The courtroom hushes as I take the witness stand, the polished wood cool beneath my fingers as I place my hand on the Bible and swear to tell the truth. From this elevated position, I can see the entire tableau—the stern-faced judge, the attentive jury, the rows of spectators including journalists scribbling furiously in notebooks. In the front row sits Ethan, his expression a carefully controlled mask of support, and beside him my father, looking older than his years in this moment of reckoning.

And across the room, at the defense table, sit Cassandra and Diana, both impeccably dressed in conservative suits that can't quite disguise the strain of the past weeks. Cassandra meets my gaze with undisguised hatred, while Diana studies her manicured nails with affected disinterest.


"Please state your name for the record," the prosecutor requests, her voice bringing me back to the immediate task.

"Olivia Eleanor Morgan-Knight," I reply, the hyphenated surname a recent change that reflects the evolving reality of my identity—honoring both my birth family and the family I've created with Ethan.

"Mrs. Morgan-Knight, could you please describe for the jury your relationship to the defendants?"


And so it begins—the public recounting of our tangled history, the betrayals and manipulations, the crimes both proven and alleged that have brought us all to this moment of judgment.

Two weeks earlier, our temporary sanctuary in Connecticut had been interrupted by a call from District Attorney Martinez. "We've scheduled the preliminary hearing for next Monday," she informed us without preamble. "The grand jury has returned indictments on multiple counts for both Diana and Cassandra."


"Including charges related to my mother's death?" I asked, the question that's never far from my thoughts.

"Yes," Martinez confirmed, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Maria Vasquez's testimony was compelling. Combined with the prescription records we subpoenaed and the pattern of behavior established through other evidence, we've secured indictments for second-degree murder against Diana and conspiracy after the fact for Cassandra."

The news left me momentarily speechless—after five years of carrying the burden of knowing how my mother died without being able to prove it, justice was finally within reach. The emotion that washed through me wasn't the vindictive triumph I might once have expected, but something more complex—relief mingled with a profound sadness that no legal verdict could bring my mother back.

"Olivia?" Martinez prompted when my silence stretched too long.

"I'm here," I assured her. "Just... processing. What happens next?"

"We'll need you in New York to prepare your testimony," she explained. "You'll be a key witness in multiple aspects of the case—the financial fraud, the drugging incident, the threats against Leo, and establishing the timeline around your mother's death."

The prospect of testifying—of publicly recounting the most painful chapters of my life under cross-examination—created a knot of anxiety in my stomach. But I had come too far to falter now, when justice was finally within reach.

"I'll be there," I promised. "Whatever you need."

Now, two weeks later, I sit on the witness stand facing the moment I've both dreaded and anticipated—the public reckoning, the official record of crimes long hidden behind wealth and social position.

"Mrs. Morgan-Knight," the prosecutor continues, "could you describe the circumstances that led to your departure from New York five years ago?"

I take a deep breath, focusing on presenting the facts clearly and calmly despite the emotional weight they carry. "I woke up in a hotel room, disoriented and with no memory of how I'd gotten there. Ethan Knight—now my husband—was unconscious beside me, similarly affected. We had both been drugged at a business event the previous evening."

"And what happened when you left that hotel room?"

"I discovered that while I was unconscious, a narrative had already been established—that I had behaved inappropriately with a business competitor, that I appeared intoxicated or on drugs, that my judgment was compromised. By the time I reached my office, security was waiting to escort me out. My access had been revoked, my position eliminated."

"Who controlled the narrative about what had happened?" the prosecutor asks.

"Cassandra Morgan, with Diana's support," I reply, my gaze steady on my stepsister's face. "They had orchestrated the entire scenario—the drugging, the hotel room setup, the witness statements about my supposed behavior."

"Objection!" Cassandra's attorney interjects. "Speculation as to the defendants' actions."

"Your Honor, we will establish the defendants' involvement through subsequent evidence and testimony," the prosecutor counters smoothly.

"Overruled," the judge decides. "The witness may continue."

