I Married The Devil's Advocate

If you asked anyone in Manhattan, theyd tell you Troy Locke worshipped the ground I walked on.

Why else would the citys most ruthless, undefeated defense attorney agree to represent my brother, a man accused of a brutal sexual assault? And not just any victimthe accuser was Mia Jenkins, Troys own protg, the golden girl he had mentored for years.

The press had a field day. Everyone assumed Troy would pull his usual legal magic and get my brother acquitted. Troy never lost.

But he did lose. In just two months, the trial and the subsequent appeal ended in total, catastrophic failure.

Worse than that. The initial sentence was three years. After the appeal, the charges were escalated to federal kidnapping and aggravated assault. The new sentence? Life without the possibility of parole in a maximum-security prison. A guaranteed death sentence for someone like my brother.

When the news broke, the media camped out, waiting for me to lose my mind. Waiting for Grace Croft, the fiery actress who had just wrapped a closed-set shoot in Europe and stormed the courthouse steps during the first trial, to put on a hysterical show.

But on the day of the final sentencing, the vultures outside the courthouse waited in vain.

I wasn't screaming. I was standing in a quiet, sterile bathroom down the hall, calmly holding a phone to my ear.

"Declan," I said, my voice eerily steady. "I'll marry you. Just get your legal team to file a motion for a retrial for my brother."

Silence hummed on the line for two seconds. "I have faster ways to handle this, Grace. The appellate courts are a nightmare. Sam will be locked up for a long time while we fight it."

"It won't be a hard fight." I lowered my eyes, tracing the grout lines on the floor. "When we were in the foster system, Sam was in a terrible accident. He doesn't have male anatomy. It is biologically impossible for him to have raped anyone."

"We grew up in the worst parts of the city. Sam is deaf and mute. To find work, to protect me, he took so many beatings. After one of those brutal attacks, he underwent emergency surgery. Everything was removed."

I gripped the edge of the sink. "If the men in that prison find out what he is... it will be a fate worse than death. I swore I would take that secret to my grave."

A long beat of silence. "Does Troy know?" Declan asked.

I didn't answer.

Once Declan agreed to send his team, I hung up and pushed the bathroom door open. I caught my reflection in the mirrorpale, hollowed out, a ghost of the woman I was yesterday. I forced the corners of my mouth up in a dark, bitter mimicry of a smile.

Troy didnt know. But until today, I genuinely thought he did.

It had been a month since the initial guilty verdict. Troy was Sams defense attorney. He had unlimited access. All he had to do was ask Sam, and Sam, desperate to clear his name, would have found a way to tell him.

When I flew back from Europe in a panic, Troy had taken my face in his hands and apologized. He blamed a biased jury. He promised me he would win the appeal. For two weeks, I barely saw him. He was supposedly working back channels, meeting with judges, pulling every string. I was running myself ragged gathering security footage that proved Sam wasn't even there. I thought we were in the trenches together.

But an hour ago, in that courtroom, Troy had stood before the judge and offered practically no defense against Mias lawyers.

Worse, the flash drive containing the security footage I had painstakingly tracked downthe footage showing Sam leaving the building immediately after arguing with Miawas mysteriously "lost" from Troy's briefcase.

"Grace!"

My assistant, Bella, jogged down the corridor, her face flushed with anxiety. "There you are. We need to go out the loading dock. The press is swarming the front." She touched my arm gently. "Troy did his best. Mia hired Judge Davis's old firm. Nobody beats them."

She hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Though, I heard Judge Davis retired from private practice years ago. I have no idea how Mia got him to take her case..."

My footsteps faltered. I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

"Yeah," I whispered. "How could Mia possibly get him?"

Mia couldn't. But Troy could.

Judge Davis was Troys old mentor. The man was like a father to him. Years ago, the Judge had despised me, viewing me as a D-list actress gold-digger. He forbade Troy from marrying me. Troy stood in the pouring rain outside the Judges estate for twenty-four hours to prove his devotion to me. The Judge never opened the door. Troy chose me, and the two hadn't spoken since.

If it weren't for this trial, I would have forgotten the old man's face entirely.

And if it weren't for this trial, I never would have realized that the person Troy truly wanted to save wasn't me.

Right before the hearing began, Troy had gently told me to wait outside, claiming my emotional state might prejudice the judge. But when the gavel fell, sealing Sam's fate, I couldn't breathe. I had run to the bathroom to muffle my sobs.

And that was when I heard it. Through the thin walls, from the adjacent corridor. Mias voice.

"Troy," she was crying, her voice thick with relief. "Thank you. Getting Judge Davis to represent me... destroying that security footage... If you hadn't been with me every single night this past month, I would have killed myself."

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My blood stopped moving in my veins.

