The door slammed shut behind Zane and Emma. No one tried to stop them. No one could.
Emma's father stood there, frozen for a second. Then, his face twisted—first with shock, then with rage.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
The sound of glass crashing against the wall did it for him.
He picked up the nearest vase—an expensive one Amanda had gifted him last year—and threw it without thinking. It exploded into pieces. He knocked over the chairs next, one by one, until one hit the table and sent a stack of files to the floor.
"How dare they!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty courtroom. "Emma—my own daughter—walked out of here like she owns the place!"
He grabbed another chair, tossed it, and kicked the table hard.
"And that bastard Zane!" he spat. "Who does he think he is? He walks in with four lawyers and makes a joke of me?"
He stood still now, breathing hard. His chest rising and falling. His hands trembling. His pride shattered.
