The court was so full that there was no room to breathe. The back row was crowded with reporters, their pens poised over notepads as they waited for the verdict that would bring everything to life.
Celeste Morgan otherwise sat quite still, hands folded atop the desk, her face flaxen as ever. Her client — a jittery man charged with insider trading — kept looking over at her as if she were his only hope.
When the judge began to speak, the room fell silent.
"Not guilty. Judgment: not guilty."
A crescendo of sounds went up. Cameras flashed. Before turning to shake hands with her client, Celeste allowed herself only a brief smile.
"Congratulations," she said softly. "You're free to go."
He mumble a shaky thank-you, but her attention was already on the cameras outside. She could already picture the headlines
THE ICE QUEEN WINS AGAIN.She immediately called her assistant.
The court was adjourned in an instant, and her aide, Mara, came running over with her cellphone. "You're trending again, Celeste. Channel 8 is asking for a quick interview - oh, and your husband's downstairs already."
Celeste smiled. "Hold them up five minutes. I need to clear out the files."
Marcy smiled again. "You're a machine."
Celeste gave her a stern stare. "Professional. There's a difference."
Before she could even get out of the courtroom, her heels clicking on the marble, the reporters were yelling her name.
"Ms. Morgan! Over here! How does it feel to have won yet another celebrated case?"
"Any remarks on your history with the Navarro trial?" "Do you feel your success has made you any enemies?"
She smiled stiffly, as always. "Justice speaks for itself," she said, and went striding to the waiting car.
Her husband, Ethan, was leaning on the black car. Looking sharp in his gray suit and hair perfectly styled and polished, he looked warm as ever in that smooth, political face of his. He flung open the door for her.
"You were great," he told her as she took her seat in the booth. "Whenever I see you working, I need to remind myself why I fell in love with you."
Celeste smoothed her skirt and nodded. "Thanks. Where are we going?"
"Dinner. Just us. You should be celebrating."
She wanted to tell him no—she had a different brief to prepare—but then she saw his smile and sighed in surrender. "Fine. One hour."
The restaurant was one of those sleek, pricey places where they all know your name and order. Soft music was playing at the background. Celeste attempted to unwind, but her mind already at work.
"At least silence your phone," Ethan said, as he shifted across the table to drape his hand over hers. "You won, Celeste. Catch your breath once."
She looked up. "You say that every time."
"And you never listen to me." He gave a brief smile, then added, "We should go on that vacation I keep talking about. The Maldives? Just us. No cases, no clients."
She was near smiling. "You don't like the beach."
"I'd go through it for you."
Their waiter came to set down wine glasses. But before Celeste could take her first sip of wine, she noticed Ethan's phone ringing incessantly on the table. He turned it over in a hurry.
"Work?" she said.
"Yeah. Campaign business. Nothing big."
He took on an air of nonchalance, but only very slightly tightening his hand. Celeste observed everything – she always did. She'd spent all those years in court learning to read micro-expressions, the twitch of a jaw, the pause before a lie.
She said nothing, though.
Halfway through dinner, his phone beeped once more. This time he got out of bed to answer the call outside.
She waited. Five minutes. Ten.
Her hunger had subsided. She checked her own phone by instinct paused when a message pop-up from her friend appeared the screen.
Kara: Didn't you say Ethan was working late?
Celeste: He's with me. Why?
Kara: Go see the news. I heard something on the news. Page Six just posted something.
Celeste's gut dropped. She clicked open the link. A pixelated image slowly downloaded and she watched as a man and a woman in her early twenties exit a hotel together.
The man's face was hidden—but the watch on his wrist was unmistakable.
Her husband's limited-edition Cartier.
The caption read on the picture:
Ethan Ward's Secret Scandal? - Sources Say He Had Affair With Intern.
She shook her head When Ethan got back, she was still staring at her phone.
"Who wa she?" she said, voice firm, yet cold.
He bristled. "What ?"
"Don't play stupid with me Ethan." The picture. The intern. How long?"
Those dining at other tables were beginning to turn.
Ethan leaned close, speaking softly. "Celeste, not here. Someone is going to try and sabotage us. You see what politics are like."
"Then why are you sweating?" she snapped.
He clenched his jaw. "Cause you're making a scene", he said.
"You made the scene," she panted throwing the phone onto the table. "I'm just the audience."
The waiter stood confusedly at their side, wondering whether to interrupt. Celeste pushed back from the table. "Enjoy your dinner. You're going to need all that energy for your next interview campaign."
Ethan caught her wrist. "Don't go. We can get through this. "
She looked down at his hand, her voice even. "You can't fix what you broke."
She snapped out of his embrace and exited.
---
Outside, it was raining, soft but persistent. She didn't even open an umbrella. She probably messed up her makeup anyway. She didn't care in the least.
Her driver tried to keep the door open for her, but she waved him away. "I'll drive myself."
"Ma'am"
"I said I'd drive."
She got into the driver's seat, tossed her clutch over onto the passenger seat and just sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. The rain hit the windshield harder, beating the same rhythm as inside her head.
Her phone buzzed again Ethan's name displaying on the screen. She flipped it over, face-down, and started the ignition.
City lights swirled through the rain as she drove without purpose, no where to be, no mind beyond the pain that weighed so heavily in her chest.
"I want to forget," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Just once, I want to forget."