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luxlisbons · 2 months

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The Verdict- Chapter Six

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: sexual content, NSFW‼️, mentions of religion, see prev. tags.

A/N: we’re taking a brief hiatus from Sandra and her drama in The Alps to focus on Leah and Vincent. I’m playing with the timeline at this point, but who really cares? I have a cutesy little playlist I’m cultivating for these two so if anyone has a suggestion or a song that reminds you of our two love birds, please send it my way. As always, I love your comments, the anons, the unhinged way you guys have responded to this fic. I’m humbled and love each and every one of you! And a huge thanks to @luxlisbons for giving this her stamp of approval. This fic would have never happened if it wasn’t for her and the horny lawyer anon.

Leah moaned softly, her hands tightly gripping the headboard, urging him on. Starting initially with her cheek pressed against his pillow and her ass arched ungracefully in the air, Vincent’s assault had caused her to flee, taking purchase against the headboard. She clutched the wood grain with intensity as his nose parted her from behind, eating her as if he were famished.

“Don't stop," she pleaded, her legs trembling as he continued his assault, kneading the tender flesh of her ass as he dipped a finger into her, working the sensitive spot with his long, arched finger.

"Gonna cum," she gasped, and he responded with a satisfied hum against her soaked cunt as she arched her head back, her long hair cascading down her back and brushing against Vincent's forehead. As she released, he eagerly accepted her offering, savoring her taste and the intensity of it all.

Feeling the steady rhythm of Vincent working himself against the back of her thigh, she reached behind and gently stroked his ash-gray hair.

"Come here," she beckoned, rolling over so he could slot himself between her legs. His flushed cheeks and hitched breath betrayed his desire as he gazed down at her.

"Inside," she whispered, guiding his pulsating cock towards her cunt.

He hesitated briefly, his hardened length brushing against her thigh. "Leah," he cautioned, but she shook her head determinedly.

Reaching for the discarded packet on the nightstand, she shook it in reassurance. "It's been five days. We're safe," she declared, tossing the pill packet back casually.

As he reflected on a three weeks filled with shared moments of intimacy, of finger fucking her on the couch, eating her until she cried on the kitchen counter, mutually pleasuring one another in the shower, the nastiest blow job he had ever received when they were alone in his office, he yearned for more than just fleeting encounters. With a silent prayer, he slowly entered her, hoping that five days would be sufficient protection.

As they both sighed in unison, Vincent wrapped a loose hand around her neck, drawing her close for a tender kiss to anchor them together.

"Can you cum again?" he inquired, seeking her confirmation.

"I don't think I've ever stopped," she replied with a hint of amusement.

Nodding, he resumed his movements, each deliberate thrust eliciting a pleasurable response. With a final deep thrust, he stilled, his expression contorted in ecstasy as a soft grunt escaped his lips.

Resting against Leah, he nestled his face against her neck and shoulder. She ran her hands through his hair, savoring the closeness as they lay intertwined, basking in each other's presence without the need for words.

________________________________________

“You’re quiet,” Vincent observed, his gaze drifting over the laptop screen that separated him from Leah as he lounged on the chaise across from her. Engrossed in a stack of case files, he had taken to reviewing a matter one of his associates was handling, offering advice and guidance as needed. With the lack of new evidence and the legal proceedings at a standstill for close to a month in Sandra’s case, he kept his hands occupied, often finding solace in Leah’s presence.

Leah popped an AirPod out and flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, one of my friends is going through a divorce and wanted me to review their custody agreement.”

“I forget you have a life outside of this,” Vincent quipped, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Believe it or not, I do exist outside of this. I have a job, friends, and family,” Leah teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ll have to return to the real world eventually, you know?”

“International law, huh? Why the sudden interest?” Vincent inquired, choosing to focus on her career shift rather than delve into the aspect of her eventual departure from France.

“I guess I just needed a change of scenery. Besides, with the current state of women’s rights in America, I can't see myself staying there for long,” Leah confessed, her tone tinged with determination.

“Perhaps France would be a nice place to settle,” Vincent suggested with a playful raise of his eyebrow.

Leah countered with a grin, “I was leaning more towards Italy. The termites and bed bugs here are not quite my cup of tea.”

