My "Lawyer-on-Call" livestreams had become an accidental sensation. One evening, a caller joined the queue, her voice heavily distorted by a digital modulator. "Attorney Valentine," she began, the robotic pitch masking her age. "I’m seeing a man—an 'uncle,' though we aren't related by blood. Is there anything in the law that says we can’t be together?" I pushed down a sudden, inexplicable prickle of unease. "Legally? No. If there’s no biological tie and both are consenting adults, it’s not a crime." "Then I have nothing to worry about," she said, her tone visibly lighter even through the filter. "He’s getting married next Saturday. I’m planning to confess everything to him at the altar." I fell silent for a few seconds, the ethics of the situation clashing with my professional detachment. "Sweetheart, if he’s marrying someone else, it means he’s made his choice. Don’t do this to yourself. Don't throw away your dignity for a man who’s already at the finish line with someone else." To my surprise, she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "He’s afraid of the dark, Attorney Valentine. Did you know that? Even if he has to slip his fiancée a sedative in her milk, he still comes to my room to hold me until I fall asleep. Tell me... is that not love?" I froze. The air in my study suddenly felt too thin. As I scrambled for a response—some piece of advice to pull this girl back from the edge—the heavy oak door to my study pushed open. My fiancé, Garrett, walked in. He was carrying a glass of warm milk, a soft, practiced smile on his face. ... Looking at that swaying glass of white liquid, my brain let out a high-pitched ring. I snapped my head up to look at Garrett. The girl on the stream said her "uncle" put sedatives in the milk. Coincidentally, Garrett had a niece. I forced myself to remain still, my eyes darting toward the monitor. The girl had disconnected, leaving behind a chaotic waterfall of comments that confirmed this wasn't a fever dream. Poor fiancée... for the love of God, don't drink the milk. This 'uncle' and 'niece' are monsters. Using someone’s health as a tool for their affair? There’s a special place in hell. I checked—the girl’s using a burner account. This was a targeted strike on Brooke’s stream. I took a jagged breath and clicked the "End Stream" button. "Everything okay?" Garrett asked, stepping closer. "You look pale. Too many hours on the screen?" He leaned down and pressed a dry, cool kiss to my forehead. "I’m sorry, Brooke. Maisie was being impulsive. It’s her fault you lost your position at the firm, and now you’re forced to hustle on these streams just to keep your reputation alive." A month ago, Maisie had thrown a tantrum because Garrett and I went to a charity gala without her. In retaliation, she filed a formal, anonymous complaint with the State Bar, accusing me of bribing a federal prosecutor. I was suspended pending an investigation. Though I was eventually cleared, the stain on my "Golden Girl" reputation was indelible. I was forced to resign to save the firm’s face. "You don't have to work this hard, you know," Garrett murmured, brushing a stray hair from my face. "I can take care of you. After the wedding, you can just focus on the house. We’ll have three boys, and they’ll grow up happy with Maisie right there to help us. Like one big family." "Here," he said, pressing the glass against my lips. "Drink this. You need to sleep. Stop overthinking." I swallowed hard, the cold rim of the glass clinking against my teeth. The girl’s voice echoed in the silence of my mind: He’s taking the milk to her now. It’s got the pills in it. It felt like a conspiracy theory, a glitch in the Matrix. But the hair on my arms stood up. I faked a heavy cough and pushed his hand away. "I’m not thirsty right now. I’ll drink it in a minute." Garrett’s expression instantly soured. His features, usually so handsome and refined, twisted into something sharp and unrecognizable. "Are you still holding a grudge against Maisie?" He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight enough to leave a ghost of a bruise. "Do you have any idea how much guilt that girl is carrying? She can’t sleep because of what happened at the firm! She’s just a kid, Brooke. The pressure is killing her. To be honest, she’s the one who warmed this for you. She said if you drink it, it means you’ve finally forgiven her. Otherwise—" "Garrett, let go. You’re hurting me." I struggled, but his hand was like a lead shackle. "Auntie Brooke... do you really hate me that much?" I hadn't heard her come in. Maisie stood in the doorway, wearing a white silk nightgown that looked more like a slip. Her eyes were rimmed with red. Without warning, she crossed the room and dropped to her knees in front of my chair. I was stunned into silence. Garrett immediately let go of me to scoop Maisie up, pulling her into his chest. He turned on me, his voice trembling with a terrifying kind of righteous anger. "Brooke, are you trying to destroy this family?" "I’ve told you a thousand times—Maisie’s father died in my arms in the Sandbox. He was my brother-in-arms. He left her to me. It is my sacred duty to protect her for the rest of her life! In this house, her well-being comes first!" My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant's hand. My voice came out as a fragile whisper. "Does her 'well-being' include lying to the Bar? Does it include ruining my career because of a missed dinner?" When she found out I was pregnant two years ago—during her finals week—the two of them sat me down and shamed me. They told me I was "undisciplined," that my timing was "selfish" and "disgusting." The stress became a physical weight. I miscarried three days later. I had endured it all for Garrett. I had swallowed the bitterness