Third person's pov 

The days leading up to the custody hearing passed in a tense blur. Since the night Arthur had tried to force Miray back under his control, her brothers had been relentless in their preparations, gathering every piece of evidence, every document, and any witness who might help their case. They’d rehearsed testimonies, stayed up late strategizing, and spent countless hours going over every detail with their lawyer, knowing that they were up against not just their father but his influence, his wealth, and his iron grip on power.

Arthur had steeled himself, leaving nothing to chance. He had assembled a team of attorneys, his case meticulously crafted to make himself appear the victim of his children’s rebellion, a caring father wronged by their defiance.

On the day of the hearing, Miray sat flanked by her brothers, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Each of them looked at her with silent reassurance, though she could see the same worry etched in their faces that she felt in her own heart. The courtroom was filled with people, and at the opposite table sat Arthur Kingston, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his expression a mask of calm confidence as he awaited his turn to speak.

Miray’s stomach twisted at the sight of him. He seemed utterly at ease, as if this were just another business deal to him—a momentary inconvenience. She felt her brothers’ protective presence around her and drew a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

The bailiff called the court to order, and the judge entered, taking his seat at the bench. His expression was neutral, unreadable, and Miray’s heart pounded as he surveyed the room, calling the case to commence.

The brothers’ lawyer, a woman named Ms. Hathaway, rose to address the court.

“Your Honor, we’re here today to petition for Miray Kingston’s right to live freely, away from the hostile, controlling environment created by her father, Arthur Kingston,” Ms. Hathaway began, her voice steady. “The evidence we will present today demonstrates that Mr. Kingston has used coercion, intimidation, and emotional manipulation to control Miray, denying her the safe and supportive environment every child deserves.”

Arthur’s face remained impassive, though the corners of his mouth curled ever so slightly. His lead lawyer, an older man named Mr. Donahue, watched Ms. Hathaway with a cool, practiced look of disdain.

Ms. Hathaway continued, presenting the evidence they had prepared: the old hospital reports from Miray’s injuries, the testimonies from teachers and neighbors who had noted her withdrawn behavior and unusual absences. The photos of bruises were displayed as exhibits, eliciting quiet murmurs from those in the courtroom.

When Ms. Hathaway finished, Mr. Donahue rose from his seat, his gaze sliding over Miray with a predatory gleam before he addressed the judge.

“Your Honor, my client is a respected man—a businessman of high standing in this community. He has taken every necessary step to provide for his daughter, offering her a home, an education, and all the guidance any responsible father should.”

He then pointed a long, accusatory finger at Miray’s brothers. “What we have here is a case of young, rebellious children attempting to manipulate the legal system to undermine parental authority. These young men—who I might add have each chosen to cut ties with their father of their own accord—are poisoning their younger sister’s mind against her own blood.”

Miray felt her brothers tense beside her, but they held their composure, waiting for their turn to speak.

The judge cleared his throat. “We’ll hear from the family members directly. Ms. Hathaway, you may call your first witness.”

Elijah rose and took his place at the witness stand, his face hard but determined.

Ms. Hathaway began, “Elijah, please tell us what you’ve witnessed in your sister’s life growing up under Mr. Kingston’s care.”

Elijah’s voice was calm but filled with restrained emotion as he recounted the years they’d spent under their father’s control. “He’s not just strict, Your Honor. He’s… tyrannical. He uses his power to intimidate and isolate. Every time Miray tried to express herself or do anything he disapproved of, he shut her down—verbally and physically. We’re here because she deserves a life free from that kind of treatment.”

Ms. Hathaway gave a reassuring nod and continued, “Can you provide specific examples of his mistreatment?”

Elijah’s gaze darkened. “Miray’s injuries weren’t accidents. He created an environment where she felt unsafe in her own home. The bruises and injuries you see documented in those photos—they weren’t from her ‘clumsiness,’ as he used to say. They were his way of ‘teaching’ her to obey.”

Mr. Donahue rose, his tone cold as he cross-examined Elijah. “Mr. Kingston,” he began, “would you describe your father as a strict man?”

Elijah’s jaw clenched. “Strict is an understatement.”

“And yet, isn’t it true that he provided for you financially, ensuring you had every privilege and advantage possible?”

Elijah’s eyes flashed. “He bought us things, but money doesn’t excuse abuse.”

The lawyer’s voice took on a mocking edge. “Or perhaps what you’re describing is simply the discipline of a caring father, misunderstood by rebellious children who prefer a life without structure?”

Elijah’s face darkened, but he held his composure. “There’s a line between discipline and cruelty. And he crossed it every day.”

The lawyer smirked, seeming to find amusement in Elijah’s response, before dismissing him with a wave.

One by one, each of the brothers took the stand, their voices filled with defiance, their testimonies a plea for justice. But Mr. Donahue, each time, twisted their words, painting them as misguided rebels, exaggerating every point to make them seem like instigators rather than victims.

Finally, it was Miray’s turn. She took a deep breath, her heart racing as she approached the stand, feeling her father’s eyes on her, the weight of his gaze like a shackle around her throat.