“Not to mention the French being a bit... prickly,” she added, earning a chuckle from Vincent.

“À bon chat, bon rat,” Vincent quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It took Leah a moment to decipher the French phrase before she rolled her eyes at his playful banter. To a good cat, a good rat indeed.

“What’s with the French and their obsession with cats?” Leah inquired, genuinely curious.

Vincent’s smile widened as he confessed, “My black cat, perhaps.”

Leah blushed, playfully retorting, “So, are you the rat in this scenario?”

“More like Master Splinter,” Vincent joked, dodging the throw pillow she aimed at him with a laugh.

__________________________________________

"Do you have anything suitable for a dinner party?" Vincent inquired as Leah emerged from around the corner, her hair still damp from a recent shower.

"Maybe?" Leah responded, a hint of confusion in her expression. "Why do you ask?"

Running a hand through his hair, Vincent explained, "My mom is throwing a party for her retirement and has invited us."

"Us?" Leah raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain she meant both of us?"

Vincent nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "She's eager to meet my roommate."

Leah shot him a knowing look. "I'm sure that's exactly what she said."

"Something along those lines," Vincent admitted with a chuckle.

An hour later, Leah made her way into the kitchen where Vincent was seated at the bar. She had opted for a simple black off-the-shoulder dress that fell gracefully just below her knees, paired with ankle boots. Her long hair was elegantly styled in a low bun, with a few loose curls framing her face. Her makeup was understated yet chic, exuding effortless elegance.

Vincent rose from his seat, his gaze appreciative. "You look stunning."

Leah teased, "And you, Mr. Turtleneck. Slacks too? This must be a fancy affair."

"It's always a guessing game with my mother," Vincent remarked, leading Leah out the door as they embarked on their journey into the heart of Paris.

___________________________________________

"This painting used to terrify me when I was a child," Vincent remarked, pointing to the gauche artwork in the foyer as they entered his mother's apartment.

Leah studied the painting, tilting her head in contemplation, trying to decipher its meaning.

"Is this a metaphor for something?" she inquired, and Vincent simply shrugged in response.

On a plain canvas, a woman was depicted writhing in ecstasy while a heavily tentacled squid devoured her body.

"It's a metaphor for my mother's eccentricity," Vincent half-jokingly remarked as he guided Leah further into the apartment.

The opulent apartment buzzed with conversation, guests mingling from one group to the next. The windows were all wide open, allowing the sweet spring breeze to dance through the sheer curtains. The space was a blend of eclectic decor yet exuded the charm of old Parisian elegance.

A meticulously arranged table in the center of the room displayed the books that Vincent's mother had helped edit and publish, surrounded by various awards placed with care.

Vincent handed Leah a glass of champagne, and she took a generous sip. Suddenly, a man appeared, clapping Vincent on the shoulder. They embraced, and Leah discreetly stepped back, observing the moment unfold. As the man extended his hand to Leah, she looked to Vincent, puzzled.

"This is Tim, my stepfather," Vincent introduced.

Tim gallantly kissed Leah's hand, and she stifled a chuckle.

"The American," Tim remarked.

"The German," Leah retorted playfully.

Tim chuckled. "There was a war fought between us once."

"We can take this outside, if you’d like," Leah quipped with a grin.

Vincent redirected the conversation, inquiring, "Where is the guest of honor?"

"I'm not sure," Tim admitted, and Leah detected the scent of vodka on his breath as she subtly stepped back.

"Actually," Tim interjected, leading Vincent away, "come have a look at this." Vincent turned back, throwing Leah an apologetic look which she waved off.

As she made her way through the crowd, stepping out onto one of the balconies, she sighed.

A voice emerged from the shadows behind Leah, speaking quietly in French.

Startled, Leah turned around. "I didn't mean to startle you," the voice apologized.

As she stepped into the light spilling from the party, the woman before her offered an appraising smile. She appeared to be in her sixties, with reddish-tinted hair and a chic wrap dress.

"Is Tim singing yet?" The lady inquired.

"Is he supposed to?" Leah responded.

"He will start. He always does," the lady informed her. "If he's had vodka, he will sing."

Extending her hand, she introduced herself, "Joan Renzi."

Leah shook her hand firmly. "Leah Bardin."

