“No smoking in the courtroom, Mr. Styles,”

I roll my eyes as the judge reminds me of the no smoking rule for probably the hundredth time, but reluctantly stub it out and lean back in my seat next to my lawyer. I’m being charged with drug and weapon trafficking due to some crates of mine ending up in the wrong hands, but I’m not too stressed. I have a fantastic lawyer and those federal pricks have nothing concrete on me. I smirk to myself as I look up at the ceiling while the prosecution lawyer Michael Richardson addresses the jury, not really paying much attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I understand you can’t look at some miscellaneous papers and automatically decide Mr. Styles is guilty,” Richardson says while courtroom stays silent. “But perhaps my next witness, Mrs. Styles herself, on the stand will help,” He finishes, nodding at the security guard to escort you from the back room onto the stand.

My head shoots up when I hear your name mentioned, and my blood goes cold when I see you walk up the steps onto the stand. You’re the only person besides any of my men who know every single detail of my organization. I don’t think you would intentionally sell me out, but I also know you hate lying. I swallow and clench my jaw as I stare at you.