Chapter 214 You Know Why Reese Finally, I get to be done with Penelope. Since we’re moving on to more important things, it’s only right I let her know exactly who sends his regards. I set a timer and waited outside the courthouse. Penny was inside, handling another one of her high-profile cases. She’s hoping this one drags the public’s eyes away from the circus she made of the last trial. Fingers crossed she’s actually wearing those panties today. If not, well—there’s always next time. That’s why I brought flowers. If she’s got it on, I’ll give her the message. If she does not, I’ll pretend the bouquet was the whole point. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, running my hands through my hair. Probably time for a trim. Or maybe it’s finally time to let go of the dye altogether. I’ve been blond for so long I’m not even sure I’d recognize myself without it. It’s become a part of me. Funny thing is, it started as a rebellion. Everyone in our family has black hair—father, mother, all of us kids. Dark as midnight. Naturally, we were all supposed to keep it that way. But I wanted to be different. I wanted to stand out. So I dyed it. And when I came home, our father nearly had a heart attack. I still remember the look on his face—worth every second. “Zachary! Wash that abomination off your head!” I still smile when I think about it. The fact that it bothered him so much only made me keep it longer. Even now, he mutters something under his breath every time he sees me. I love it. I love how something so small can put him on edge, as if he’s sitting on pins and needles. I’ll never understand why hair color shakes him that much. After I broke the sacred family tradition, the others followed. River dyed her hair ginger. Rhys went chestnut brown last time I saw him. Guess I started the revolution. My timer buzzed. I shut it off and picked up the bouquet on the passenger seat. My grip tightened around the stems as I stepped out of the car, eyes fixed on the courthouse doors. Time to pay Penny a visit. The air was too cold, too sterile, too self-important. A building built on judgment always felt like it was trying too hard. Polished floors, echoing footsteps, voices bouncing off marble. I’d always thought courthouses were cathedrals for people who worshipped their own righteousness.And yet—everyone here is dirty. Just good at hiding the stains. Penelope was one of them. She was actually at the top. Beautiful. Polished. Hungry for validation like it was blood and she was a vampire. The door to the courtroom swung open and she stepped inside with her head high, shoulders back, hair pinned up in that neat, “I-have-my-shit-together” twist she liked to wear when she wanted to look untouchable. Except I think I have an idea what she had underneath that perfect blouse and tailored skirt. Lace panties so thin and expensive you could tear it just by thinking too hard. And a vibrator resting exactly where she’d be most aware of it. She saw me the moment she sat down. And God—she lit up like a Christmas tree. She looked like a child who spotted their parents in the crowd at a recital. She tried to hide it when she realized she was in public and all eyes were on her. She tried to restrain it into something subtle, professional. But the shine in her eyes? She couldn't hide it. That was for me. She walked past the gallery seating, heels steady, face composed—no hesitation in her movement. She didn't check the mirror. Didn’t pat anything down. She knew she looked good.I didn’t sit in the front row where she could easily track me. No. I chose to sit a row behind her. Close enough to watch the tension in her shoulders. Close enough to see her breathe. But still giving her some space. She placed her case folder on the podium, greeting the judge and opposing counsel with that polite, tight lawyer smile. She was ready to win. Good. Winning makes the fall hurt worse. I leaned back in my seat, one arm slung across the bench, legs stretched out. Relaxed. Like I was here to enjoy a show. Which honestly, I was. She glanced back just once to see if I was looking at her. Or to check if I was eyeing the busty journalist by her right. Of course she found me already watching her. Only her. Her exhale shook just barely. And she smiled. I slipped my hand into my pocket and let my thumb hover over the remote. Not pressing. Not yet. no The hearing began. Penelope started strong—confident voice, flawless articulation, smooth transitions. This was what she was good at. Her gift. The one part of her identity that didn’t depend on being wanted. And for that reason alone, it was the thing Roman and I had to break. Revenge is only satisfying when you take down what they value. The judge asked her to proceed. Her voice was steady. Clear. Poised. And I knew it was time to strike. To take away her boldness. I pressed the button. Just once. A soft buzz—barely there. But I saw it. She halted unceremoniously mid-speech. Her breath caught. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her fingers tightened on the podium—just slightly. She did not look back. Then she cleared her throat, apologized and just kept talking. Good girl. She finished her sentence only a beat late—just enough for the seasoned ears in the room to catch that something was off. The opposing lawyer raised his head. Just a fraction. I waited. I let her continue. Let her rebuild her composure. Then—I pressed it again while she was speaking. “It's a bold claim, yes. But not baseless. You’ll find Exhibit C in front of you, Your Honor — the recall notice filed two weeks before the acci—” She gasped loudly. Her lips parted on a breath that almost—almost—became an illicit sound. A moan. She caught it. Swallowed hard. Shifted her weight like her shoe pinched. Then rolled her shoulders like she was suddenly having a muscle cramp. Everyone noticed. The Judge arched a brow in question. “Is everything alright over there?” Judge Harrison inquired. Her voice wavered. Just one note. Quickly recovered. “Yes, my lord.” The judge still stared at her suspiciously. Opposing counsel frowned at his notes. A clerk glanced up from typing. I rested my wrist across the back of her chair casually, remote hidden behind my fingers, close enough that she could feel where I was without seeing me. I turned it off. I let her breathe. Penelope inhaled like she’d been underwater. Her shoulders relaxed. Her spine straightened. She wiped sweat off her forehead and took several deep breaths. Her confidence returned. She gathered her control. Her mind catching up to itself. I still noticed her rub her thighs together discreetly. She regained the argument. Commanded the narrative. Her tone sharpened. She was winning again. So I took it away. Highest setting. The vibration surged through her. A loud moan left her mouth. She hunched over. Her hand slapped the podium. Several breaths hitched—loud enough to echo. The judge paused. Everyone looked up. Penelope froze. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. You could see her fighting herself. You could literally sense that she was seeing her entire life and career flash before her eyes. Her thighs pressed together, knees locking. Her nails dug into the wood. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth might crack. Then in a voice that sounded like a whimper, she said, “oh fuck.” “Defence counsel?” The judge looked pissed. “Need I remind you that this is a court of law.” Her voice—when she tried to speak—came out thin. Strained. Unsteady. “P—Pardon me, my lord.” She breathed, forcing a tiny cough. “Dry throat. The lie was pathetic. Transparent. Everyone knew it was a lie. She'd just moaned out loud in a court of law. There’s no going back now. Slowly, she glanced at me from the side. Her eyes were asking one question, “why?” Then she mouthed the words. “What are you doing? Turn it off. Please.” I turned it off. Silence reigned for a minute. She breathed. Recovered. Forced herself forward. But the damage was done. Something had already shifted in the room. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But silently. The worst kind. The judge leaned back, expression cooling. The opposing lawyer stood straighter, smelling weakness. The clerk resumed typing—slower, suspicious. Reputations don’t break in explosions. They break in cracks. Tiny cracks. Her voice regained rhythm but not authority. Her confidence had been replaced with self-monitoring. Every word weighed. Every breath controlled. Every movement measured. She wasn’t speaking to win anymore. She was speaking so as not to fall apart. She sounded like she was going to cry if she spoke too quickly. And that means she’d already fallen. I clicked the remote once more. Not a pulse—just a low, constant hum. Soft enough that she could hide it and strong enough that she couldn’t ignore it. She kept going. Her voice trembled. Her hands gripped the podium so tightly her knuckles whitened. A single drop of sweat trailed from her temple to her jawline, perfectly visible under the courtroom fluorescents. She wasn’t moaning now. She wasn’t gasping. There was no erotic spectacle. Just humiliation. The most devastating kind. She finished her closing argument. Barely. The judge dismissed the hearing for review, thanking counsel. His tone was polite, but there was a note in it. Doubt. That’s all we needed. Penelope stepped back from the podium like she was getting offstage after forgetting half her lines. She didn’t look at me. She was busy trying to catch her breath. Too busy realizing she had no idea who she was anymore when she wasn’t in control. Only when the courtroom cleared and it was just us—me leaning against the oak paneling, arms crossed—did she finally turn. She walked to me on trembling legs. She didn’t stop until she was standing right in front of me. Close enough that anyone watching would think we were lovers. Which I guess we technically used to be. Her voice was a whisper as she asked. “Why did you do that to me? Why, Reese?” She wanted to sound angry. But she only sounded undone. I looked down at her, slow, calm, like she was a problem I was studying. “You know why.” Her eyes glossed with tears. Lust. Frustration. Shame. Need. “What do you mean?” She said quietly. But I noticed she'd taken a step backwards. She knew. She was just in denial. Her breath collapsed in her chest. Not because she regretted it. But because she realized none of this was ever about loving her or wanting to be with her again. I leaned in, brushing my mouth against her ear—gentle, intimate, devastating. “My brother,” I murmured. “sends his regards."