I detail the rapid unraveling of my life following that night—my father's refusal to see me, the frozen bank accounts, the allegations of financial impropriety that later proved to be fabricated, the discovery of my pregnancy, and ultimately my decision to flee to Singapore.

"And during this period, did you have any direct communication with either defendant about their role in these events?" the prosecutor asks.

This is the crucial testimony—the direct evidence linking Cassandra to the drugging incident. "Yes. The night everything fell apart, Cassandra called me. I was still disoriented from whatever drug they had given me, but I remember her words clearly. She said, 'You should have stayed in your lane, Olivia. The company was always meant to be mine.'"

"Did she admit to drugging you?"

"Yes. She said, 'You and Ethan Knight should have been more careful about accepting drinks from Nathaniel. But you always were too trusting.'"

"And did she mention anything about your mother during this conversation?"

I swallow hard, the memory still painful despite the years that have passed. "She did. When I accused her of destroying my life, she laughed and said, 'We did your mother first. Diana perfected her technique with Eleanor's heart medication. A little too much one day, none at all the next—doctors just thought her condition was deteriorating naturally.'"

A murmur runs through the courtroom at this testimony. Diana's expression finally cracks, her affected disinterest giving way to alarm as she whispers urgently to her attorney.

"What was your response to this information?" the prosecutor continues.

"I was devastated," I admit, the emotion of that moment still raw. "And terrified. If they were capable of murder and had already destroyed my reputation and career, what else might they do? Especially once I discovered I was pregnant. That's why I left the country—to protect myself and my unborn child."

The prosecutor guides me through the rest of my testimony—my years in Singapore, building Ascendant Group from nothing, my carefully planned return to New York, the discovery that Ethan had been an unwitting victim in the same plot, our arranged marriage that evolved into a genuine relationship, and finally the threats against Leo that accelerated the exposure of Cassandra and Diana's crimes.

Throughout my testimony, I maintain the composed demeanor I've cultivated through years of business leadership, though inside, emotions churn like a storm-tossed sea. This public recounting of private pain—the betrayals, the losses, the years of separation from my father and homeland—is both excruciating and cathartic.

When the prosecutor finishes her direct examination, Cassandra's attorney rises for cross-examination, his expression calculating. "Mrs. Morgan-Knight, you've painted quite a dramatic picture for the jury. A conspiracy against you, murder allegations, corporate intrigue—it sounds almost like a novel rather than real events."

"Truth is often more extraordinary than fiction," I reply evenly, refusing to be baited into an emotional response.

"Indeed," he agrees with false pleasantness. "And speaking of truth, isn't it true that you returned to New York with the explicit purpose of destroying my client's reputation and position?"

"I returned to New York to reclaim what was rightfully mine and to expose the truth about what happened to my mother," I correct. "Justice, not destruction, was my goal."

"Justice," he repeats skeptically. "Yet you concealed your true identity, created an elaborate deception regarding your relationship with Ethan Knight, and systematically targeted Morgan Group's business interests. Those actions suggest revenge rather than justice, wouldn't you agree?"

Before I can answer, the prosecutor objects. "Argumentative, Your Honor. Counsel is characterizing the witness's motives rather than asking factual questions."

"Sustained," the judge rules. "Rephrase, counselor."

The attorney adjusts his approach but continues attempting to portray me as a vengeful schemer rather than a victim seeking justice. Throughout the grueling cross-examination, I maintain my composure, answering truthfully while refusing to be provoked into statements that might undermine my credibility.

When I'm finally excused from the witness stand, my legs feel unsteady as I make my way back to my seat beside Ethan. His hand finds mine immediately, warm and supportive, grounding me after the emotional ordeal of testimony.

"You were magnificent," he whispers as the court takes a brief recess. "Clear, composed, unshakeable."

"It was harder than I expected," I admit quietly. "Reliving it all so publicly."

My father leans forward from his seat behind us. "You did Eleanor proud today," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "She always admired your strength, even when you were just a girl."

The simple statement—connecting my present courage to my mother's memory—brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I blink them back quickly, unwilling to show such vulnerability in a courtroom where Cassandra and Diana might interpret it as weakness.