"Funny," Joan remarked as she lit a cigarette, "I pictured you as a blonde."

"Sorry to disappoint," Leah chuckled.

"No, no," Joan replied, handing Leah a cigarette and lighting it for her, "not disappointed in the slightest."

The conversation between the two women flowed effortlessly. An hour had passed as they bantered back and forth, exchanging sarcastic remarks and jokes. Champagne continued to flow, with an unknown lady bringing glass after glass to Leah and Joan. Leah appeared visibly tipsy, while Joan stood firmly at the railing.

"Are you a Virgo?" Joan asked suddenly, squinting at Leah.

"God, no," Leah scoffed, "I'm a Capricorn."

"Ah," Joan nodded, "you know Jesus was a Capricorn. Or an Aries, depending on how you look at it."

Leah shook her head. "You must forgive me, I'm not big on fiction."

"I'm not big on fiction either," Joan remarked, laughing at Leah’s bold response, "or Virgos. Though I've never been into astrology, I do know I don't like Virgos."

"That's fair," Leah replied. "How do you feel about cats?" Leah inquired, eager to share the running joke with Joan.

Joan nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. "I got a cat when Vincent was around six. She was as black as the night sky with piercing green eyes. He carried her everywhere, even attempting to take her to school one day. He cherished her deeply."

"She died after he left for university. She was quite old, maybe fifteen or sixteen," Joan recounted, offering Leah another cigarette, which she accepted with a smile. "He skipped a week's worth of classes to come home and give her a proper burial at our country house."

Leah, taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation after an hour of light-hearted banter, spoke up, "He refers to me as a black cat. The comparison being that I'm chic, slinky, intimidating, yet ultimately harmless like a black cat."

Joan appeared both puzzled and entertained, "I'd take that as the highest compliment, especially coming from the boy who adored a black cat throughout his adolescence."

Leaning against the railing, mirroring Leah's posture, Joan added, "He is quite smitten with you, you know?"

Leah fell silent, contemplating her response, as Joan smiled knowingly into the Parisian night.

As the singing commenced, Joan rolled her eyes and disappeared between the sheer curtains, making her way towards Tim's swaying figure.

Just then, Vincent appeared in front of Leah. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and slightly glazed.

"Hi," Leah greeted him with a smile.

"Are you ready to go?" he inquired, "Tim's singing signals that the party is over. My mother will wrangle him to bed and disappear."

Leah chuckled softly. "They're an odd couple."

Vincent nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to walk home? It's a beautiful night," Vincent suggested as he guided Leah towards the door.

"Aren't we going to say goodbye?" Leah glanced back as Joan and Tim twirled away from the prying eyes of their guests.

"I'll call her tomorrow," Vincent assured Leah.

With slightly unsteady steps, Leah walked beside Vincent towards his apartment.

"My feet are always the dead giveaway that I'm drunk," Leah confessed, and Vincent flashed a warm smile at her.

"Yours are your cheeks. They turn the cutest shade of pink," Leah reached over and gently brushed her thumb across his cheek.

He caught her wrist, halting in his tracks. Tenderly, he pressed a kiss on her pulse point, pulling her closer as he leaned against a brick retaining wall. Cupping her face, he traced his thumbs across the curve of her cheeks.

"You just don't see it, do you?" he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, his eyes mirroring the intensity as they locked with hers.

Leah swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Then, without another word, Vincent stood up, grasping her hand and leading her back to his apartment, the unspoken words lingering in the air between them.

The atmosphere shifted as they stepped into the apartment. Vincent, typically one to tread lightly, to cater to Leah's needs and desires, seized control. He gently pressed her against the closed door, locking eyes with her, intertwining their hands and holding them against his chest.

In a heartbeat, they found themselves on the bed, Leah lying on her back. Vincent, with tenderness, slid one boot off and then the other, caressing her foot with care, planting kisses on her ankle and shin. Leah observed him intently, admiring his carefulness and the admiration he undertook when touching her.

As Leah reached to undo his belt buckle, Vincent delicately redirected her hands, placing them on her chest. "We have all the time in the world," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with affection.

