people who saw them together before they entered the hotel.”
I let my eyes stay on the ones who are held captive by my words.
“The evidence will show that the two of them were flirting with each other before even stepping into that room. They left the bar together, and Rebecca Blake didn’t appear to be under duress. She was laughing, she was engaged, and she was in control of her actions. There was no indication of force, no signs of a woman desperately trying to escape an attacker. Now, the prosecution wants to focus on the aftermath, the fact that Rebecca couldn’t remember all the details and that she felt unwell the next morning. But I ask you to consider this. When someone drinks alcohol, their memories can become foggy, they can become clouded, and that's what happened here. Rebecca’s inability to recall everything from that night doesn’t mean that consent wasn’t given. According to witnesses, she never seemed out of control or intoxicated. The fact that she changed her mind or regretted her actions later does not negate the consent she previously gave.
“We’re not here to deny what happened to Rebecca—what we’re here to prove is that the sexual encounter between her and Mr. Rutherford was consensual. She went to that room willingly, she was an active participant, not a victim. She didn’t say ‘no,’ she didn’t resist, and that’s why this case hinges on one simple question: did the prosecution provide sufficient evidence to prove that what happened was anything other than a consensual encounter? We will show you that the answer is no. There is reasonable doubt, and we will prove that Mr. Rutherford is not guilty.”
I don’t pay attention to the rest of my team, who are celebrating in the corner. Or the members of the jury who are already in my pocket.
Instead, I let myself wear a smug smile as I turn to face Kayden.
How is that for perfect statement and delivery, dick—
My smile falters the moment our gazes lock. His eyes are dark, several shades darker than gray, filled with a dangerous, threatening edge. His fingers tighten on the desk, and I think that if he were to touch me right now, he might strangle me to death or something.
What the fuck?
The threatening edge disappears as he stands to his full height and says in a monotone voice, “Too theatrical. Could be shorter. We’ll resume next week. Moving on to today’s lesson.”
Everyone shuffles back to their seat, and I do, too, but that expression is etched deep in my mind.
Kayden doesn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the class. No taunting smirks. No backhanded insults.
Nothing.
And all I can think about is that he looked like he wanted to kill me.
12
KAYDEN
Cold.
Somehow not cold enough.
Somehow too cold to breathe properly.
The ice surrounding my body is biting, an assault that numbs every inch of my bare skin.
The sharp, merciless water clings to me, the ice cubes scraping against my legs like jagged stones.
My breaths rush out in shallow, controlled gasps, the cold seeping into my bones, sinking deeper with every passing second.
The icy grip on my muscles makes the black-and-white bathroom fade into an indistinct blur.