Racheal stood in front of the mirror, her hand trembling slightly as she guided the flat iron through her hair. Each strand fell in glossy, sleek perfection, but her movements felt mechanical, her mind miles away.

Her reflection stared back at her, her dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion and pain. This wasn’t just another day. This was the day—the day she had dreamed of, agonized over, and willed into existence. The trial. The moment of reckoning.

Victor and Evelyn. Their names alone made her stomach churn with rage and anguish. They stole everything from me, she thought, her jaw tightening as her grip on the flat iron faltered. The memory...