Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 62: Taking A Stance

Chapter 62: Taking A Stance

The judge, a stern-faced man wearing glasses, known for his ruthlessness in the courtroom, rapped his gavel, calling the proceedings to order. Jared finally looked up, his gaze meeting Jerica’s with a flicker of something—a silent plea, perhaps? Or was it fear?

For a heartbeat, Jerica hesitated, the weight of the moment crashing down on her. Had she somehow walked into the midst of Jared’s secrets, ones he had tried so hard to shield her from?

As the trial began, Jerica pieced together fragments of the case. It was evident that powerful forces had moved against Jared, and she couldn’t help but recall Harold’s ominous words. "Be prepared." Now she realized just how right he’d been.

Through the opening statements, Jared’s focus remained forward, a study in restraint, as if his life depended on not showing the chaos that simmered just beneath. Jerica felt a surge of emotion—a fierce protectiveness tempered by frustration. He was her husband, and yet he continued to fight these battles alone, as though she weren’t strong enough to stand beside him.

The pain of that realization settled heavily within her chest, yet her resolve tempered it. As she observed, questions gnawed at her. What had Harold been trying to warn her about? And what was that about Jared’s father?

Jared rarely talked about his father except for that one time he referred to him as a deadbeat father. Jerica had only imagined as that was her only choice that Jared’s father took no responsibility for him and left him and his mother alone. Victoria became the strong single mother who raised Jared.

What was Harold about to say about Jared’s father. Was he back?

Jerica’s gaze drifted to Jared, her husband who sat stiffly, his face shadowed with worry. The prosecutor had been reading through a list of accusations for what felt like an eternity, dredging up every old complaint he could find. They were stretching, she knew, grasping at any small incident from Jared’s past to cast doubt. Most of it was speculative at best, things they couldn’t prove, but the volume alone made it feel overwhelming, as if each charge was a stone added to an already heavy pile.

Is he really going to get through this?

The question echoed in her mind, unbidden but unavoidable. It wasn’t just the weight of these accusations; it was the judge, too. Jerica knew his reputation well enough to suspect he was likely bought.

He had that same detached, haughty expression she’d seen before in cases rumored to be "settled" outside of court, where justice was merely a formality. If he’d been bribed, if he had an agenda, Jared was cooked. She clenched her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken. Jared’s career, his reputation—everything he had built—could be snatched away in an instant, based more on conjecture than on solid evidence.

Jerica’s focus stayed fixed on the judge seated before her. Did he even know who she was before signing the subpoena? Or had he truly forgotten her?

Her steady gaze seemed to rattle him, and for the barest of moments, his sharp features softened, his gaze skittering away.

Ah... he remembers me... Good!

From the back of the room, Harold took it all in. He’d arrived on a last-minute tip that Jerica had been subpoenaed, and his suspicions quickly found their mark—this maneuver had his father’s fingerprints all over it. Yet, as his eyes fell on the judge, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that his mother’s hand was also in this. His father wouldn’t have risked a blunder like this, to arrange this particular judge for this case.

Harold’s eyes shifted, landing on Jared, whose unblinking focus was locked on Jerica. His expression was elusive—fear, disappointment, maybe even regret? Harold couldn’t pin it down, but it was plain as day that Jared’s world was unraveling just as much as Jerica’s.

The prosecutor’s voice cut through Jerica’s thoughts, pulling her back to the present. "We have here, ladies and gentlemen, a significant allegation concerning Mr. Petrovski’s... misuse of resources."

Jared stiffened, his gaze fixed on the prosecutor with a new intensity. It was as if he’d gathered all his remaining strength, his sense of pride and integrity pushing him to fight back, even with his back against the wall.

The prosecutor turned, his gaze landing squarely on Jerica. "Mrs. Evans, we call you to the stand."

Her heart sank, but she kept her face impassive as she stood. She could feel both Jared’s and Harold’s eyes on her as she approached the stand, a quiet determination settling over her.

The judge shifted, leaning forward as he held his glasses in one hand, trying to retain his composure. Jerica, noting his discomfort, tilted her head slightly, her smirk growing bolder.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the judge asked, his voice a bit too forced.

"I do," she replied smoothly, her eyes never leaving him. There was a subtle edge to her smile—a silent dare that Jared recognized instantly. His chest tightened at the sight of her confidence, a strength that was both familiar and, he realized, largely hidden from him.

As if on cue, the prosecutor, Barry Shrier, approached her with an affable smile that Jerica returned with a cold, steady stare.

"We’re glad we could get you here," Shrier began.

Her response was immediate, biting. "I was summoned here. Or did you assume I wouldn’t attend if I’d been informed earlier?"

Her words dripped with anger—a controlled, simmering fury that bordered on disdain. Subpoenaed, as if she were some untrustworthy outsider? It was insulting. After five years of diligent work as a clerk, she deserved better than this.

"Ms. Evans," Shrier replied, a condescending smile tugging at his lips, "in sensitive cases such as these, certain precautions are necessary."

"Oh, really?" Jerica countered with a scoff. "I’ve worked here for five years without incident, and now I’m treated like a flight risk?"

The judge, looking more flustered by the moment, motioned for the clerk to stop recording. Jerica’s voice cut through immediately. "I want this on the record, Your Honor," she declared. "It needs to be on record that I am displeased—no, outraged—that I was subpoenaed rather than informed like a respectable witness."