The trial continues with a parade of witnesses—financial experts detailing the fraud in Morgan Group's Asian division, security personnel from the hotel confirming the unusual circumstances surrounding the night Ethan and I were drugged, Maria Vasquez testifying about Diana's suspicious behavior with Eleanor's medication.

Most damning of all is Nathaniel Pierce, who has secured a plea deal in exchange for his testimony. He confirms every detail of the plot against me—the deliberate drugging, the staged hotel room scenario, the coordinated witness statements, all orchestrated by Cassandra with Diana's guidance.

"It was supposed to be simple character assassination," he explains to the riveted courtroom. "Discredit Olivia professionally, create doubt about her judgment and stability, undermine Charles Morgan's confidence in her as his successor. The pregnancy was an unexpected complication."

"And were you aware of any connection between this plot and Eleanor Morgan's death?" the prosecutor asks.

Nathaniel shifts uncomfortably. "Not at the time. But later, after Olivia had left the country, Cassandra made comments when she'd been drinking. Said her mother had 'cleared the path' for her by 'helping nature take its course' with Eleanor's heart condition."

Each day of testimony builds the case more thoroughly, creating an undeniable pattern of manipulation, deception, and escalating criminal behavior. Throughout the proceedings, Ethan remains my steadfast support, rearranging his schedule to attend every day despite the demands of Knight Industries.

"You don't have to be here for every session," I tell him one evening as we return to the penthouse, both exhausted from another day of emotional testimony. "The company needs you too."

"The company has an excellent management team that can function without me for a few weeks," Ethan replies, loosening his tie. "You and this case are my priority right now."

The simple declaration—you are my priority—warms something deep inside me. Despite our agreement to let our relationship evolve naturally without pressure, moments like this continue to strengthen the bond between us, building a foundation of trust and support that feels increasingly solid.

Leo remains safely ensconced at the Connecticut property with Mrs. Chen and round-the-clock security, protected from both the media frenzy surrounding the trial and any potential desperate actions by Cassandra or Diana. We visit every weekend, maintaining as much normalcy as possible for him despite the extraordinary circumstances.

"When will the bad ladies go to jail forever?" he asks one Saturday as we walk around the lake, his small hand warm in mine. The question catches me off guard—we've been careful about what we say around him, but children absorb more than adults realize.

"The trial will decide what happens to them," I explain carefully. "The judge and jury are listening to all the evidence to determine what consequences are appropriate."

Leo considers this with the serious expression he adopts when processing complex information. "But they did bad things to you and Grandma Eleanor," he states with the straightforward moral clarity of childhood. "So they should get a big time-out."

Despite the gravity of the situation, his framing draws a smile from me. "That's essentially how the justice system works," I agree. "Though they call it prison rather than a time-out."

"Will you be sad when it's over?" he asks perceptively. "Even if they get the biggest time-out ever?"

The question strikes at something I've barely acknowledged to myself—the complex emotions that will likely follow the conclusion of this case, regardless of the verdict. For five years, seeking justice has been my driving purpose, the framework around which I've built my life. What happens when that purpose is fulfilled?

"I might have mixed feelings," I admit, crouching to his level. "Happy that justice has been served, but sad about all the things that happened to bring us to this point. Sometimes big situations create complicated feelings."

Leo nods sagely. "Like when I'm excited about a new dinosaur toy but sad that the old one got broken."

"Something like that," I agree, marveling at his ability to find relatable parallels in his five-year-old experience. "But no matter what happens with the trial, the most important thing is that we're together as a family now. You, me, Daddy, Grandpa Charles—that's what matters most."

"And Grandma Vivienne," Leo adds, referring to Ethan's mother who has become a doting grandmother despite the unusual circumstances of our family formation. "She says she's teaching me 'sophisticated tastes' when we have tea parties."

The image of elegant Vivienne Knight hosting formal tea parties for my dinosaur-obsessed five-year-old brings a genuine laugh—a welcome moment of lightness amid the heaviness of the trial.