Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing. ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky. ~•~ AMANDA TWO MONTHS LATER Typically, a day begins when the clock strikes midnight, and the seconds start ticking. For some, it begins at seven a.m. or earlier. But today my day began when the courthouse doors swung open and the bailiff ushered me and my lawyer into the courtroom. As we walked in, a hushed murmur rippled through the room, and for a moment, my stomach clenched—not in nervousness, but in anticipation. Which was strange given the nature of my crimes. Any prisoner convicted of murder would probably feel fear. Fear of their impending punishment, fear of the unknown consequences of their actions, fear of being executed. They'd also feel guilty, combine that with a sense of helplessness, and voila! But see, I wasn't just any prisoner. I was Amanda Clarke, and I feared no one. I feared nothing. As a convict who'd hired the best defense attorney in the country—my lawyer's record was pristine with an eighty percent success rate on cases involving defendants accused of murder—I was pretty confident that I'd triumph today. Before stepping out of my holding cell, I'd cleared my mind of any negative thoughts about the case. So, I had no reason to be afraid or bothered and as I walked to the defense table, a smug grin spread across my face. However, no sooner had I reached the table than my eyes locked on a familiar face in the court's front row, and the smirk on my lips faded. Robert. My ex-husband. My nemesis. My nightmare. The instigator of this whole thing. He was the man I'd unremorsefully soiled my hands and killed for. The man I still couldn't bring myself to hate despite everything that's happened. The man whose arms I would gladly run back to if he so much as opened them wide for me. He was here. And surprisingly, he was alone. The supposed love of his life was nowhere to be found. The bitch wasn't by his side like I'd expected. Was she dead? Last I heard from my lawyer, she was in a very critical condition. And honestly, that was all I needed to hear to know she wouldn't make it. I'd told him to stop bringing updates about her, and her absence today answered my question. She was dead. The smirk returned to my lips as Robert tilted his head toward me. His blue eyes caught mine, and they narrowed into slits just before... "Mrs. Clarke," my lawyer called, gently nudging me on the shoulder and pulling me out of my Robert-induced haze. "Come on, let's sit down." He gestured vaguely toward our table. Casting one last glance at Robert, who was no longer staring at me, I followed my lawyer to our assigned seats at the defense table. As we sat down, the courtroom doors swung open again, and the bailiff ushered two more prisoners, Dylan and Kent, into the room. While I was given a seat at the table, they were directed to a corner of the room and made to stand. This had me raising my brow in question. Were they not defendants in the case, just like me? Why were they not seated at the table? My lawyer must have noticed my confusion, because he leaned in and whispered something in my ear. Apparently, he'd just learned that Dylan and Kent had accepted plea deals, and in exchange for lighter sentences, they'd agreed to testify against me. They were no longer the primary defendants, but rather cooperating witnesses. "Bastards," I said under my breath after my lawyer finished explaining. This wasn't good for me at all, but I wouldn't dwell on it. It was just a minor setback. I would win this trial, win them, win everyone. I could do this. "All rise," the bailiff announced, interrupting my thoughts, and everyone stood. The judge and jury entered. After taking their seats, the bailiff spoke again, "Court is now in session," adding, "Case number 101, The State vs. Amanda Clarke." With two loud pounds of the judge's gavel, the court hearing commenced. The prosecutor, Robert's lawyer, began with an opening statement. "Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today we will show that Ms. Amanda Clarke..." he gestured at me, "...orchestrated a series of grave crimes driven by manipulation, greed, and malice. The evidence we present will prove, beyond any doubt, that Ms. Clarke is guilty of the charges against her, which includes but aren't limited to perjury, the framing of my client Robert Clarke for crimes he did not commit, the murder of Darren Russ and the near-fatal attack on a pregnant woman, Renee Micheal. We will also—" His remaining words were lost on me because as soon as that bitch's name was mentioned, my whole world turned upside down. Blood drained from my face, and I repeated a lone sentence, the words hitting me like a freight train. "...and the near-fatal attack on a pregnant woman..." "Near-fatal"—Renee wasn't dead. The poison was near-fatal, but not fatal. It was deadly and life-threatening, but she survived. She... she was alive. "Pregnant" —she