Trial 4

The buzz around Dominic Hayes's case had grown louder in the past few days. The media was relentless, and the pressure on me was suffocating. At first, it had been easy to dismiss the whispers, to ignore the flashing headlines that screamed from every news outlet. But now, as the media frenzy intensified, it felt like they were breathing down my neck, demanding answers I didn’t have.

It wasn’t just the reporters who were circling like vultures. It was the pressure from my colleagues too. My firm had a reputation to uphold, and they weren’t keen on having a scandal-tainted case attached to their name. The whispers about Dominic’s involvement in financial crimes weren’t just speculation anymore—they were becoming an ugly truth in the eyes of the public. And I was caught in the middle of it all, trying to keep my composure while everything around me threatened to collapse.

Everywhere I went, there were flashes of cameras, voices shouting my name, questions thrown at me from every direction. It was almost impossible to escape the noise. The reporters were relentless, asking if I’d found anything substantial in the case, if I believed Dominic’s side of the story, and why I was still representing him after the public outcry. I had to fight to maintain my professionalism in the face of all of it.

The truth was, I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The deeper I dug into the case, the more convoluted it became. Dominic’s story about Adrian had seemed plausible at first, but now it was starting to feel like just another layer in a much bigger, more complex situation. I had more questions than answers, but the media didn’t care about that. They just wanted a story, something sensational to report on. They wanted to know if I was backing a guilty man or a victim of a conspiracy. The more they asked, the more my resolve was tested.

I had spent all morning at my desk, trying to focus on the details of the case, but the interruptions were constant. My phone buzzed incessantly with texts and emails, mostly from Margo, my assistant, who had become increasingly frustrated with my inability to get anything done. She had become a source of support through all of this, even when she didn’t fully understand why I was taking on such a high-profile case.

But I didn’t have time to entertain her concerns. I had a job to do.

I was sitting there, staring at the screen of my laptop, when the door to my office suddenly swung open, and Margo’s voice rang out, a little too loud for my liking. “Serena, they’re here again,” she said, her voice a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

I exhaled deeply, pushing my chair back from the desk as I stood up. Another wave of reporters. It had been happening all week, and I was growing increasingly frustrated by their lack of respect for my personal space. But the pressure wasn’t just from them—it was coming from my firm, from the higher-ups who had begun to question my judgment in taking on such a controversial case.

Margo gave me a knowing look, as if trying to gauge whether I was ready to face the media onslaught. I wasn’t. But there was no escaping it. If I was going to represent Dominic, I had to stand my ground. I couldn’t back down just because the world was watching.

“Fine,” I said, straightening my blazer. “Let’s get this over with.”

When I stepped out of my office, the familiar scene of reporters milling around the lobby greeted me. There were microphones shoved in my face, cameras flashing in my eyes, and questions being thrown at me from all sides. I could feel the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead as the tension in the room grew thick.

“Serena, do you still believe in Dominic Hayes’s innocence?” one reporter shouted.

“Are you concerned about the mounting evidence against him?” another asked.

“What’s your stance on the financial irregularities in Hayes International’s books?”

The questions came fast, too fast for me to answer. I opened my mouth, but no words came out at first. I was caught off guard by the intensity of their demand for answers, and for a moment, I questioned myself. Could I still defend Dominic when the world had already convicted him in their minds? Was I really the best person to represent him?

But before I could gather my thoughts, I felt a presence beside me.

“Enough,” a low, firm voice said, cutting through the noise.

I turned to see Dominic standing there, his posture straight, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes scanned the reporters, and for a moment, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before: protectiveness.

Dominic’s gaze locked onto the reporter who had asked about the mounting evidence. “If you’re going to ask her questions, then you should have the decency to let her answer,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was impossible to ignore.

The reporters fell silent for a brief moment, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. But then the barrage of questions started again, even louder this time. They were emboldened by his presence, no longer satisfied with my answers and now targeting Dominic as well.

One of the reporters stepped forward. “Dominic, why do you think your lawyer is still standing by you? What’s your defense for these financial discrepancies?”

Dominic didn’t flinch. He stood tall, unyielding in the face of the chaos, as if the storm of cameras and questions meant nothing to him. “Serena is doing her job,” he said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And I trust her. That’s all you need to know.”

The reporters seemed taken aback by his confidence. They were looking for weakness, for a crack in his armor, but there was none to be found.

“Is this all part of your strategy?” a reporter asked, trying to provoke him. “You’re using your lawyer to divert attention from the real issue? What about the allegations against you?”

Dominic’s gaze hardened. “You’re missing the point,” he said, his voice now more forceful. “This isn’t about me or Serena. This is about someone else trying to tear down everything I’ve worked for. You want to talk about evidence? Fine. But get the story right first. Talk to the people who are actually responsible for the mess you’re all so eager to exploit.”

The tension in the room thickened. The reporters were no longer asking questions—they were pressing for a scandal, a headline, something they could use to further their agenda. But Dominic wasn’t giving it to them. And I realized, in that moment, just how much he had changed since I first met him. He was no longer just the cool, collected businessman. He was a man who was fighting for his name, for his reputation, and for the truth.

I had always respected Dominic for his intelligence and his drive. But today, I saw another side of him—a side that was willing to defend not just his interests, but mine as well.

“Serena is doing her job,” he repeated, his eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments, as if reaffirming his support for me. “And if you have a problem with that, then you can take it up with my lawyer. But I’m not going to sit here and let you tear her down just because you want a headline.”

The reporters fell silent once again, unsure of how to respond to his bluntness. It wasn’t often that someone stood up to them in such a forceful way, and it seemed to throw them off balance.

Finally, one reporter spoke up, trying to regain control of the situation. “Are you saying that the allegations against you are false? That there’s no evidence of financial fraud in your company?”

Dominic’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “I’m saying that the truth will come out,” he said, his voice quiet but confident. “And when it does, you’ll all have your answers. But until then, I suggest you focus on the real story, not the one you’ve been spoon-fed.”

With that, he turned to me and gave me a nod. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone softening, though his eyes still burned with intensity.

I followed him back into the building, the reporters still shouting behind us, but their voices slowly faded as the door closed between us and the frenzy outside.

As we walked down the hall to my office, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude. Dominic hadn’t just defended me—he had stood by me when it mattered most. He had shown a level of loyalty and respect that I hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t need you to do that,” I said as we reached my door, my voice softer now. “But thank you. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up with the pressure.”

Dominic turned to face me, his expression softened but still intense. “You didn’t ask for any of this. But you’re doing your job, and that’s what matters. No one else can do what you’re doing right now. Don’t let them push you into a corner.”

His words lingered in the air as I opened the door to my office. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I wasn’t alone in this battle. Dominic Hayes wasn’t just a client anymore. He was someone who had earned my respect—not just as a businessman, but as a person willing to fight for what was right.

The media could push as hard as they wanted. I wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was Dominic.