Chapter 178: Echoes of the Past

Justin’s POV

I woke up tangled in the heavy sheets, wrapped completely around Harper.

For a few moments, I didn’t move. I just lay there in the quiet morning light, watching her. Her soft hair was everywhere, half-covering her face, and one of her arms was draped across my chest like she had no intention of letting me go, even in her sleep. She looked so peaceful. So soft. So completely untouched by the dark, twisted mess spinning inside my head.

A small, genuine smile tugged at my lips.

Then, my body started reacting to the warm, bare woman pressed against my side.

I looked down, letting out a quiet sigh. "Seriously?" I closed my eyes, scolding myself. "Not right now, man."

I had way too much to do today. The upcoming trial. The private investigation. Deciphering those horrifying files. The growing list of questions about Diane and her shadowed family line.

And now, my lawyer needed to see me before the morning got away from us.

I couldn’t let myself get distracted, no matter how desperately I wanted to stay right here in bed and pull Harper back under the covers. As much as I craved her warmth, I had an entire war to handle.

Carefully, meticulously, I untangled my legs from hers and shifted to the edge of the mattress. Harper barely stirred. I reached back and pulled the heavy duvet over her bare shoulder when I noticed the chill in the air.

"It’s getting cold," I whispered softly.

She let out a faint, sweet sound in her sleep, curling deeper into the warmth of the blanket. My chest tightened with affection. I leaned down, gently pressing a kiss against her forehead before slipping out of bed.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked the glowing screen. 7:30 a.m.

Then I saw the unread text sitting at the top of my notifications.

Lawyer:Meet me at eight. We need to go through everything before the pre-trial hearing.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

I had completely lost track of time. I needed to leave right now.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, threw cold water over my face, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a dark hoodie.

Before heading out the front door, I walked into the quiet kitchen. I pulled open the refrigerator and spotted a plate of leftovers from yesterday. I took it out and set it inside the microwave so it was ready to go. I didn’t want Harper waking up hungry and searching the kitchen.

I set the microwave timer, then turned on the coffee machine, watching the rich dark liquid start to brew. At least when she opened her eyes, she’d have hot coffee and breakfast waiting for her.

I found a notepad and a pen sitting on the counter and quickly scribbled a note:

Babe, I had to leave early to meet with my lawyer. Food is in the microwave and coffee is fresh. I’ll be back soon. Love you.

I placed the paper on the counter, setting her phone right on top of it so it wouldn’t blow away.

I grabbed my briefcase full of legal files, then stopped near the doorway. I turned back and looked toward the dark bedroom. Harper was still fast asleep, completely safe in our bed.

I smiled softly into the quiet room. "Sleep, baby."

Then I turned and walked out into the morning air.

By the time I reached my lawyer’s downtown office, my brain was already racing, running through every point we needed to tackle.

The receptionist looked up as I stepped through the glass doors. "Mr. Justin?"

"Yeah."

"He’s expecting you. Right this way, please."

I nodded, following her down the quiet hallway. The second I stepped into his private office, my lawyer stood up from behind his mahogany desk.

"Good morning, Justin."

"Morning."

He gestured toward the leather chair across from him. "Sit. I’ve compiled everything you requested."

I dropped into the chair, placing my stack of files onto the polished desk. "Good."

He opened a thick Manila folder. "I contacted your father’s defense team. I’ve reviewed the documents they provided, and I’ve cross-referenced them with the background information your private investigator sent over."

For the next forty-five minutes, we systematically broke down every single detail. The criminal charges. The physical evidence. The prospective witness lists. The complex financial paper trails. The altered medical documentation surrounding my mother’s long, strange illness. The timeline of her death.

Everything was laid out in front of us, stark and horrifying. A dull, heavy throb started behind my eyes.

My lawyer leaned back, his expression turning grave. "There is one critical thing we need to prepare you for, Justin."

"What?"

"You may have to testify."

I stiffened, leaning back into my chair. "Do I really have to go on the stand?"

"I don’t know with absolute certainty yet," he said, closing the folder. "But given the direction the prosecution is taking, I am almost certain you will be called."

I let out a heavy sigh, rubbing my thumb against my jaw. "Why me?"

"Because you have direct, firsthand experience with what went on inside that house." He paused, letting his next words land. "And there are additional charges we are officially preparing to file."

"Which ones?"

"Child abuse."

I went completely still. The air in the room suddenly felt dangerously thin. I hadn’t even processed that aspect of the nightmare.

My lawyer watched my face closely. "You were just a boy when some of these incidents occurred, Justin. Your personal testimony regarding her behavior, her cruelty, and her control could be instrumental to the jury."

I dragged my hand over my face, staring at the floor. "I haven’t... I haven’t really talked to anyone about that stuff. Not in detail."

"I know," he said softly, leaning forward across the desk. "And that is precisely what we need to change today."

I lifted my eyes to meet his.

"We need your formal, written statement," he pressed gently. "Everything you can remember. What happened behind closed doors. What you saw her do to your mother and your father. What she did to you. How often it occurred. Anyone who might have witnessed the dynamic."

I swallowed hard, a cold knot forming in my throat. "You want all of it? Every ugly detail?"

"Yes."

"Even the things I don’t remember clearly? The memories that feel buried?"

"Anything you recall," he insisted. "We will legally separate what you experienced firsthand from what we’ve discovered through third-party evidence later. But we need your voice."

I nodded slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"The more documented, personal evidence we present, the more airless this case becomes," he continued, pulling out another document. "We are not going to rely on a single charge when there is a mountain of systemic abuse supported by cold facts."

He closed the main folder and slid a smaller file into view. "Now... let’s talk about Vanessa."