Ella
The moonlight streamed into the living room, casting a dim glow over the scattered papers around me.
My floor had turned into a makeshift work desk, a testament to the unyielding hours I’d spent trying to decipher every detail of the case. A nearly empty wine glass sat next to me, a small but rebellious act of indulgence for the night. I had to arm myself mentally and emotionally to go toe-to-toe with Mr. Westbrook tomorrow.
The sneering manner in which he’d dismissed me earlier had left a sting, a challenge I couldn’t ignore. Proving Logan’s innocence was paramount, but so was showing Westbrook that I was a formidable opponent.
With every document I pored over, my determination grew stronger. I wouldn't let Westbrook’s presumptions dictate the course of this case. I
