The Wife He Threw Away のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 241 - チャプター 246

I had never entered police headquarters through the back entrance before. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Just a few weeks ago, officers had ushered me in through front doors with polite smiles, apologizing for the inconvenience whenever photographers crowded too close. They had treated me like someone worth protecting. Like someone important. Today, it felt like they were protecting everyone else from me. The black SUV rolled to a stop beside a steel door, far away from the crowds gathered outside the building. Even from inside the car, I could hear them. I could hear the crowd, shouting and chanting. I could hear the reporters calling out my name— not because they wanted an interview, but because they wanted answers. Or blood. One of the officers opened the car door. “This way, Ms. Sterling.” Finally, someone with manners. I stepped out without acknowledging the noise. I knew that if I looked toward it—if I let myself react—they would know they had gotten to me

I had slept for barely three hours. The moment my alarm rang, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling of my apartment. My mind had been replaying yesterday’s testimony over and over again, dissecting every answer Elise had given, every objection Eva’s attorneys had raised, and every expression on the jurors’ faces. Today would be different—it had to be. Yesterday had been about humanity. Today was about money— Paper trails, bank records and corporate fraud. The kind of evidence that didn’t cry, didn’t forget, and couldn’t be intimidated or even dismantled. I dressed more carefully than usual, in a charcoal-grey pantsuit, paired with a white blouse. My hair was pulled into a neat low bun, my makeup minimal. I grabbed the stack of files I’d reviewed twice before dawn and headed for the courthouse. ⸻ The scene outside the courthouse was even worse than yesterday. Television vans lined the street. Reporters crowded behind metal barricades. Even the poli

Walking into the courthouse felt surreal. Less than two weeks ago, I had been lying on the cold concrete floor of an abandoned construction site, taking what I thought would be my last breath. Hart Sullivan’s knife had been buried in my body. I remembered feeling the blood soaking through my clothes. I had watched the sky disappear, and genuinely believed I would never open my eyes again. Yet somehow… I was here. Alive. But every step seemed to serve as a reminder that survival came with a price. The muscles along my left side protested with every movement. My shoulder remained strapped securely in its sling, and despite the pain medication, the bullet wound still burned beneath the bandages. The doctors had been very clear with their instructions. Rest. No unnecessary movement, no stress and no work. Camilla had nearly cried when I told her I intended to come. Even Claire… I smiled faintly at the memory. She hadn’t argued. She’d simply looked at me wi