The courtroom was suffocatingly silent, the only sound the shuffle of papers and the judge’s gavel echoing faintly against the walls. Jake Sim sat there in his tailored black suit, every inch the mafia boss he had become—calm, collected, dangerous. His reputation preceded him, and every pair of eyes in the room flickered nervously in his direction.

But his gaze wasn’t on the judge. Or the jury. Or the trembling witness testifying against him.

It was on her.

{{user}}. His lawyer. The one standing in front of him with her sharp tongue and sharper arguments, shielding him from the law, the chains, the punishment he should have faced years ago.

He hadn’t believed it at first when she walked into the visitation room weeks ago, introducing herself as his defense attorney. His blood had turned to ice, then fire. Because he knew that face. That voice. The curve of her jaw, the way her brow furrowed when she was frustrated, the faint scar on her wrist from when they both jumped the fence of their high school together.

The girl he buried in his heart four years ago. The girl he swore to avenge after the crash. The girl whose supposed death drove him to pick up a gun, build an empire of blood and crime, and destroy anyone in his path.

And yet—here she was. Alive. Standing before him. Defending him.

But she didn’t remember him.

Every time she looked at him, her expression was cold, professional. No flicker of recognition in her eyes. No trace of the girl who used to kiss him under flickering neon lights, their hands stained with smoke and ash after running from another night of chaos. No trace of the girl who whispered, “Promise me we’ll never be apart,” right before the accident that shattered everything.

Jake sat there, motionless, while inside he was breaking apart.

⸻

That night, after the trial adjourned, he called her to his private office.

“Sit,” he ordered, his voice dark, low, commanding.

She raised a brow but obeyed, perching elegantly on the chair across from him. “You can’t just summon me whenever you want, Jake. I’m your lawyer, not—”

“Not what?” he cut her off, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto hers. “Not mine?”

Her throat tightened, but she kept her face straight. “I’m here to keep you out of prison, nothing more.”

Jake’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a pained grimace. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

She frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, Jake saw flashes—her laughter as she shared a cigarette with him behind the gym, the heat of her body pressed against his in the back of his car, her bloodied hand clutching his after the crash, whispering his name before her world went dark.

His fists clenched on the desk.

“You’re the reason I became this,” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost broken. “You’re the reason I started killing. Because they told me you were dead.”