The Law of Attraction: CEO's Forbidden Assistant

Serena Sinclair's POV:

"I never thought a woman could do this to another woman!" Emma's voice trembled as tears streamed down her face. Her blonde hair was disheveled, eye makeup smeared from crying, and carefully applied lipstick bitten off in patches.

I watched her performance from the defendant's table, anger burning in my chest. Those trembling hands holding photos of herself with torn clothes - the same hands that had meticulously staged this entire charade.

"Just because I got the man she wanted, she sent people to... to...rape me..." Emma collapsed into theatrical sobs on the witness stand.

Alex rushed forward, supporting Emma while taking the photos. His handsome face - the face I once woke up to every morning - twisted with anger as he glared at me. The betrayal stung, even after everything.

"That rapist told me directly," Emma lifted her head dramatically, "'This is a gift from Serena, for stealing her man!' They dragged me into that dark parking garage..."

I dug my nails into my palms, feeling the crescent-shaped marks forming. The whispers around me grew louder as female spectators covered their mouths in horror.

"But you're insane! You vicious woman!" Emma cried, tears rolling down her perfectly contoured cheeks.

When Alex pulled out his handkerchief to wipe her tears, I felt a stab of pain. Once, his tenderness had been mine alone. Now it was just another prop in this ridiculous theater.

"I swear on my honor," Emma's voice shook with manufactured sincerity, "I never wanted to destroy anyone's marriage. Alex pursued me! Why would she ruin my life?"

I nearly laughed at the absurdity. We weren't even divorced yet when they went public with their affair.

Alex turned to face the court, commanding the room in his tailored suit. "As someone who is still legally married to the defendant, I'm deeply pained. But today, I stand here for justice!"

His voice - once my favorite sound - now made my skin crawl.

"Ms. Sinclair, where were you on the evening of November 22nd?" he demanded, approaching me.

"I was at home, until I received a call about you," I answered, keeping my voice steady.

"Who called you?"

"Emma White." I glanced at her, catching the calculating gleam behind those crocodile tears.

Alex pressed harder: "Did you drive to the Metropolitan Club that night?"

"Yes. But you weren't there. Because you were at a client meeting in Midtown."

"So you admit you went to the club? Right when Emma was attacked!" he shouted triumphantly.

"I went because—"

"Ms. Sinclair!" He cut me off sharply. "Can you explain why the assailant specifically stated it was your instruction?"

The gallery erupted in whispers. I could feel judgment raining down on me from all sides.

"No, I cannot explain," I replied calmly. "Because I never did such a thing."

Alex displayed the photos to the jury, their faces blanching at Emma's supposedly terrified expression. "Look at these! See what a jealous woman is capable of!"

I felt the weight of every stare in that courtroom, heavy with accusation and contempt. But I'd prepared for this moment.

I stood up, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I removed my suit jacket. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as I walked toward Emma.

In the last row, I spotted Phillip Kingston watching with interest, arms crossed and a slight smile playing on his lips. His presence gave me an unexpected boost of confidence.

"Turn on the projector," I instructed my lawyer, keeping my voice quiet but firm.

The screen illuminated, showing bar surveillance footage of Emma embracing the "rapist," her red lips nearly touching his ear as she slipped him cash. The date stamp: November 21st, the day before the "attack."

"Oh my God!" someone gasped.

Emma's face drained of color as she looked desperately toward Alex, who stared at the screen in disbelief.

"Ms. White," I approached the witness stand, "This is you meeting your attacker the night before. You seem quite friendly?"

I played the recording of her call next: 'Serena, Alex is drunk at the Metropolitan Club. He needs you to pick him up.'

"Here's Alex's credit card record," I continued, displaying the statement, "showing he was dining with clients in Midtown when you claimed he was drunk elsewhere."

Alex stood frozen, face ashen, while Emma tried desperately to form words.

"And finally," I felt a surge of vindication, "here's your 'rapist' confessing yesterday that you paid him $5,000 to stage this and frame me."

On screen, the man admitted everything: "She paid me five grand... That woman's sick, seriously."

The courtroom exploded. As court officers led Emma away, she screamed hysterically: "You should be the one in jail! You bitch! You stole everything that was supposed to be mine!"

Standing amid waves of apologetic glances, I focused only on Alex's shattered expression—the man who once vowed to love me forever, now facing the consequences of his choices.

I thought back to six years ago at Yale Law, when Alex and I had been competing for a prestigious international study opportunity. He never knew I'd pretended illness on selection day because I saw how much it meant to him. When he came to share his joy with me afterward, I'd genuinely smiled through my disappointment.

Two years later, his proposal had seemed like validation of that sacrifice. I truly believed I'd chosen the better path by supporting his career rather than pursuing my own.

Even a year later, when Emma joined his firm—young, beautiful, ambitious—I'd swallowed the pain of hearing her referred to as his "office wife." I'd told myself that marriage required compromise, that his happiness was mine.

But now, watching him realize the magnitude of his mistake, I felt nothing but a profound emptiness. In his eyes, I saw the reflection of what I'd become—a woman so defined by her husband that she'd lost herself entirely.

Phillip rose as the judge called for recess. Something about his deliberate movements caught my attention. As he turned to leave, our eyes met briefly. His expression held neither pity nor judgment—only a calm assessment that somehow made me stand straighter. What could have brought one of Manhattan's most prestigious attorneys to witness this sordid matrimonial drama? The question lingered in my mind even as I gathered my notes.

Later, I stood on the courthouse steps watching snowflakes dissolve against the worn marble, each one a small reminder of how quickly certainties could melt away.

"Serena," Alex called from behind me. "Why didn't you tell me about the evidence sooner?"

I turned to face him, feeling strangely calm. "I told you countless times, but would you have believed me?"

"I thought I knew the facts," he started. "I thought—"

"You chose to believe her over me," I cut him off. "Over seven years together. Over everything we built." I took a deep breath, the cold air sharp in my lungs. "I want a divorce."