was also pregnant. But I... I thought... I looked at my lawyer, but he was no longer beside me. He'd stood to give his opening statement, leaving me to ponder this revelation. How? How was she still alive? The poison was lethal. There was no way she could've survived it. "Well, looks like she did," a taunting voice in my head whispered. "And now see what will become of you." I couldn't argue with the voice. It scared me and made my gut churn with a sick feeling. My fingers drummed restlessly on the table, and suddenly, paying attention to anything else was impossible. Until— The judge's gavel sounded again, and I overheard him say something about calling the first witness. My lawyer came over to the table, whispered nothing I'd not already heard, and willing myself to stay calm, I directed my gaze toward the witness stand. I expected Dylan or Kent to appear there, but I was in for another shock when the prosecutor mentioned a name I'd long forgotten. Tom. My jaw dropped. What the hell was he doing here? "Do you know this man, Ms. Clarke?" I heard my lawyer ask, but I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because what the hell would I say? That I hadn't mentioned Tom because I thought he was irrelevant? Well, yes. He was irrelevant to me. He'd refused to help me destroy Robert months ago. So, what the fuck was he doing here? I still hadn't gotten over Dylan and Kent's plea deals. Now this?! "Fuck!" I cursed. "State your full name please," the prosecutor's voice echoed through the courtroom, and I snapped out of my internal panic. "Tom Brown Sr.," Tom answered quickly. The prosecutor paused briefly to study his notes, then said, "Thank you, Mr. Brown. Now, can you tell the court how you first became acquainted with Ms. Clarke?" Tom cleared his throat softly before responding, his familiar southern accent slipping into every word. "Well now, we met a few years back through my best buddy at the time," he drawled, looking straight ahead. "Her ex-husband, Robert Clarke." "Best buddy at the time?" The prosecutor repeated, and Tom nodded. "Okay. So, is it safe to say that after you stopped being friends with your best buddy, you maintained a close relationship with Ms. Clarke?" "Nah," Tom shook his head. "We weren't even close then. We fell off 'round the time she split from Rob.""So, you haven't seen each other since?" "Nah. Not once in twenty-somethin’ years." "In your witness statement, you mentioned she contacted you recently," "That's right." "You also stated that you have information that could incriminate Ms. Clarke. Can you elaborate?" "Sure thing." Tom nodded and for the first time since entering the room, his cold dark eyes turned toward me, "She came to me 'bout... some favors she needed done." "What kind of favors, Mr. Brown?" I felt my stomach lurch as the prosecutor asked this question. "She wanted me to do somethin' to Rob." Tom paused momentarily. "At first, when she got to talkin', it all seemed fine. But 'fore I knew it, she started sayin' things that didn't sit right with me." "What things?" Tom shrugged. "Well... things that ain't exactly right. Things that'd put Rob in a whole heap o' trouble, and she wanted me to help make it happen." A wave of nausea hit me. "And, did you?" The prosecutor probed. "Hell nah." "Okay." The prosecutor scribbled something in his notes. "Before you backed out, did Ms. Clarke offer you anything in return for assisting her in what she wanted done to my client?" "She sure did. Promised me a nice chunk of cash—said it was all Robert's money and even offered to sleep with me." Murmurs and whispers filled the courtroom. Everyone was shocked, including my lawyer, who turned pale and muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch. "Did you feel manipulated or pressured," the prosecutor continued, oblivious to what was happening around him, or maybe not caring, "...into assisting her?" "At first, nah. But then, when I tried to back out, she dang near backed me into a corner. Told me she'd make sure things got ugly if I didn't play along." "Like sending death threats and scary emails, just as you wrote in your witness statement?" "Right." Tom nodded. "At any time during the conversation with Ms. Clarke, did she mention anything about killing anyone?" "She never flat-out said she was gonna kill nobody, but she talked 'bout folks bein' in the way and needin' to be dealt with. Didn't realize she meant murder 'till it was too late." "One last question, Mr. Brown," the prosecutor continued, "in your interactions with Ms. Clarke, did she ever show remorse or concern for any possible consequence of her actions?" "Remorse? No, sir, not a lick of it. Amanda was always 'bout gettin' what she wanted, no matter who got hurt." Tom laughed and shook his head. "And I ain't never heard her say sorry." "Alright, thank you, Mr. Brown. That concludes your examination." Tom left the stand, and the prosecutor called the next witness—Dylan.