Then came Troys voice. It was the same cool, authoritative tone he always used, but laced with a tender indulgence I hadn't heard in years.

"He hurt you, Mia. Professionally and personally, I was never going to let him get away with it."

They talked for a long time. And standing in that bathroom stall, everything finally clicked into agonizing clarity.

From Sams arrest, to the indictment, to today. Two months.

Troy was the defense attorney, and he hadn't visited Sam in jail a single time.

He didn't "lose" my evidence. He threw it in the trash.

He insisted on taking Sam's case, isolating me from the process, purely to guarantee I didn't hire a competent lawyer. He engineered the entire defense to ensure the man who supposedly hurt his precious protg was locked away forever.

And why had Mia framed Sam? Because a week before the arrest, Sam had confronted her, signing furiously, warning her to stop trying to destroy my marriage.

I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over me.

I remembered casually complaining to Sam that Mia was too clingy with Troy, that it made me anxious.

I remembered the day I flew back, my brain short-circuiting at the news of Sam's arrest. I had been a hysterical mess, screaming, "Sam couldn't do this! Mia is lying! She belongs in a cell!"

"I'm going to her apartment! I'm going to make her tell the truth!"

But Troy had caught me by the shoulders, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Don't go near her, Grace. I know Sam isn't that kind of man. I'll win the appeal. You just need to trust me. Let me handle it."

And I did. God, I trusted him.

But the "win" he was working for was Mia's. The "trust" he spoke of was his blind, unquestioning faith in Mia's lies. If he had done the bare minimum of his jobif he had bothered to interview his own clienthe would have known Sam couldn't have raped anyone.

Bella was still urging me forward. I walked mechanically until I rounded the corner and nearly collided with Troy.

He was still in his bespoke suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He radiated that untouchable, elite aura that owned every room he walked into. His eyes flicked over my pale face, pausing for a fraction of a second before settling back into cool composure.

"Where did you go?" he asked. "The clerk needs a family member to sign the acknowledgment of the sentence."

I looked down at the paperwork in his hand. The words swam, stinging my eyes.

I didn't take the paper. I just looked up at the man standing in front of me.

Five years. I had loved that face for five years.

I met him when he was just starting to make a name for himself. We were at a gala, and a group of predatory executives were trying to drink him under the table. He took every shot without complaining, though his jaw was tight with strain. I thought it was charming. I stepped in and took three shots of whiskey for him. Later, he asked me why I did it.

"Because you remind me of my brother," I had said. "You're at your breaking point, but you refuse to let anyone see you bend."

Later, he won the lawsuit that freed me from a toxic management contract. He became my husband.

I will never let you down, Grace, he had sworn.

I stared at him in the quiet of the courthouse corridor. Troys brow furrowed slightly under my scrutiny.

Finally, I opened my mouth. My voice was completely, terrifyingly calm.

"Troy. I want a divorce."

Troys frown deepened by a millimeter.

"A divorce?" His tone was flat, dismissive. "This isn't the time for one of your tantrums, Grace."

A passing court officialone of the prosecutorspaused, giving me a patronizing sigh.

"Ms. Croft, Troy's reputation has already taken a massive hit just by representing your brother. Mia Jenkins has an airtight evidence chain, and she had Judge Davis. An appeal was a pipe dream. Just sign the acknowledgment. If he goes to maximum security, Troy might still be able to pull strings to get him into a safer block."

My hands balled into fists.

Sam was deaf. He was mute. He had survived the horrors of the foster system, survived the streets, survived unimaginable pain, and now he was being sent to a place where he would be slaughtered.

And these men were telling me to stop throwing a tantrum.

I took a slow, deep breath, my fingernails biting into my palms until the skin nearly broke.

I wanted to scream the truth. I wanted to tell the whole damn courthouse that Sam was biologically incapable of this crime.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

Troy had deliberately tanked this case. He had thrown my brother to the wolves for Mia. I had no idea how deep their twisted relationship went, or how far Troy would go to protect her. If I played my hand now, Troy would just bury the medical records. He would find another way to crush Sam. I didn't even know if Sam was being threatened in holding right now.

I couldn't afford to be impulsive. I couldn't fight Troy on his home turf while I was utterly isolated.

I needed to tear this self-righteous, untouchable lawyer down to his very foundations.

Taking my silence for submission, Troy reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist. "Let's go home. We'll discuss the next steps later."

As we pushed through the heavy doors toward the private parking garage, Troys cell phone rang.

Through the earpiece, I could hear Mias voice, trembling and thick with tears.

Troys face softened instantly. "Don't panic," he murmured. "I'll be right there."

He hung up and looked at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "Mia got ambushed by the paparazzi at the front entrance. Shes having a panic attack. I need to go handle it. Have my driver take you home."

I didn't say a word.

