Hostage to you | B.E

23 Verdict

I expected a trial.

I expected to sit in a stiff chair in front of a judge while my lawyer fought to prove my innocence. I expected long-winded legal jargon, Jesse's smug face somewhere in the courtroom, and the sinking dread that the system would let me down.

What I didn't expect was for the judge to enter the room, sit down, and say, "The charges against Miss Steele have been dropped. You've been proven not guilty."

Just like that.

No explanation. No evidence presented. Just a clean slate. Like none of this had ever happened.

The words barely registered. The courtroom was dead silent, but my heartbeat pounded so loudly in my ears that I almost didn't hear the judge dismiss the case. My lawyer stood beside me, just as stunned, while the officers moved as if this were routine.

"Wait," I blurted out, pushing up from my seat. "That's it?"

The judge looked down at me, unbothered. "That's it."

"But—I don't understand," I said, turning to my lawyer. "What changed?"

"I—I don't know," my lawyer admitted, flipping through the file. "I just got here myself."

The bailiff shot me a look. "Miss Steele, you're free to go."

I stood there for a moment, waiting for someone to explain, but no one did.

And then, the courtroom doors opened, and a wall of noise crashed into me.

Flashes, screams, the chaotic blend of shouting voices calling my name. I barely had time to process what was happening before I was being shoved into the chaos.

Paparazzi.

Hundreds of them.

And mixed in with them were Billie fans—some holding signs, some crying, some filming on their phones. The second they saw me, the screaming intensified.

"RAVEN, LOOK HERE!"
"HOW DID YOU GET OUT?!"
"RAVEN, DID BILLIE HELP YOU?!"
"RAVEN, OVER HERE—!"

I staggered back, nearly blinded by the flashing lights. My pulse skyrocketed. The air was thick with the metallic tang of too many cameras and the sound of people pressing in from every direction.

Then I saw her.

Standing by the black SUV parked near the curb, hoodie pulled over her head, arms crossed over her chest.

I didn't even think—I just ran to her.

"Billie—" I started, but before I could get another word out, she grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the car.

No 'I'm so happy you're free.' No 'Are you okay?' Not even a damn smile.

Just a blank face and a tight grip on my wrist.

She shoved me into the car first, slamming the door behind us before I could even blink. The second we were inside, the sound of the crowd was muffled, but the tension between us crackled like static.

I turned to her, my chest still rising and falling from the adrenaline. "Billie—what the hell just happened?"

She didn't answer.

She was looking out the window. Her face was unreadable, her jaw clenched so tight I could see the tension in her neck.

Something was wrong.

"Billie." I reached for her hand, but she flinched, pulling away.

The car started moving. I didn't know where we were going, but suddenly, that wasn't the biggest concern.