Selene's POV
The room fell into an unnatural stillness as the judge re-entered. Days had passed since the original sentencing. We thought it was over. But Ayra's relentless digging, and the new evidence she'd uncovered, told a darker story—one that couldn't go unheard.
Antonio stood beside me again. This time, his jaw was tighter, eyes sharper. Ayra sat to my left, fingers locked together, unmoving.
"Due to the presentation of newly verified digital recordings, psychological reports, and direct testimonies brought forth in post-trial review," the judge announced, "Victor Donatelli will now serve an additional fifteen years on charges of digital blackmail, long-term harassment under false identity, and endangering the psychological health of multiple individuals. That brings your total sentence to forty years in federal custody, without parole for the first thirty-five."
Gasps echoed in the courtroom.
Victor's face paled. His lawyer turned stiffly toward him, whispering something urgent—but the man looked like a broken code. The silence that had once been his weapon now caved in on him, suffocating.
He was no longer just guilty.
He was fully exposed.
Antonio exhaled, his thumb tracing small, grounding circles against the back of my hand. I didn't cry. Not this time. The tears had already done their part. Now… this was about peace.
Ayra leaned in and whispered, "We did it, Sel. We gave the truth a voice."
As Victor was escorted out, head lowered, I didn't bother looking back.
He was no longer part of my story.
He was a footnote in a chapter about power reclaimed.
—
Outside, the breeze carried spring's chill. But I felt none of it.
Antonio pulled me gently into his arms, forehead to mine.
"No more shadows," he whispered.
"No more hiding," I replied.
And just like that, I felt the final weight lift.
Because justice wasn't just served.
It was delivered with fire.
Antonio's POV
The courtroom was quiet now. The verdict had been read, the sentencing delivered—forty years. Victor Donatelli would be locked away for the rest of his life's prime, and maybe that wasn't enough for everything he did. But it was something. A beginning.
I stepped outside, the cold wind of Paris brushing my face like a reset. Ayra stood next to me, arms folded, silent. Mira and Amara were just a few feet away, waiting with Devina and my father. But my eyes searched past them, toward the woman who had endured more than anyone.
Selene.
She was standing across the stone path, talking to her aunt Melinda and her parents. Her expression was unreadable—not angry, not relieved. Just… quiet. Like she was breathing for the first time after being held underwater too long.
I walked to her, slowly.
She looked up, her hazel eyes catching the light like dusk turned gold. "It's over," she whispered, more to herself than me.
"No," I said, reaching for her hand, "it's just beginning."
The silence between us was full of memories, of things unspoken, of darkness that had tried to take her light and failed.
"He won't hurt anyone again," I added. "You're free, Selene."
A small tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't sob, didn't crumble. She stood tall, as if the verdict had stitched together a part of her spirit.
Her father came over, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you, Antonio."
I nodded, unable to speak for a second. Then turned to Selene's mother and Melinda, who both looked at me with teary approval. They had seen it too—the way she had come through fire and didn't burn.
Later that night, as we all sat in the Laurent living room, wrapped in warmth and the soft lull of French music playing in the background, Selene leaned her head on my shoulder.
"You stayed," she whispered.
"Always," I said, kissing her forehead.
Forty years for a man who tried to break her.
A lifetime of love for the woman who refused to be broken.