His gentle fingers traced under her dress, skimming along her thighs, deftly removing her thong in one fluid motion, his lips trailing the path where the lace had been. With swift movements, her dress was off her shoulders, revealing her vulnerability to him. Feeling a sudden wave of shyness, she closed her eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded gently as he removed his shirt.

Following his lead, Leah watched as he undid his belt, shedding his slacks and briefs in a single motion.

He was hard, painfully so, his pink tip leaking.

Leah's hips involuntarily arched as he positioned himself above her on the bed, planting a trail of kisses and nibbles along her skin. She anticipated his destination; he had been a constant presence between her legs for nearly three weeks by then.

"No," Leah croaked, her hands bracing against Vincent's shoulders. "I want you. I don't want your hands or your mouth. I need you inside me," she spoke with newfound boldness, fueled by the champagne.

Vincent, taken aback yet pleased by her admission, returned to hover over her, meeting her gaze filled with longing for connection and intimacy.

"You never have to beg," he whispered, tenderly kissing her lips, a gesture she eagerly reciprocated.

Rising to his knees, Vincent gazed down at her before drawing her legs towards him. Methodically, he positioned them over his shoulders, relishing the anticipation reflected in her widened eyes and sly smile.

Leaning in close, his lips brushing hers, he entered her slowly, fully, their bodies merging in a dance of passion and desire. As their rhythm intensified, pleasure and a hint of pain intertwined, pushing them to the brink of ecstasy.

After a fervent exchange, Leah, consumed by a mix of pleasure and tension, released a breathless moan through clenched teeth as she came hard.

Vincent, attuned to her unspoken desires and sensing the tension in her muscles, gently unwound her legs and intertwined them around his waist.

His hand tenderly encircled her throat, a familiar gesture she recognized as his own, as he drew her in for a deep, passionate kiss. Moving with deliberate slowness, he entered her, his hips moving in a mesmerizing rhythm that stroked the sweet spot deep within her.

"Deep," she moaned, guiding his hand to rest atop her lower stomach. "You fill me completely. You make me whole."

In that moment, she surrendered, cumming effortlessly as if she were drifting on a sea of clouds. Witnessing her vulnerability and hearing her heartfelt words, Vincent felt a surge of emotion, pulling her close and letting out a low groan as he reached his peak, spilling deeply inside of her.

They lay entwined, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle as moonlight painted their features in a soft, ethereal glow.

Leah's touch was feather-light as she reached out to caress his cheek, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness. "How am I ever going to leave you?”

Vincent's smile was tender as he reached out to stroke her cheek, “You won’t.”

Taglist: @weakling-grace

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luxlisbons · 2 months

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The Verdict- Chapter Four

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of suicide, sexual themes.

A/N: happy Saturday! I have nothing to say except thank you to everyone who reached out with praise for this fic and urged me to continue. Big shout out to @luxlisbons who is constantly feeding me inspiration and listening to my neurotic ass. If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know.

The arrangement that had begun as a matter of convenience had quickly transformed the dynamic between Leah and Vincent. Sharing Vincent's apartment brought them into a proximity that neither had anticipated, a closeness that underscored their days with an undercurrent of unspoken tension and unacknowledged attraction.

The mornings found them navigating the small kitchen together, a dance of shared spaces and quiet exchanges over coffee. These moments, charged with a palpable tension, were filled with lingering glances and the brush of fingers that neither could completely dismiss as accidental. The air between them was thick with something more than just the steam from the kettle—a budding desire that neither had yet dared to voice.

The first week bled into the second with ease as Leah and Vincent became acclimated as roommates. Leah, in the constant pursuit of finding a new temporary home, found herself discouraged each time she showed Vincent a listing.

“Bad neighborhood,” he would say, or “I don’t think that place suits you.”

Leah eventually gave up, falling asleep on the couch most nights when Vincent decided to work late in a quiet attempt to give him back his bedroom. Without failure, though, she would wake with Vincent asleep across from her on the chaise lounge. A testament to both their stubbornness.

As they delved deeper into the case, their evenings often stretched into late nights, with legal documents and books scattered across the living room table. The professional masks they wore during the day gradually slipped away in the privacy of their apartment, giving rise to laughter, shared stories, and the occasional bottle of wine that led their conversations from work to personal revelations.

"I've noticed the way you look at Daniel sometimes," Vincent broached the topic cautiously. "Do you have kids I don't know about?"

Leah shook her head, chuckling. "No, I just empathize with him. My mom... she committed suicide when I was a teenager. It's hard not to see his pain and not relate it back to my own."

Vincent nodded, his expression somber. "I'm sorry."

Leah waved off his apology with a smile. "Don't be sorry. I hate talking about it. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

Vincent shook his head. "It's okay. I appreciate glimpses into your world."

"What about you?" Leah inquired. "Any kids? Deceased parents? Any skeletons you want to share?"

"No kids that I know of. My mother is a publisher and very much alive. At least she was an hour ago," Vincent quipped.

"So that's who you were talking to. Sounded intense," Leah teased, referring to Vincent's animated phone call earlier.

Vincent chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you suddenly speak French?"

Leah shook her head, grinning. "Her tone was very motherly. She's quite loud."

"She can be nosy, but I always answer her calls. She keeps her distance," Vincent explained, blinking and clearing his throat.

"And your dad?" Leah probed. "Is he as nosy as your mom?"

"I wouldn't know," Vincent shrugged, meeting her gaze. "I've never met him."

Leah, suddenly embarrassed, felt the smallness and intimacy of the space they shared, shook her head, a tumble of apologies fell from her lips.

“It’s fine. Really.” Vincent reassured her, his hand reached out to pat her hand.

“Really put my foot in my mouth with that one.” She admitted with a nervous laugh.

“Is your dad alive?” Vincent asked, opening up the space to dive deeper.

“Unfortunately so,” Leah sighed, “at least he was the last time I checked.”

Leah grabbed her glass of wine sitting between the heap of legal papers on the coffee table, sipping generously from it.

“Long story.” Leah sighed and looked away from Vincent.

“I have time.” He said with a gentle smile.

_________________________________________

“Is it still awkward?” Kate's voice echoed from the phone resting on the kitchen table as Leah paced around the empty kitchen.

“No,” Leah admitted, “I mean, there have been a few incidents, but overall, it's not awkward.”

“Ooooh,” Kate quipped, “tell me more.”

Leah, her cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment as the memory replayed in her mind, sighed, “He was supposed to be out late for dinner with mom, so I decided to relax in the tub. The apartment was eerily quiet, and he just walked right into the bathroom while I was sprawled out like a stranded orca in the tub. We both just stared at each other, frozen in place, until he slammed the door and bolted. I wanted to waterboard myself!”

Kate burst into laughter as Leah covered her eyes.

“He kept apologizing profusely, and I begged him to pretend it never happened!” Leah rubbed her face and let out a sigh.

“There was also the time I peeled off my sweatshirt in the middle of the night and dozed off with a flimsy tank top on. I'm sure he got an eyeful then, but he was respectful about it. Unlike the time I woke up to find him in the kitchen, in his briefs, frying eggs, and it was staring at me, and I was staring at it. I had to step outside onto the balcony and pretend to admire the weather while I regained control.”

Kate, once again amused, cackled from her end of the call.

“Jesus Christ, Leah,” she exclaimed, “just fuck him already!”

Leah huffed and shook her head, “I highly doubt that will happen, Kate.”

“Nice people fuck every day, Leah,” Kate persisted.

“Maybe so, but not in this house,” Leah remained resolute. “Besides, he's kind. He went out and bought some apples when I mentioned that I like to snack on them in the middle of the night. I woke up one morning, and there was a bowl of them on the kitchen table.”

“You like him,” Kate remarked, her smile evident in her voice.

“As a roommate, yes,” Leah replied.

“I can picture you standing there, nervously biting your cuticles, pacing back and forth. You must be blushing like a dozen different shades of pink,” Kate teased, sensing Leah's inner turmoil.

“I told him about my mom last night,” Leah confessed softly, “and my dad and Charlotte.”

“Ah, yes, daddy and step-mother dearest,” Kate joked, “Eddie and Betty Machete. That's quite a load of baggage to unload on him.”

Leah shrugged, “He asked, and I told him. I'm pretty sure Charlotte isn't the first person to fuck and marry her best friend's husband. Ex-husband? It's still unsettling to me after all these years.”

