Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
SUPREME COURT OF JAMAICA ~ KINGSTON MONDAY 21., 9:32
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The chains at my ankles clanked against the floor with each slow step.
Same brown jumpsuit. Same cold stares from the officers. Same scent of polished floors and judgment.
But this time... something in the air was different.
They sat me at the defendant's bench again. I didn't look up. My knuckles were still sore — still raw from the wall in my cell. Weeks of silence. Weeks of carrying weight.
The courtroom was packed. Public seats full. Cameras blinking. Lawyers shuffling papers. The hum of whispers... but none directed at me.
That alone made my chest tighten.
Then, I heard her voice — clear, low, powerful.
Zuri.
Somewhere behind me.
I didn't turn. I couldn't. Not yet.
The judge entered. Everyone stood. My eyes didn't leave the grain of the wood table in front of me.
The bailiff called it out.
"The People vs. Christopher Whyte... retrial for the alleged murder of Nicole Douglas."
The judge, an older man with stern eyes and an even sterner voice, shuffled through a fresh file — thicker than the last time.
Then he looked at me. And he paused.
"Mr. Whyte... today we bring forth new evidence submitted by defense counsel on behalf of the accused."
I blinked.
Defense?
I never hired one.
The judge continued, flipping open the first folder.
"A flash drive was submitted. Containing security footage dated January 4th, 3:16 a.m., showing the body of the late Nicole Douglas being transported by... one Mr. Ricardo Whyte... to the backyard of your residence."
My head shot up.
The courtroom stirred.
"Alongside this," the judge continued, "voice recordings were also submitted — of Mr. Ricardo Whyte conspiring to frame the accused for said murder, using his influence as a licensed attorney and executor of the Whyte family's estate."
My heart stopped mid-beat.
The judge turned to a projector screen. A click echoed.
The video played.
There. On screen. Ricardo. Black gloves. Nicole's limp body slung between him and another man. Tossed beneath the rosebush by the wall I used to water every Sunday.