Donahue rose from his seat, his gaze cool as he approached the bench. “Miss Kingston,” he began, his voice smooth, “you’ve painted quite a grim picture of your father. Would you say he has, at times, been strict?”

Miray swallowed, her fingers twisting nervously. “Yes, but it was more than that…”

Donahue tilted his head, feigning a look of understanding. “Strictness, especially with a young girl, can often feel like control, can’t it? Parents have to make difficult decisions—especially parents who care about their children’s future. Don’t you agree?”

Miray’s voice wavered, her mind racing. “Maybe… but that’s not what this was.”

He smiled, a patronizing expression that set her nerves on edge. “But you don’t have much to compare it to, do you? After all, he was the one who provided for you, put a roof over your head, ensured you had the best schooling, the best opportunities.” He let his words sink in, then continued, “Isn’t it possible that you simply misunderstood his intentions?”

Her hands trembled. She glanced toward her brothers, their reassuring looks bolstering her, but she felt her father’s eyes burning into her, his satisfaction at watching her struggle. “It wasn’t about protection or opportunities. He kept me isolated. I was always… afraid of him.”

Donahue gave a small, dismissive chuckle. “Afraid? Of a father who, by your own account, has done nothing but provide the best for you? It sounds like a teenager’s resentment, not a valid fear.”

Miray’s pulse quickened, the room feeling tighter. “I know what fear feels like,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. “I know how it feels when someone watches your every move, waits for any reason to punish you.”

Donahue sighed, as though dealing with a difficult child. “So you claim. But wouldn’t you agree that perhaps—just perhaps—this is all the result of a need for attention? Some… exaggeration on your part, perhaps encouraged by your brothers?”

Miray’s heart sank, feeling her words twisted, stripped of the truth she needed them to convey. She could feel her father’s stare, the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her brothers’ eyes were locked on her, silently begging her to hold on.

“Did you ever feel unsafe around your father, Miray?” Donahue asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned forward, as though she’d just confessed to a trivial offense. “Isn’t it true, Miray, that many teenagers feel ‘unsafe’ when they’re asked to follow rules, told to do their homework, perhaps grounded?”

Miray’s pulse raced, panic swelling in her chest. “No… it wasn’t like that…”

Donahue pressed on, relentless. “And these ‘bruises’ you mentioned, injuries from times he ‘disciplined’ you—are you certain these weren’t simply accidents? Perhaps even things you’d rather blame on your father because it’s easier?”

She shook her head, her throat tight, words barely escaping. “I know the difference between an accident and being hurt on purpose.”

He turned to the judge, his voice taking on an air of pity. “Your Honor, this is a young girl who feels abandoned by her father’s rules. Her rebellion, her accusations, stem from youthful resentment and influence from her brothers, who appear determined to undermine the authority of a father who has only ever done his best.”

He returned to his seat, his smug expression leaving her feeling exposed, defeated.

The judge watched her for a moment, expression unreadable. He turned to Arthur, his tone almost gentle. “Mr. Kingston, do you have anything you would like to add on behalf of your relationship with your daughter?”

Arthur rose, his face a mask of carefully arranged pain and disappointment. “Your Honor, my heart breaks seeing her like this. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect my daughter from the world, from dangers she doesn’t yet understand. Yes, I was strict, but I had to be. I wanted her to have the best opportunities in life, to grow up safe, strong, and guided. I never imagined that my attempts to protect her would be turned against me.”

The judge nodded, looking down at his notes as if carefully weighing every word.

The minutes that followed were agonizing. The judge called for a brief recess to review the testimonies, leaving Miray and her brothers in a tense silence. They clung to a final shred of hope, knowing the odds were against them but willing the truth to be enough.

Finally, the judge returned, his face still impassive as he called for order in the court.

“After careful consideration of all evidence, testimony, and the situation’s complexity, I have made a difficult decision,” he began. “While I recognize the emotional pain evident in these allegations, I find that Mr. Kingston’s history as a provider and his ability to ensure structure outweigh the concerns raised. Custody of Miray Kingston will be returned to her father.”

The gavel’s sound was final, a thunderous blow that crushed the air from Miray’s lungs. Her world seemed to collapse, the courtroom spinning as the reality settled over her.

Arthur’s smirk was unmistakable as he stood and approached her, his presence filling the room, his grip cold and unyielding as he reached for her arm.

“You’re coming with me, dear daughter.,” he whispered, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

She jerked her arm, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he dragged her toward the door.

“No!” she cried, her voice breaking as she struggled against him, casting a desperate look back at her brothers. “No, please, don’t make me go!”

The bailiff stepped forward, blocking her brothers as they tried to reach her. Maxim pushed against the officer, his voice choked with fury. “Let go of her, you son of a-”

Elijah’s fists clenched, his eyes blazing with helpless rage. “You can’t take her like this. You can’t!”

But Arthur’s smile only grew, his voice a cold whisper meant only for her. “You thought you could escape me? You’re mine, Miray. Always were, always will be.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her vision blurring with tears as her father led her away, his grip unyielding, his control complete. She could still hear her brothers’ voices, their cries for justice, as the courtroom doors closed behind her, sealing her fate.