The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 238

CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT_EVA’S POV

Throughout my time on screen, I had played the role of the plaintiff in a movie more than once.

I had spent years imagining what it would be like to walk into a courthouse with cameras waiting for me.

In every version of that fantasy, they had been cheering.

They had shouted my name, asked for photographs, complimented my outfits.

Today, they screamed for an entirely different reason.

The heavy courthouse doors opened, and the noise hit me like a physical force.

“Eva!”

“Over here!”

“Did you lie about Lucian Dhark?”

“Justice for Claire!”

“Justice for Lucian!”

“How many lives did you ruin?”

Camera flashes exploded one after another, turning the mundane afternoon into a relentless storm of white light.

I kept my chin high, like I had learnt to all those years ago.

I had perfected that walk a long ago; shoulders back, eyes forward.

Never let them see you flinch. Never let them see you bleed.

It had always worked before.

Not today.

A protester broke through the front line before security shoved him back.

“You belong in prison!”

Another voice rose above the crowd.

“Liar!”

Then something white flew through the air.

An egg.

One of the guards threw himself in front of me just in time to shield me.

Good.

The egg exploded against his shoulder, yolk dripping onto the pavement.

The crowd erupted into louder shouting.

Someone laughed. Several others applauded.

Someone else screamed my name with such hatred that it barely sounded human.

How could people be so cruel? So feeble. So stupid.

My security detail tightened around me.

“Move.”

I didn’t argue.

For the first time in my career, I wanted to disappear into thin air.

The back door of the SUV opened, and I climbed inside.

The moment it slammed shut behind me, the world became quiet.

Not silent, just muffled.

The reporters’ voices became distant.

The flashing lights blurred through the tinted windows.

Only then did I realize I was shaking.

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

I clenched them into fists.

They kept shaking anyway.

Neither of my attorneys spoke.

For nearly a full minute, the only sound inside the vehicle was my uneven breathing.

Finally, Mr. Holloway cleared his throat.

“Today wasn’t ideal.”

I turned to look at him.

“Not ideal?”

He hesitated.

“We lost some emotional ground with the jury.”

I laughed.

It came out brittle.

“Emotional ground?”

I looked from one lawyer to the other.

“Elise Sinclair practically had them crying.”

Neither man answered.

That silence told me everything.

I closed my eyes.

I could still see Elise standing in the witness box.

Calm.

Composed.

Dignified.

She hadn’t cried.

She hadn’t begged for sympathy.

She had simply told the truth-or at least, the version of it she believed.

That had been enough.

I had watched the jurors.

One older woman had stopped writing halfway through Elise’s testimony.

She had simply looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Then she’d looked at me.

I knew that look.

Actors learned to read audiences.

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