Troy studied me. I was being too quiet. But he didn't have time to dissect my mood. He signaled his driver, turned on his heel, and strode away.

Bella and I followed the driver to Troys black Porsche Cayenne. The driver pulled the passenger door open for me.

As I bent to slide in, my peripheral vision caught something in the footwell of the passenger seat.

A scrap of black lace. A pair of women's underwear.

Bella followed my gaze, her face flushing crimson. "What... what the hell is that?!"

The driver froze, stammering. "It... it might be a rag? Ms. Jenkins leaves things in the car sometimes when Troy gives her a lift to work."

"A rag?!" Bellas voice went up an octave. "Do you think we're stupid?"

Before anyone could say another word, the sound of shouting erupted behind us. A rogue group of protesters and paparazzi had breached the garage.

"Have some shame! Defending a rapist!"

Suddenly, something wet and heavy hit the side of my head. Rotting vegetables and cracked eggs rained down on us.

"Your brother ruined that poor girl's life! How dare you get in that car!"

"You're dragging Troy Locke's name through the mud! Do him a favor and leave him alone!"

Bella threw her arms around me, using her body as a shield. Slime dripped from my hair, the stench of sulfur running down my cheek.

I didn't flinch. I just looked at the lace underwear sitting in my husband's car.

A quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. I turned around and walked out of the garage, leaving the car behind.

When I got back to the penthouse, I stood under the scalding water of the shower for an hour.

I stepped out just as Troy unlocked the front door. He wasn't alone. Mia was tucked safely behind him, her face streaked with delicate tears.

Troys eyes flicked to the pile of my soiled, egg-stained clothes on the floor, but he didn't ask what happened.

Mia shrank back, pressing herself against Troys shoulder as if my mere presence terrified her.

Troy shifted his weight, subtly blocking her from my view. His tone was perfectly level. "Mia is highly traumatized right now. The press overwhelmed her. I brought her here to calm down."

I stared at them. I saw the way Mias fingers curled into the fabric of his suit. I saw the fleeting, venomous smirk that flashed in her eyes before she buried her face in his back.

"Get out," I rasped, my stomach violently churning.

Troys brow instantly pinched in displeasure.

Suddenly, Mia lunged forward, collapsing to her knees on the hardwood floor right in front of me.

"Grace, I am so sorry!" she wailed. "It's all my fault! I never should have gone to the police!"

"Troy has mentored me for years, and now I've ruined your marriage! Please, hit me! Punish me!"

She crawled forward on her knees. But as she got closer, the sobbing stopped. Her lips barely moved, her voice dropping to a vicious, microscopic whisper meant only for me.

"Those protesters in the garage? Troy had security tip them off. He needed a distraction so he could sneak me out the front."

My entire body went rigid. Mias voice grew even softer, practically a purr.

"Your freak of a brother cried like a baby when they dragged him away. But who can he blame? Who told him to play the hero and threaten me? Who the hell is he to tell me to stay away from Troy?"

She paused, a sickening smile touching her lips. "Grace, Troy trusts me so implicitly. He personally made the calls. Skipped standard procedure and sent your mute brother straight to hell."

A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. Without a single thought, I raised my hand and swung.

My wrist was caught mid-air.

Troy held my arm. His grip wasn't bruising, but it was absolute rock. He looked down at me, his face devoid of emotionthe hallmark of his rising anger.

"Grace."

He used to say my name like that when I worked too many hours on set, or when he missed me.

I stared back at him. My eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. I was looking at a stranger.

My gaze was so dead, so freezing cold, that Troy actually flinched. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mia suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"No! Stay away from me!"

She curled into a fetal position on the rug, violently shaking, her eyes locked onto a framed photograph on the console table. It was the first picture Sam and I took together after leaving the foster system. We were grinning, faces pressed together.

"He's looking at me! He's going to hurt me again!" Mia babbled incoherently.

Troy instantly released my wrist and dropped to one knee, pulling Mia into his chest.

"Make it go away! Please, Troy, make it stop..." she sobbed into his shirt.

Troy reached up and laid the photo frame face down. "I'll put it in storage," he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But Mia shrieked louder. She scrambled out of his arms, grabbed the heavy silver frame, and smashed it against the edge of the table.

Glass shattered across the floor.

My heart felt like it fractured with it. I dropped to my knees, frantically trying to gather the pieces of the photo.

Troy frowned. "Grace, stop, I have the digital backups"

But Mia was already moving. She went through the living room like a hurricane, grabbing every single photo that had Sam in it and hurling them to the floor.

Troy didn't stop her. He actually reached up to the high mantle to hand her a frame she couldn't reach.

She kept going until she pointed a shaking finger at a massive canvas on the wall. It was our wedding photo.

"She looks just like him!" Mia shuddered, pointing at my face. "I'm terrified..."

This time, Troys hand stopped in mid-air.

