His Nanny Mate By Eve Above Story

Chapter 324 Objection

Ella

A sharp jolt of realization pulled me out of my sleep. The luminescent glow of dawn was already seeping through the window blinds. How long had we been asleep? Frantic, I scrambled upright, inadvertently knocking a few papers off the cluttered desk.

“Logan!” I shook his shoulder, urgency lacing my voice. “Wake up. We overslept!” His eyelids fluttered open, his usually sharp eyes clouded with confusion. “Ella? What time is it?”

My fingers flew to my wristwatch, and a gasp escaped my lips. “God, it’s nearly time for the court session! We have minutes, Logan, minutes!”

His eyes widened as he registered the severity of the situation. “Damn,” he cursed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Come on!” I urged, grabbing my files and purse, doing my best to appear somewhat professional. Looking at my reflection in a nearby window, I grimaced at the mascara smudged under my eyes and the crease lines imprinted on my cheek from the papers.

As Logan and I dashed through the halls of the firm, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and his shirt wasn’t entirely buttoned up. I struggled to adjust my blazer while balancing on my heels, my hand clutching a bundle of important case documents. There was no time for the elevator. We opted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Reaching the ground floor, we burst through the building’s main doors, the cool morning air hitting us. As we sped toward the courthouse just a few blocks away, Logan pulled off his tie, hastily re-tying it.

“You alright?” he panted, glancing my way.

“I’ve had better mornings,” I quipped, trying to find humor in our predicament. “We need to be on our A-game the moment we walk into that courtroom.”

We made it to the courthouse steps, barely catching our breath. As the grand doors came into view, I tried to mentally prepare myself. Every second counted, and making a good impression was vital.

way -and not in the flattering, commanding

for excuses. I opened my mouth to apologize when Mr. Westbrook, shooting me a smug look with his cold, predatory eyes, sneered. “Seems like some of us don’t understand the importance of punctuality. It speaks volumes, doesn’t it,

but I could tell he was rattled. Ignoring the snide remark, I began, “Your Honor, I

clearly unimpressed, but after a heavy pause, he nodded. “Very well. Proceedings will begin in five minutes, once you two have had a chance to settle

tension, but if there was

by nods of respect from fellow attorneys and begrudging acknowledgment

catch my gaze as he passed by, a hint of a

armor. “The name is Morgan, Mr. Westbrook. I hope you remember it this time. We’re ready to

ready, is it? It’s about playing the game.” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air before continuing

a city under siege, a place where men like Logan roamed the streets, and where families lived in fear. Every word was like a stroke of his brush, every pause calculated to

crossroads. Do we allow individuals who

He spoke of past incidents, of confrontations and aggressive outbursts. He used witness statements, expert testimonies,

merely about

as much as it pained me, Westbrook’s tactics were effective. He was weaving a narrative that was becoming harder and harder to counter, especially with the jury’s increasingly concerned expressions. He thrived in this arena, controlling the narrative, keeping everyone-including the judge-hanging on

questioning. He began with seemingly innocuous questions, designed to

“Tell us about your childhood. Would you say it was…

normal as any, I

“And your teenage

school, had a few close friends. Played a bit