Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 97

Caleb’s POV

It is past midnight, and Serena sits cross-legged on my bed with a legal pad on her knee and the focus that reminds me she was built for courtrooms long before life put her in front of one.

We have been at this for two hours. My throat is raw. My hands won't stop — cracking knuckles, gripping the desk chair, pressing flat against my thighs.

"Let's go back to the timeline." She flips to a new page. "The defense will muddy it, so you need the dates anchored. When did the physical violence start?"

"I was seven. Maybe earlier, but seven is when I remember it clearly."

"And the scar?" Her voice doesn't soften. She asks it the way a lawyer would — tenderness right now would unravel me faster than cruelty ever has.

"I was nine. He threw a glass. A piece caught me behind the ear." I touch the ridged skin without thinking. "My mother told the ER it was a fall."

"Did anyone question that?"

"No. We were well-dressed and polite. That's all it takes."

She writes it down, and I watch the pen because watching her face would cost me the composure I am barely holding.

"Your turn," I tell her. "The defense will ask why you stayed with Lucas after Halloween. They'll frame continued contact as implied consent."

Her jaw tightens, and the detachment slips enough for me to see the girl who wore an engagement ring like a shackle because the alternative felt more dangerous than the cage.

"I stayed because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't. Lucas demonstrated that my 'no' meant nothing. Leaving someone who ignores your boundaries isn't as simple as walking away."

"Good. Now they'll push harder. They'll say you had a relationship with me before the engagement ended, and use it to suggest the allegation is fabricated."

She lifts her chin. The steadiness in her eyes is ferocious — the raw certainty of a woman who refuses to be diminished.

"What happened between me and Caleb Thornton does not change the fact that Lucas Bennett assaulted me. My personal life is not on trial. Lucas's actions are."

"They won't stand a chance against you."

"They don't need to beat me. They just need one juror to doubt." She picks up the pen again. "Your turn. Say it out loud. All of it. What Simon did."

The air in the room shifts. Her questions about Lucas cut deep, but they cut into tissue that has already scarred. This is different. This wound is still wet.

I press my palms flat and breathe in through my nose.

"My father beat my mother for years. He beat me when I tried to intervene or when I was in the way. He controlled everything — the money, the phone, who she could see. When she tried to end it, he stole the unsigned divorce papers and disappeared. He used me as a weapon to keep her trapped, threatening custody if she left."

My voice breaks on the last word. Not a dramatic fracture — just a syllable that comes out airless and thin.

I stop. Clench my jaw. Press my fingers into my legs until the pressure grounds me.

Serena does not reach for me. She holds my gaze with the same unflinching steadiness she brought to her own rehearsal, and I understand what she is giving me — not softness, but the dignity of being treated like I can handle this.

"Again," she says quietly.

I close my eyes. Open them. Find her face.

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