Chapter 375

Chapter 375:

“You don’t have to do this,” Alexander murmured, his lips close to her ear. “No one would blame you for skipping the arraignment.”

Camille shook her head. “I need to see her face. I need her to see mine.” The courtroom door loomed ahead, dark wood and brass handles. Camille paused, drawing a breath deep into her lungs. Two weeks had passed since the night at the cabin. Stefan had been released from the hospital yesterday, beginning his long recovery at his parents’ home in Madrid. The bruises on Camille’s wrists had faded to yellow smudges.

But some wounds couldn’t be seen.

“Ready?” Alexander asked.

Camille nodded, and they stepped inside.

The courtroom hushed as they entered. Rows of spectators turned to stare. Cameras clicked despite the judge’s restrictions. Alexander guided Camille to the front row, where the district attorney had reserved seats.

“She’s not here yet,” Victoria noted, settling beside Camille with a soft grunt of pain. Her cancer treatments had left her weaker, but her eyes remained sharp as ever.

Camille checked her watch. Five minutes until the proceedings began. Her mouth felt dry, her pulse racing. She had practiced for this moment, rehearsed seeing Rose again. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality.

A side door opened. Conversation died as Rose entered, flanked by court officers.

Camille’s breath caught in her throat.

Gone was the polished beauty who had charmed New York society. Rose’s jumpsuit hung loose on her frame. Her hair, once expertly styled, lay flat against her skull. Without makeup, her face looked hollow, almost skeletal.

Only her eyes remained unchanged—cold, calculating, watching everything.

Those eyes found Camille immediately.

The hatred that flashed across Rose’s face hit Camille like a physical blow. After everything—the exposure of her plots, the failure of her plans, the certainty of her punishment—Rose’s rage burned undiminished.

G a lno ve ls . com is where the magic begins

“All rise,” the bailiff called. “The Honorable Judge Eleanor Hamilton presiding.”

The proceedings began with formal introductions. The district attorney, Graham Matthews, stood tall and confident, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.

“Your Honor, the defendant faces twenty-seven separate charges, including attempted murder in the first degree, kidnapping, domestic terrorism, criminal conspiracy, and assault with a deadly weapon.”

The list continued, each charge another stone in the mountain of evidence against Rose. Camille listened without expression, though her stomach twisted at the recitation of her sister’s crimes.

“How does the defendant plead?” Judge Hamilton asked.

Rose’s attorney, a sharp-featured woman with expensive shoes and a resigned expression, stood. “Not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect, Your Honor.”

Murmurs rippled through the courtroom. The judge banged her gavel once.

.

.

.