Cupid's Defence

Chapter 1

i.

Louis found out about the lawsuit the same way everyone else did: on tv.

In all honesty, he didn't really take it in. The colours were too loud and the volume too low, and, in his defence, he was in bed with someone at the time. He managed to catch a glimpse of the title: MILLIONAIRES SPL-- before being tugged back under the duvet, and that, seemingly, was that.

-

He awoke to chuckles. Loud, brash, chuckles, ones that cut through his sleepy state like razors. Sitting up, Louis became aware of a few different things: the room, green and simplistic, the lamp: bright red, and the bed: which held an occupant. This occupant was sniggering in front of him, clearly amused, their shoulders bobbing up and down in hysterics.

"She can't be serious," Louis heard him say, "That's fucking ludi."

Louis blinked, delirious. "What's ludi?"

"Come clock the news," the man laughed, with a turn of the face.

He had quite an appealing face, now that Louis thought of it, with dark brown eyes, a soft set of afro curls, and a lip piercing. In hindsight, the man's face was probably why Louis had ended up in his flat, and then in his bed. A comfy bed, but a bed that he should really have been leaving at that point. Nonetheless, temptation took hold.

Sitting up brought a headache and regret. But it also brought the oversaturated news channel, with the headline "LYVONINSKY DIVORCE", and a woman being interviewed in the centre. Louis felt a flare of recognition, as would anyone. She was Sheila Lyvoninsky, one half of the United Kingdom's richest entrepreneur couple, and the co-founder of Lyvoninsky Industries, which specialised in anything, from prosthetic feet to coffee machines.

It would take an idiot not to recognise her. At that point she had become nothing short of a British household name. Even so, Louis was not surprised.

"Celebrities break up all the time," he said, suspiciously, "Why's this on tv?"

"Have you heard the reason?" The man replied, and turned up the volume. "It's fucking stupid as shit."

Louis listened, intently, as the woman on screen, being interviewed, then began to rant and rave.

"I know whose fault this is," she spat, angrily, "It's the fault of that bloody Cupid! He marched into our lives, and he did all of this. We didn't want to fall in love! We didn't want to share business! And now he's ruined us!"

The man turned to Louis, an 'I told you so' expression on his features. Louis just-- gaped.

"She's got to be kidding," he gawped.

"She's media trained as fuck," The man said, "She sure as shit ain't kidding."

Louis watched Sheila's red-spotted cheeks, creased, low brow, and frustration-filled eyes, and tried to understand what would drive a person to such a conclusion.

-

Coming into work that morning was a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because TOMMO & PAYNE LLP's tiny office held not only hot chocolate, but coffee, and Louis had not quite recovered from his one night stand. However, it was a curse because it was not only raining outside, but on the way he had to pass not one, but two members of the paparazzi, who hounded him for an entire two blocks.

"Mr Tomlinson! Are you going to represent Mrs Lyvoninsky in her case?"

"Mr Tomlinson! What is your firm working on now?"

"Mr Tomlinson! What is your legal opinion on the matter? What are her odds?"

Louis could answer all of the questions mentally, if not verbally: