I don’t remember

The plaintiff's lawyer paced before the jury, his voice rising like a prosecutor from an old noir film, dripping with accusation. "Mr. Knight," he began, his index finger pointedly directed at the defendant, "the rape case came in not as a surprise." He paused for effect, letting the words hang heavy in the air. His gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with each juror. "You have had so many scandals in the past about changing women like you were changing your underwear."

Murmurs skittered through the courtroom, but Xavier's steel gaze never wavered, fixed on the one person who mattered: Cathleen, his wife.

"Language!" barked the judge, a stern admonition that momentarily stilled the whispers. But the lawyer pressed on, undeterred.

"This man was found butt naked in his own hotel with my client, your honor," he continued, brandishing the photographs like a victorious gladiator. The images flashed before the court, explicit and damning—a tableau of flesh and guilt. "And he had the gu