In the photo, I was wearing a Vera Wang gown, smiling so brightly it hurt to look at.

Troy reached out and gently covered Mia's eyes. "Then don't look," he said softly. "I'm taking you out of here."

I let out a harsh, broken laugh.

"Get out." I stood up, walked over to the wall, ripped our wedding canvas off the hook, and threw it onto the pile of shattered glass.

Troys jaw tightened. "There is no need to be vindictive to a victim of trauma, Grace."

"Get the fuck out!" I screamed, my whole body vibrating. "Both of you, get out of my house!"

Troy scooped Mia up in his arms and walked out the door without looking back.

I collapsed onto the ruined floor. My mind drifted to the first case he ever won for me. I was a nobody, trapped in a predatory contract. He went to war for me, making his name in the process.

At the victory party, slightly drunk, he kissed my forehead in front of everyone.

From now on, Grace, I protect you. No one in this world is allowed to bully you.

I touched the cold glass on the floor, let out a dry breath, and walked into my study.

The next morning, I walked straight into Troys law firm.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private office. Mia was sitting on Troys lap, their lips locked together.

Troy broke away instantly, his eyes snapping to mine. He hurriedly shifted Mia off his lap.

"Shes having a panic attack. She was hyperventilating. It was grounding technique," he said. For the first time in his life, Troy Locke sounded flustered.

I didn't care. I felt nothing. I walked to his mahogany desk and dropped a manila folder in front of him.

Troy felt a sudden, suffocating wave of panic. In the past, if Mia even touched his arm, I would have thrown a fit. I would have demanded answers.

Now? I didn't even blink.

"Sign it," I said. "It's the termination of your legal representation for my brother."

He looked down at the folder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You want to file for a retrial? Grace, without new, exculpatory evidence, an appellate judge won't even look at it."

I stared at him, the ghost of a smile pulling at my lips.

"I had evidence. But you threw it in the trash."

Mia instantly started weeping. "Grace, why are you doing this?! Please don't forge evidence just to make Troy's life harder..."

"Your brother destroyed me! Doesn't he have to pay for what he did?"

She clutched her chest, performing a flawless hyperventilation act. Troy gently rubbed circles into her back, but his eyes were locked on my dead, unyielding stare.

He hesitated, then picked up his Montblanc pen and scrawled his signature across the documents.

"I signed it. Now please leave. You're triggering her."

He didn't even read the pages underneath. He didn't notice that the second document in the stack was a petition for divorce.

The most meticulous, paranoid defense attorney in New York lost every ounce of his intellect the second Mia shed a tear.

How pathetic. I turned on my heel and walked out.

It was mid-April, but as I stepped onto the Manhattan pavement, snow had begun to fall. Unseasonal, bitter snow.

I looked up at the grey sky. Maybe the universe felt the injustice, too.

Snowflakes landed on my cheeks, melting and mixing with the hot tears I hadn't realized I was crying. I wiped my face violently.

I met Declan's high-powered legal team at the federal courthouse. We submitted the backup files of the security footage and the sealed medical records proving Sam's biological reality.

"We'll file the motion for retrial and push for emergency visitation," the lead attorney told me. "Just wait for our call."

I submitted the signed divorce papers to the clerk.

When I returned to the penthouse, I started packing. But after staring at my closet for ten minutes, I realized I didn't want a single thing from this life.

I slid the diamond ring off my finger, placed it exactly in the center of the coffee table, and walked toward the front door.

I yanked it open, only to slam directly into a solid chest.

Troy. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into the elevator, hauling me out to his car and driving straight to the hospital.

"Are you insane, Grace?!" he roared as he drove. "Do you have to torture her? Why are you so damn malicious? Why would you send those photos?!"

"What photos?" I asked, my voice numb.

"Mia received printed photos of the assault! Graphic, humiliating photos of her trauma. Who else would do that but you?"

I shook my head. "I didn't"

A piercing shriek echoed from the hospital room at the end of the hall as we stepped off the elevator. Troy dropped my arm and sprinted inside.

Mia was huddled in the corner of the hospital bed. The second she saw me in the doorway, she scrambled backward like a cornered animal.

"No! Keep her away from me!"

Before anyone could react, she grabbed a silver fruit knife from her lunch tray and pressed the blade against her own throat.

"Please stop torturing me, Grace! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Troy froze, his hands raised, his legendary composure shattering. "Mia. Put the knife down. Please."

Mias eyes were wild, locked onto my face.

"Her face looks exactly like his! Hes the one who raped me! I can't look at her! I want to die!"

She pressed the blade harder. A thin line of blood welled up on her neck.

Troy squeezed his eyes shut.

A second later, his eyes snapped open. He looked at the two burly orderlies standing by the door.

"Hold my wife down," he ordered.