“Did he share any juicy details with you?” Kate inquired.

“His mom had a fling in Ireland in the eighties and came back with him as a souvenir. He's never met his father,” Leah revealed.

“See, you've trauma bonded. Just make a move on him already!” Kate laughed.

“You're crazy. I have to go,” Leah playfully rolled her eyes.

“Don't call me back until you've fucked him!” Kate yelled out as Leah hung up.

_________________________________________

Leah was certain that Vincent was in love with Sandra. She had sensed it the first time she saw them together in Sandra's chalet kitchen. Vincent was making pasta, soothing her with soft coos as she cried over the triviality of Parmesan cheese. The day's drama had reached its peak as she sobbed into the open refrigerator door. It had seemed puzzling at that moment, but after spending so much time with Vincent and picking up on his little nuances, Leah was convinced. This realization became even clearer as she watched Sandra recount her meeting with Samuel through the camcorder's flipped screen.

"He was... he was one of the few people I knew who could change the atmosphere in a room just by walking in. I suppose that's what charm is, isn't it? I fell in love with his charm," Sandra said, reflecting on her feelings.

She spoke of not feeling understood by her family or friends growing up, of feeling truly seen only when Samuel came into her life. She longed for a time when that connection still existed, reminiscing on what was lost. Leah felt a deep resonance with Sandra's words, hanging on to every syllable as if Sandra was guiding her on a precarious tightrope, with the ground beneath widening, threatening to swallow her whole.

Vincent's lighter pinged from his seat near the window. Leah observed him lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the open window.

"Don't say it's gone," Vincent urged Sandra, prompting her to share how she and Samuel first met. She briefly recounted how he had landed a job at a London university and how they had moved there together. She praised his teaching skills and his ability to make everything vibrant and accessible. However, despite all this, Samuel longed for more, as people naturally do. It seemed as though he had chased his dreams straight out the window. Sandra contrasted her own ease with writing to his struggles with time management when working on his novel. Then, she recounted Daniel's accident in vivid detail.

Nour nodded along as Vincent offered suggestions, while Leah sat motionless, pondering whether everyone had a defining crisis in their life that altered them forever.

During a brief respite, Leah stepped outside for a breath of fresh Alpine air. The cold bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the indoors. She was soon joined by Sandra, who, in a rare moment of vulnerability outside of what Vincent had requested from her for the sake of the case, offered Leah a cigarette. The two women, standing side by side against the backdrop of snow and solitude, shared a silence that spoke volumes.

It was Sandra who broke the quiet, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "You remind me of a cat, you know. A black cat—slinky, chic, and a bit intimidating. But ultimately harmless." Her comparison, unexpected yet oddly accurate, drew a surprised laugh from Leah, the tension between them easing.

Leah took a slow drag, considering Sandra's words. "A black cat, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. They're survivors, after all."

Sandra's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the woman she might have been before tragedy had taken its toll. "Survivors, yes. But they're also misunderstood. Feared for no reason other than superstition."

The conversation, meandering between confessions and observations, offered Leah a glimpse into Sandra's soul—her fears, her regrets, and her defiant hope for vindication. For Sandra, the moment provided a rare connection, a sense of being seen beyond the accusations and the public persona crafted by the media and the court.

As they stamped out their cigarettes and turned to head back inside, the brief camaraderie forged in the Alpine chill left a mark on both of them.

_________________________________________

It was Vincent who suggested that Leah ride back to Paris with Nour before it got too late. He wanted to have a private conversation with Sandra, and although Leah felt a tug in her chest and her internal monologue firing on all cylinders, she didn't resist much. "Attorney-client privileges," she told herself, even though she couldn't recall ever sharing a drink or personal history with the people she had represented.

Nour chattered about the case for most of the journey back, while Leah tried her best to engage in the conversation. However, it was evident that something was amiss. Leah couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why she felt the way she did.

The apartment was dimly lit when Leah returned, with only a few rays of light streaming through the kitchen window, casting a stripe across the living room. She quickly shed the day away by washing her face and changing into an old collegiate sweatshirt before settling on the couch with a glass of Chablis to unwind. As she slowly drained the bottle of Chablis, she reflected on the weeks spent with Vincent and Sandra. Their dynamic became increasingly clear in her mind, stirring a jealousy within Leah that she had only experienced as a teenager caught in the turmoil of an unfaithful father and an emotionally unstable mother years ago.

