The air in the courtroom that morning was thick with tension.

Bright lights poured down coldly on the judge’s bench and the rows of silent spectators.

All eyes were fixed on one woman seated in the defendant’s chair — Cassandra Villen.

Her once-elegant gray suit looked worn, her hair disheveled, her eyes hollow.

She sat with her head bowed, drained of pride, as though all her fury had long since burned away into exhaustion.

Rosemary sat in the front row beside Markus and Damien, her heartbeat unsteady.

She never thought she would see Cassandra like this.

Part of her felt relief — justice was finally within reach — but another...