because I believed in his "heroism." But he didn't care about my sacrifice. "You’re a grown woman arguing semantics with a twenty-year-old?" Garrett hissed. "You can find another job. But if you break her spirit, that’s forever!" "Garrett," Maisie sobbed, clutching his shirt. "It’s my fault. Please don't fight. If Brooke can't stand the sight of me, I’ll just... I’ll just end it! I don't want to live in a world where I’m a burden!" She broke from his arms and ran toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Garrett lunged for her. In his haste, he shoved me aside. I hit the edge of the mahogany desk, a sharp pain exploding in my temple as a knot began to form. Maisie struggled in his arms, her cries growing louder. "She won't drink the milk! She hates me! I just want to go be with my dad in heaven!" My head was spinning, my vision blurring. Through the fog, I heard Garrett’s barking command: "Brooke! Drink it! Now! Show her you forgive her or so help me—" "You know what she means to me! If you drive her to the edge, you’re driving me there too!" Watching them—the "grieving" veteran and his "broken" ward—I felt a sudden, profound exhaustion. The fight left me. I stood up unsteadily, picked up the glass, and downed the milk in three long gulps. When the glass hit the table empty, I caught a glimpse of Maisie’s face over Garrett’s shoulder. She wasn't crying anymore. She was wearing a tiny, predatory smile. My gut screamed at me. Something was wrong. I waited until they left the room, then stumbled into the bathroom. I didn't hesitate. I shoved two fingers down my throat and forced everything back up until my stomach was empty and my throat burned. At 3:00 AM, I heard the faint floorboards creak in the hallway. "Garrett? Are you still coming?" My heart stopped. Garrett’s voice was a low, firm murmur. "Of course. You’ve been afraid of the dark since you were five. I’m not letting your father down tonight." A moment later, my bedroom door eased open. Garrett crept in, checking on me. "Shh, she’s out cold," he whispered to someone in the hall. Maisie stepped into the room, giggling softly. "I told you. She’s not waking up for a long time." She walked over to my closet and pulled it open with a flourish. "God, Brooke is such a closeted flirt. Look at all this lace. She won't mind if I borrow something, will she?" Garrett looked nervous. "Maisie, don't. If she finds out, she’ll blow up. You know her temper." Maisie ignored him, sliding a sheer negligee over her shoulders. "Let her. I’ll put it back before she even stirs. I want her clothes, Garrett... and I want her man, too." She jumped onto Garrett’s back, whispering into his ear, "Actually, I prefer sleeping with nothing on. Is that okay, Uncle?" Garrett’s ears turned bright red. He glanced one last time at my "sleeping" form, his face a mask of conflict and desire, before carrying her out and closing the door. The moment the latch clicked, a single, hot tear tracked down my temple. It was her. The girl on the livestream. It had been Maisie all along. I didn't sleep a wink. At 6:00 AM, Garrett slid back into bed beside me, radiating the scent of Maisie’s floral perfume. He kissed the corner of my mouth. "I love you, Brooke." The bile rose in my throat. I nearly vomited on him right then and there. At 8:00 AM, I walked downstairs, the dark circles under my eyes heavy enough to feel. Maisie was in the kitchen, glowing with energy, stirring a pot of steel-cut oats. "Brooke! I heard you love honey and cinnamon oats. I got up at six just to make them for you. I felt so bad about the firm... I wanted to do something nice." Her voice was a sugary poison. I felt a violent shiver run down my spine. "I’m not hungry." I reached out to gently move her hand away from the bowl she was offering. The next second, the bowl hit the floor with a ceramic crash. Maisie let out a theatrical shriek. "It’s hot! Brooke, why would you push me?!" Garrett, half-dressed, came flying down the stairs. "Brooke! What is wrong with you? I leave the room for five minutes and you’re bullying her?" He grabbed Maisie’s hand and thrust it under the cold tap. "It’s okay, Maisie. I’ve got you." "Don't be mad at her, Garrett," Maisie whimpered, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It’s my fault. I’m just... so sore and exhausted from last night. I was clumsy. My legs felt like jelly." Garrett’s face flushed deep crimson. "If you’re that tired, you shouldn't be standing. Come here." He swept her up into a bridal carry. As they reached the stairs, they didn't even bother to lower their voices. "Garrett, you’re so mean to her. What if she doesn't marry you next week?" Garrett let out a ragged breath. "Please. She wouldn't dare." "We’ve been together seven years. She’s obsessed with me. She has nowhere else to go." I watched them go, my eyes finally dampening. Seven years ago, he was my mountain guide on a trek through the Grand Tetons. We got caught in an avalanche. In that moment, he defied every human instinct for self-preservation and threw his body over mine. When he woke up in the hospital, the first thing he said was, "You're mine. I’ll keep you safe forever." I had been so swept away that I walked away from a pre-arranged family merger, a life of high-society security, just to be with him. Seven years later, the rugged guide was the CEO of a luxury travel empire. We had everything now. But his heart had rotted along the way. If Maisie was more important than me, then it was time I looked for my own version of "forever." I pulled out my phone and dialed the wedding planner. "About the ceremony next Saturday," I said, my voice cold and clear. "Change the venue. All of it." "And... we’re going to need a different groom." The night before the wedding, I went