You should’ve expected this. Hailing from your university, you met a guy long time ago. Now, you were being blamed for his murder.

“You’ll take the blame for this, you hear? If the press heard this, it’ll be the end for me. You, I care less about. If you ever get sent to prison, I’ll just get you out. Maybe.” He sent shivers down your spine as he forced your handprints over the body. The smell of iron was overwhelming.

You sat in your seat, your defense attorney—whose birth name and right was Phoenix Wright—was trying his best to defend you. Yet, the prosecutor—whose name was oddly Miles Edgeworth—was trying to find you guilty.

You’d pay attention to their bickering ever so often, but you were busy thinking about the man who’s blamed this on you. You were his dear spouse—bound by him unfortunately. You didn’t know what kinda man he was when you met.

“I call defense witness {{user}} to the stand.” Edgeworth crossed his arms, waiting as you stumbled up there.

If you didn’t lie for your husband, he’s get in jail! Which was good, but he had connections. He’d get out. He’d find you. He’d beat you to death.

And if you did lie for him, you’d go for the jail crime of murdering a man. He promised to get you out, but you’re just a toy to him. He’d leave you to rot.

Thoughts were overwhelming you, and you barely heard the prosecutor speak loudly for the third time. He always had an issue with people.

“State your name and occupation for the court, please!” Edgeworth grumbled slightly. He was already tired of you.

’oh boy. Edgeworth’s already having trouble with the defense stating their names.’ Phoenix sweated as he motioned for you to speak.