"Ancient history," Vincent's words echoed in Leah's thoughts.

As she drifted off to sleep, the last thought on Leah's mind was what was truly unfolding in Sandra's home and why it was affecting her so deeply.

________________________________________

Leah, never a heavy sleeper, was immediately awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Despite Vincent's attempts to be quiet, his efforts were useless. Slowly sitting up on the couch, she switched on the tableside lamp as the bathroom sink began to run. A few moments later, Vincent emerged in the living room, offering her an apologetic smile as he observed her rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" Leah asked, to which Vincent nodded in response.

"What's the dynamic between you and Sandra?" Leah shifted on the couch, observing as Vincent's eyebrows arched upwards in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent questioned, tilting his head. "I'm her lawyer."

"I'm not stupid, Vincent." For some reason, Leah felt compelled to delve deeper. "You paid her for bail."

Vincent, confused by Leah's sudden change in tone and line of questioning, gave her a quizzical look. "Only a portion of it."

Displeased with his response, Leah shook her head. "I wouldn't go to such lengths for a client."

"She's a friend," Vincent explained.

"‘Ancient history,’” Leah echoed his words back at him. “You don’t describe a friend as ‘ancient history.’”

“What's the matter? Why does it concern you?” Vincent inquired, slightly puzzled, moving closer to where she was seated on the couch.

"It just struck me earlier as I reflected on the past few weeks that something hasn't felt right, like I'm on the outside looking in. But then I saw the way you looked at her earlier. And then it hit me," Leah said, casting a heavy glance at Vincent.

"What hit you? What are you trying to say?" Vincent asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you defending her because you genuinely believe she's innocent, or because your feelings for her have clouded your judgment?" Leah questioned.

"I'm standing up for her because she's my friend, Leah. Because I believe in her innocence," Vincent explained.

A bitter laugh escaped Leah. "Friendship can blind us, Vincent. We're trained to read people as lawyers, but sometimes the truth is staring us in the face."

Leah shook her head incredulously. "And you sent me down the mountain with Nour. Usually, you want me right there with you, just to have another perspective."

Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief. "Leah, what is this really about?"

Leah's tone turned sharp. “If there's something between you and her, I need to know. I want to trust your judgment, not your feelings."

Vincent shook his head, frustration evident. He pushed his hair back, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

Leah's voice softened, yet held a steely edge. "Did you fuck her tonight? Was that why you sent me home early?"

"What if I did?" Vincent retorted, noticing the jealousy etched on Leah's face. "How would that concern you?"

Leah stood up abruptly, tossing aside the blanket on the couch as she stormed past Vincent and into the bedroom.

"Enough of this," Leah exclaimed as she rummaged through her suitcase. "I refuse to be a part of this. It's unprofessional, and I want no part in it. You can do as you please, but I'm leaving."

She hastily slipped into a pair of jeans while Vincent observed her from the hallway. Brushing past him again, she retrieved her belongings from the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Vincent inquired, looking puzzled.

"I'm leaving," she replied, stuffing her suitcase full.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"To a hotel, maybe a hostel," Leah replied, pulling the sweatshirt over her head and tossing it into the suitcase, leaving her in a thin tank top. "I don't know."

Vincent approached her as she struggled to close and zip her overflowing suitcase, its contents spilling out haphazardly as she packed in a frenzy.

"What's gotten into you?" he questioned. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know, I just—" Leah paused, meeting his gaze, her eyes searching his face. "It hit me today that you're so blindly in love with her that if she had pushed Samuel out the window in front of you, you'd defend her to the end."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her closer as he looked into her eyes intently.

"Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what this is about?" he asked, his expression serious despite the taboo nature of his question.

"That's exactly it," Vincent shook his head as he spoke. With nimble fingers, he swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

"Say it," he paused, looking up at her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to look at me like that," Leah confessed. Despite her uncertainty, she let her emotions guide her, baring her soul to the man before her.

"I do," Vincent murmured, drawing her closer. "I have. I am."

Taglist: @weakling-grace

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