The next morning felt sharper than usual.
Aurelia had barely settled when Vincent's voice came—
"Conference room right now!"
No explanation.
She followed.
Two men were already inside.
One older—composed, almost relaxed.
The other younger—alert, calculating.
"Blackwood JLE," the senior said. "Anderson."
Aurelia remembered he had interviewed her.
"Montclair," Vincent replied.
Nothing more.
No formalities.
Vincent took his seat, then glanced once at Aurelia.
"Handle it."
Just like that.
Aurelia sat straighter, placing her file down.
Anderson leaned back slightly, as if this was routine.
"Ohh I see, Miss Aurelia, right?" he said. "It's unfortunate you chose Montclair over Blackwood. Anyways—we are here to discuss."
Aurelia gave a faint smile—more out of courtesy than comfort.
As soon as she shifted her gaze,
his junior picked it up smoothly.
"Both sides understand the situation. A prolonged trial won't benefit either party. Time, cost, reputation—everything escalates."
Aurelia listened.
Didn't interrupt.
"We're open to resolving this here," the junior continued. "A financial settlement, mutual closure, no further proceedings."
Aurelia's fingers tightened slightly over the file.
Of course.
That kind of solution.
Clean on paper.
Empty in truth.
"And on what basis," she asked evenly, "does your client seek closure?"
The junior didn't hesitate. "Avoid unnecessary exposure. These matters tend to… complicate things publicly."
Aurelia almost let out a breath. Che assurdità.
Anderson added calmly, "Your client gets compensation. No uncertainty, no delay. Everyone walks away."
Vincent remained silent.
Watching.
Aurelia leaned back slightly. "You're proposing resolution without accountability. Our client approached us for investigation and justice."
The junior's tone stayed polite. "We're proposing practicality."
"And if practicality overlooks the very reason this case exists?" she asked. "If that becomes the standard, we're compromising the purpose of the process itself."
A small pause.
Not discomfort.
Just recalibration.
"Miss Aurelia," Anderson said, voice measured, "not every matter needs to be pushed into court. Sometimes, resolution outside is… wiser."
Wiser for whom? she thought.
Her jaw tightened just a fraction.
Dio…
She kept her voice steady.
"If the concern is cost, that's manageable. If it's time, that's expected. But if it's truth—then avoiding court doesn't resolve anything."
The junior exhaled lightly.
"Truth can be… interpretational in situations like this."
"No," Aurelia said quietly. "Convenience is."
That shifted something.
Subtle.
But enough.
Anderson's expression didn't change, but his tone did.
"You're new," he said. "You'll learn that outcomes matter more than processes."
Aurelia met his gaze.
"Outcomes built on avoidance rarely hold."
Silence.
Clean.
The junior tried once more, a little firmer now.
"Taking this to trial risks your client walking away with nothing."
Aurelia didn't look away.
"And settling ensures that happens quietly. Without ever addressing what actually occurred."
That landed harder than expected.
For a brief second, even Vincent's attention sharpened.
Not outwardly.
But there.
Anderson gave a small nod, almost to himself.
Then he leaned back again.
"No settlement, then."
Vincent finally spoke.
"Not at this stage."
Flat. Decisive.
The meeting ended just as it began.
Without excess.
Without courtesy.
Just a clear line drawn.
Two days later, the courtroom carried weight.
Aurelia stood beside Vincent, composed, files aligned, thoughts steady.
This time, it wasn't just observation.
It was understanding.
The proceedings began with structure, both sides presenting positions without excess.
But when Vincent stood—
the room shifted.
Not louder.
Just… sharper.
He spoke without rush, without force.
Each word placed carefully, building—not arguing, not reacting—just building.
Aurelia watched.
Not the case.
Him.
The way he paused before speaking.
The way he never wasted a word.
The way his tone lowered—not to dominate—but to control the room.
There was something familiar in it.
Something she couldn't ignore anymore.
Midway through, Vincent sat, making brief notes.
Aurelia's eyes drifted—unintentionally.
To the paper.
His handwriting.
Sharp. Controlled. Slightly angled.
Her breath stilled.
"I have seen this handwriting… where?" Aurelia muttered under her breath, her focus slipping for a moment as the realization began to form.
FLASHBACK:
'If you're reading this, congratulations on getting your wallet back.
I'm the man you crashed into at the bus stop—the tall man in the black suit.
My name is Vincent.'
"How cheesy…" she had said back then.
"Just Vincent? No number, no details? Crazy."
Now—
It clicked.
Rain.
The dim streetlight.
The hand writing something for her—
the same stroke.
The same pressure.
The same ending curve.
Her fingers tightened slightly.
…no way.
Then again—clearer this time.
"How did I not see this earlier…" she muttered, almost under her breath, frustration flickering briefly. "Fanculo Vale"
But this time—
there was no doubt.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
Not as her senior.
Not as Vincent Montclair.
But as the man from that night.
È lui.
Same eyes.
Same posture.
Same voice.
"Order."
The judge's voice pulled everything back.
Both sides stood.
"The matter requires further examination," the judge stated.
"This case shall proceed to full trial."
A pause.
"Court is adjourned."
Aurelia exhaled slowly.
Not relief.
Not tension.
Something quieter.
Vincent closed his file.
"Prepare for the next hearing," he said, already turning.
Same tone.
Same control.
But now—
everything felt different.
Aurelia followed.
Silent.
Composed.
Because now she knew.
And for the first time—
she chose to keep it to herself.