OLIVIA Everyone pushed back from their seats and stood. My knees wobbled as I rose, my palms slick against the polished wood in front of me. The judge entered wearing a black robe, his expression unreadable, and he took his seat. He set the gavel down with care and gave a single nod. “You may be seated.” A hush fell as everyone lowered themselves back into place. I sank onto the bench, my stomach twisting so hard I thought I might be sick or worse, need to bolt for the restroom. I pressed a hand on my stomach, trying to stop the sickness from getting worse, but it only made me more aware of how bad it felt. Across the aisle, Dominic’s lawyers straightened their files, and they looked ready to strike. On our side, Mr. Weston leaned forward, rearranging his notes and even though I couldn’t see his face from behind, the way his shoulders tensed said enough. Marcelle sat still, his hands folded while he radiated calmness. “We are here for the matter of State of New
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