live one last time. The viewer count exploded—over a hundred thousand people in minutes. My stomach dropped. Something was wrong. The comments were a blur of vitriol: Look at the trending news, Brooke. You’re a fraud. I opened a news app. My name was at the top of the social media scandal board. SHOCKING: FAMOUS 'VIRTUE' LAWYER BROOKE VALENTINE REVEALED AS SERIAL BRIBERY OFFENDER. SECRET ABORTION FOR HIGH-PROFILE CLIENT EXPOSED. An hour before my stream, an account claiming to be my "former assistant" had posted a massive thread. It accused me of systemic bribery during my time at the firm. Even worse, it posted a photo of me from two years ago—masked, looking haggard and broken, sitting outside an OB-GYN clinic. The comments were merciless: No wonder her win rate was so high. She was buying judges. Preaches about the law and justice, but she’s just a high-end fixer. Who knows if she paid with money or her body? Probably both. I stood up, phone in hand, and kicked open the door to Garrett’s study. "It wasn't her," Garrett said before I could even speak. "Maisie is twenty. She doesn't have the resources or the malice for a hit job like this. You probably pissed off the wrong person at the firm and they’re coming for blood." I shoved the phone in his face. "Look at the account handle. This person joined my livestream yesterday. Look at the clip." I played the recording. The distorted voice was clear: Is it legally problematic if I’m seeing an 'uncle'—not by blood, obviously? Garrett’s brow furrowed as the clip played. The realization was right there, written in his eyes. But he shook his head, hardening his expression. "You’re so obsessed with winning, Brooke. It’s pathetic." "You’re actually framing a young girl just to save your own skin? You don't know Maisie. She’s gentle. She’s kind. She would never drug someone. But you—" He stood up, looking at me with pure disdain. "You’re a criminal defense lawyer. You know every dirty trick in the book. You’ve probably been planning this 'scandal' for months just to make her look like a villain." I stood there, paralyzed. A sharp, acidic burn rose in my throat. "You think I would destroy my own career? My own reputation? Just to spite her?" I tried to breathe, but the air felt like shards of glass. He hadn't just broken my heart; he was trying to erase my soul. My phone buzzed. It was the wedding coordinator. "Brooke, we’ve seen the news. About tomorrow... is the ceremony still on?" I looked Garrett dead in the eye. "Yes. Everything is proceeding as planned." Garrett leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "You really are desperate to marry me, aren't you? Too bad." He dragged out the words. "You’ve spent so much time attacking my Maisie that you deserve a lesson. Don't expect me to show up on time tomorrow. Maybe I won't show up at all." A smirk touched my lips. "Suit yourself." On my way out, I passed Maisie in the hall. She raised an eyebrow, her face full of triumph. "Oh, Auntie. Going out to try and fix the 'leaks'? Honestly, you should just admit it. The internet has a short memory. In a few months, everyone will forget you ever existed." "And by then, you’ll have no job, no money, and no name. You’ll just be a housewife, totally dependent on Garrett. I wonder how long his 'protection' lasts for a loser like you." I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response. I walked out the front door. The wedding was in ten hours. ... "Garrett, are you really not going?" Maisie stood before a mirror, her eyes gleaming as she adjusted Garrett’s silk tie. He was already in his tuxedo. "Let her wait." Garrett pinched her nose playfully. "She went out of her way to frame you. I can’t just forgive that. I’m going to let her sweat. Let her realize who actually holds the power in this relationship." Maisie wrapped her arms around his waist. "Garrett... after you’re married, will you still love me best?" "Always. I promised your father." "Then... why can't you just marry me?" She looked up at him, her lips parted. Garrett stiffened slightly, then gently pushed her back. "Maisie, don't be silly. You’re family. I sleep in your room because you’re scared, that’s all. It’s... different." He checked the gold watch on his wrist and picked up a bouquet of white roses. "Okay. It’s been two hours. That’s enough of a lesson. Let’s go." When they arrived at the cathedral, Garrett stepped into the foyer and stopped dead. The place was empty. He grabbed a wandering janitor by the shoulder. "Where is everyone? Where’s the Valentine-Miller wedding?" The man looked at him like he was insane. "Mister, you’ve got the wrong day or the wrong place. This hall wasn't booked for today. It’s empty." Garrett felt the blood drain from his face. He had booked this venue six months ago. He had paid the deposit himself. How could it be empty? He dialed my number frantically. Busy signal. Over and over. In a fit of rage, he hurled his phone against the marble floor, shattering it into pieces. Seeing his meltdown, the janitor pointed upward. "Maybe try the rooftop garden? There’s a huge wedding happening up there. Started a while ago. Looks real fancy." I had always been the one with the money. I had planned every detail of this day. Garrett felt a surge of relief. She moved it to the rooftop. Of course. She wanted a better view. He sprinted up the stairs. Halfway up, he collided with me. I was in my full Vera Wang gown, radiant and composed. The moment he saw me, he exploded. "Brooke! What the hell is wrong with you? Changing the venue without telling me? Do you have any idea how many people are waiting?" I didn't say a word. I didn't have to. From behind me, Callum walked forward and swept me into his arms.
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