Nadia's POV
Pain exploded behind my eyes the second I woke up.
My wrists burned. When I tried to move them, plastic bit into my skin. Zip ties. I was zip-tied to a chair.
Panic hit like ice water. I jerked against the restraints, and the chair scraped against concrete floor. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
I wouldn't struggle if I were you, a familiar voice said. Those ties will cut deeper.
Dominic Ashford sat across from me at a massive table, drinking coffee like we were having a business meeting. Sunlight poured through enormous windows behind him, so bright it made my head pound worse.
You kidnapped me. My voice came out hoarse, broken. You actually kidnapped your own attorney.
Technically, Leo kidnapped you. I just supervised. He took another sip of coffee. Calm. Perfectly calm. Welcome to your new home for the next 365 days.
The words didn't make sense. I blinked hard, trying to clear my blurry vision. The space around us was huge, an industrial loft with exposed brick walls and metal beams crossing the ceiling. It looked expensive. Empty. Like a very nice prison.
You're insane, I whispered.
Probably. But that's not relevant right now. He set down his coffee and slid a tablet across the table toward me. Look.
I'm not looking at anything until you cut me loose!
Look first. Then we'll discuss your freedom.
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to scream until someone heard me. But his eyes, those cold gray eyes, told me he'd wait all day if he had to.
I looked.
The tablet screen showed files. Dozens of them. Bank statements with my name at the top, showing transfers to accounts I'd never heard of. Thousands of dollars. Hundreds of thousands.
What is this?
Dominic swiped to the next file. Emails. From my address. Discussing witness intimidation. Evidence tampering. Things I would never, ever do.
Keep going, he said quietly.
Security footage played on the screen. Me, or someone who looked exactly like me, entering buildings I'd never been to. Meeting with people I'd never met. The timestamps covered the last six months.
My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might throw up.
This isn't real, I said. I never, these are fake. You faked all of this.
Of course I did. And I'm very, very good at it. He leaned back in his chair. That right there is your life for the past six months, according to the FBI. You've been helping me launder money, intimidate witnesses, destroy evidence. You're not my attorney, Ms. Cross. You're my accomplice.
No one will believe this!
Everyone will believe it. I've spent half a year building this case against you. Every transaction traced back to accounts in your name. Every email sent from your IP address. Every piece of footage authenticated by experts who'll swear it's real. His voice never changed, still calm, still matter-of-fact. If I send this to the FBI right now, you'll be in federal prison by the end of the week.
The room spun. My entire life, seven years of building a reputation, of fighting for justice, of trying to be the defender I never had growing up in foster care, he could destroy it all with one click.
Why? The word came out broken. Why would you frame your own attorney?
Because I needed insurance. He stood and walked to the windows. Someone very powerful wants me dead. Not just in prison, dead. They framed me for Linda Morrison's murder. Set up the perfect case. Every piece of evidence pointing to me.
You expect me to believe you're innocent? You're a criminal!
Of guilty of many things. But not murder. Not this murder. He turned to face me. I needed someone brilliant enough to prove it. Someone who couldn't be bought or scared off. Someone who actually believes in justice.
So you chose me and destroyed my life?
I gave you motivation. There's a difference.
I wanted to kill him. Wanted to break these zip ties and claw his eyes out. But I forced myself to think like a lawyer instead of a victim.
What do you want from me?
365 days of your time. One year to prove I didn't kill Linda Morrison.
And if I refuse?
Then I release you right now, and this evidence reaches the FBI within an hour. You'll spend the next decade fighting federal conspiracy charges. Even if you eventually prove your innocence, which you won't, because I really am that good, your career is over. Your reputation destroyed. Everything you worked for, gone.
My hands were shaking. Or?
Or you stay here and investigate. Every day, I give you one new piece of evidence. Something the prosecution hid. Something the investigation missed. Something that proves I'm being framed. He walked back to the table. You'll have access to my resources. My money. My contacts. Whatever you need.
You're holding me hostage to prove your innocence.
I'm giving you a chance to find the truth. Because unlike that corrupt courthouse, I actually want a real investigation.
I laughed. It came out bitter and half-crazy. You kidnapped me, framed me for federal crimes, and you think this is about justice?
This is about survival. Mine and yours. He pulled out a knife, and I flinched. But he just cut the zip ties on my wrists. Someone in that courthouse framed me. Someone with enough power to make it stick. If I go down, you go down with me, whether you help or not. At least this way, you have a choice.
I rubbed my burning wrists. I don't believe you.
Then watch. He pressed a button, and a screen lowered from the ceiling.
Security footage played. Real footage, not the doctored kind. It showed Marcus Webb, my mentor, my father figure, in an underground parking garage. Meeting with a man I didn't recognize. Exchanging an envelope.
The timestamp was from three months ago.
Your mentor is dirty, Counselor, Dominic said softly. He's been setting you up since the day he gave you my case.
No. Marcus wouldn't
Watch.
Marcus handed over documents. I recognized my own handwriting on the files. My case notes. He was selling my work to a stranger.
The stranger examined the files, nodded, and handed Marcus a thick envelope. Money. It had to be money.
Who is that? My voice sounded far away.
Victor Ashford. My father. Your mentor has been on his payroll for fifteen years. Dominic's eyes never left my face. The people you trust, Marcus, Judge Rivers, even your best friend Sarah, they're all part of this. They framed me, and they're framing you as backup. If you don't help me, they destroy us both.
I don't believe you. Any of this could be fake.
So prove me wrong. Investigate. He slid a thick contract across the table. Every thirty days, I give you a choice. Sign this, walk away with one million dollars and your name completely cleared. I destroy all the evidence against you. You're free.
What's the catch?
If you take the deal, the real evidence of my innocence gets destroyed too. All of it. And an innocent man, dies in prison for a murder he didn't commit.
He smiled, and it was the coldest thing I'd ever seen.
So choose, Counselor. Every thirty days, you choose. Your freedom or my life. Your career or the truth. Self-preservation or justice.
I stared at him. At the contract. At the security footage still frozen on the screen, showing Marcus, my mentor betraying me.
And if I prove your innocence before the year is up?
Then we both go free. And we burn down everyone who set us up. He extended his hand. Do we have a deal?
I didn't take his hand. Couldn't. Everything I believed about justice, about the system, about the people I trust, edit was all potentially a lie.
And the only person offering me truth was the criminal who'd just kidnapped me.
I want to see all the evidence, I said finally. Everything you have. And I want your word you won't hurt me.
Physically, you're safe here. Emotionally? He shrugged. The truth is going to hurt worse than anything I could do.
I stood on shaking legs. Then show me. Day one. What do you have?
Dominic's smile changed. Still cold, but something else underneath. Respect, maybe.
Welcome to 365 Days of Doubt, Counselor. He walked to a door I hadn't noticed and opened it. Inside was a room full of filing cabinets, computers, and evidence boxes. Try not to lose your mind before we reach the end.
I stepped toward the room. Toward the truth that would either save us both or destroy me completely.
But as I crossed the threshold, Dominic's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his face went white.
What? I demanded. What is it?
He turned the phone toward me.
The news headline read: PUBLIC DEFENDER NADIA CROSS WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN ASHFORD CASE - FEARED MISSING OR FLED.
Below it, Marcus Webb's face filled the screen, looking grave and concerned.
They've already started, Dominic said quietly. We're out of time