The courtroom was pin drop silent, except for the click of Clara Torres' black heels as she gracefully walked towards the witness stand. Clara didn't just walk, she owned the space, every step she took was a calculated statement of control. The air in the courtroom was thick and full of tension, and reporters whispered at the back, their eyes ready, and cameras constantly rolling for the live broadcast that had held the attention of the city and the country for weeks.
"Ms. Bradford," Clara said, her tone calm but calculated, "yesterday you told this court that you had no involvement in the unclear transfers of funds. Are you absolutely sure about that?"
On the stand, Ms. Bradford blinked as she shifted uncomfortably, her hands tightening on the brown witness box. Clara's eyes, bold, cold, and sharp held hers, the silence stretching just long enough to make a dramatic pause.
A blue folder sat in Clara's hand, its contents already committed to memory. She opened the folder, drew a small document, and slid it across the stand without breaking eye contact.
"Then perhaps you can explain why this bank statement" she pointed at it "shows a deposit into your personal account from the very company you claim you've never heard of."
The defense attorney stood to object, but even he didn't believe in his client's innocence.The judge overruled.
Clara stepped back, letting the weight of the evidence hang in the air. Calm as always, she had an ability to dismantle a person without ever raising her voice. She was the youngest prosecutor at the DA's office, infamous for making even the most hardened criminals cry. Rumor had it that she could bring a grown man to tears in under five minutes. Watching her work was both inspiring and terrifying.
By the time she delivered her closing argument, the outcome was clear to everyone. Every word was precise, every gesture deliberate. Even those who hated her admitted she was canning and brilliant.
When court finally adjourned, the big room erupted into low murmurs. Clara quietly gathered her papers, her expression unreadable as always.
Outside, the courthouse entrance was swarmed with flashing bulbs and microphones. Her tailored grey pantsuit hugged her in all the right places without sacrificing professionalism. She looked like she had stepped out of a legal drama, but with her presence, no script could match.
"Ms. Torres!" one reporter called out over the chaos. "Do you believe today's testimony won you the case?"
She paused briefly. "There's more than enough evidence," she said simply, her voice clear despite the noise. She didn't overexplain or get into endless chatter. She simply moved through the sea of journalists as if she had had years of practice.
The courthouse was still chaotic and swamped with reporters when Clara ducked into the waiting car. She was halfway through untying her hair when her phone vibrated. It was a text from Sofia.
Sofia: You're coming out tonight. Non-negotiable. Drinks on me.
Clara smiled faintly as she replied. The case isn't over yet.
Sofia replied back.
Neither is your life.Be ready by eight. You can invite Riley too.The more the merrier.
***
By the time the three gorgeous ladies stepped out of Clara's car in front of a downtown lounge, the prosecutor who had earlier dominated the courtroom had vanished, replaced by a woman who knew how to own a room in a different way. Clara's black dress highlighted her curves, her long legs drawing attention from both men and women.
Inside, the music was low and seductive, the air rich with the scent of expensive whiskey. They settled on a booth in the back, ordered their first round, and barely had time to sip before a group of men approached with more drinks in hand.
One of them, a tall man with a wide grin and eyes that tracked Clara like a challenge, took the seat beside her. He was charming in a comforting way, and Clara matched him with her seductive laughter which was both smooth and warm. But somewhere between the third and fourth drink, something in her shifted. Clara's pupils grew too wide, and she seemed to be losing focus.
"Clara, are you okay?" Riley leaned in, lowering her voice.
"I'm great Riley," Clara said, her smile stretched a bit too far. She held her glass loosely and drained the last of her drink.
Sofia frowned. "Maybe we should get you home"
"I just need the bathroom," Clara interrupted, sliding out of the booth. The man stood too, following her with casual ease.
Riley and Sofia watched them weave through the crowd.
Minutes passed. Then more.
By the time they went looking in the ladies' bathrooms, Clara was gone.