“Sustained. Strike from the record,” the judge commanded. Looming over Greg from his podium, Patrick Blake swiped his forehead as if this entire trial caused him a migraine. “I suggest you stick to the facts and not make-believe, Mr. Hobson.”

Greg chuckled. “Fine. All I have to say then is Mr. Everett didn’t try to kill me. I revoke my statement.”

The judge’s mouth fell open. “Are you sure?”

Greg looked at Elle again. Something passed over his face—half with loathing and half with utmost satisfaction. “I’m sure.”

Larry stood up just as Greg’s lawyer spluttered, “But—”

Larry clapped his hands. “In that case, I motion for my client to be freed from the incorrect charges immediately. As for the other evidence about corruption and unlawful imprisonment by Arnold Twig, I’d like to progress with pressing charges at a later date with intentions to expunge my client’s record.”

My head swam.

I felt fucking faint.

Christ, don’t faint like an idiot.

I couldn’t follow what had just happened.

I stood up on shaky legs only for the judge to bark at me to sit down.

I did, swiveling in my chair to face Elle.

She beamed with a happy smile.

“Did you do this?” I whispered.

She shook her head, tears glittering in her blue eyes.

She’s lying.

All I wanted to do was kiss her stupid. She’d done something—regardless of her denial.

There was no way Greg would’ve retracted his desire to see me rot unless he’d been given something he valued more than making me suffer.

Understanding suddenly filled me.

Money.

I pursed my lips, tilting my head for her to enlighten me.

She merely bit her bottom lip to prevent glowing like the damn sun.

The glint in her gaze told me all I needed to know.

I’m right.

She’d bribed him.

Fuck knew how much she’d promised to save my stupid ass, but she’d done it.

I was...free.

I spun around, facing the court.

Wait, was I free?

Nothing had been said.

Only scrambles of papers and impatient reporters to deliver a story to their editors. The jurors mumbled amongst themselves as if pissed that not only would they not get to contemplate a verdict but they’d also been robbed of delivering it.

With no accuser or statement and a thousand pieces of evidence about Arnold Twig, Sean Twig, and my past riddled with bad luck, nothing else could happen.

I was a good person—contrary to what most believed.

“Quiet!” The judge brought down his gavel. “In the case between Greg Hobson versus Penn Everett, I hereby dismiss all claims. The case is closed. Mr. Everett is innocent. You are free to go.” In the same breath, he looked at Greg. “Mr. Hobson, you shall return and continue with the state as your host while awaiting trial for your own court case against Ms. Charlston. Until then, I hope everyone obeys the law and stops wasting public time and money.” He stood in his robe then stomped down the podium.

There was no fanfare or clapping.

Only the surreal silence that it was over.

Greg threw me a sizzling stare full of contempt even while his fingers counted imaginary dollars. His lawyer stomped off with her satchel thrown over her shoulder. Larry grabbed me in a bear hug. Stewie wrapped himself around my legs. And Elle grabbed my face and kissed me.

She broke the spell.

She popped the bubble and proved it hadn’t been a dream.

It was real.

It had happened.

I was free.

Chapter Forty

Elle

THE PRACTICAL THING after being released from jail would be to go for dinner with those who fought by your side. To answer the flocks of seagulls as news reporters begged for scraps of how I entered the court this morning with only Fleur and Stewie by my side and left in the afternoon wrapped in Penn’s arms.

And we did do those things.

We stopped and kissed for the papers. We waved away questions and grabbed a quick celebratory drink with Stewie, Larry, and Fleur. We didn’t think about the upcoming fight with Arnold Twig, and we didn’t worry about my turn to testify at court against Greg.

He was back in prison, rolling in promised cash, waiting for his hearing.

I had no doubt he wouldn’t care at all.

He wouldn’t care because he had twenty million reasons to be happy.

And I didn’t care because I had twenty million reasons to be grateful Penn was free. That he could stand beside me without shackles. That we could kiss whenever we wanted and whisper about a life we could claim rather than lament about the one we’d had stolen.

We allowed ourselves to celebrate the present without the future robbing us of our hard-earned joy.

My father called Penn to congratulate him, but he didn’t join us for food due to indigestion brought on by stress of the trial.

I ordered him to bed, comforted to know Marnie, our housekeeper, would be there to keep him happy.

Steve didn’t join us for dinner either. Technically, today was not a happy day for him, as Greg would remain in prison without bail until his court date—and then who knew how long he’d serve.

But sitting at a table at a local bar with generic coasters, beer-soaked carpet, and red-leather booths in dim lighting, we toasted to Penn and grew drunk on the relief at having him back.

The celebration started off as a group endeavor. Penn accepted hugs from everyone. He chatted and joked, but he always had one hand touching me—my wrist, my hand, my hip.