No more shadows_61

Selene's POV

That night, I didn't sleep.

Even with Antonio's arms around me, my body curled into his warmth, my heart was still running a marathon—caught somewhere between relief and dread. Victor was gone, but the echo of his presence felt tattooed on my skin. The way he'd look at me. The way he'd linger too close, like every glance was a dare.

But what haunted me most… was how long I stayed quiet.

I'd convinced myself for so long that no one would believe me. That it wasn't bad enough to speak up. I minimized it. Made excuses. Even laughed it off at times because it was easier than unraveling.

Until Antonio.

Until Ayra.

Until someone stood in the dark with a match and told me I wasn't imagining the shadows.

By morning, I expected things to feel distant. Numb. But instead, there was noise.

My phone buzzed with messages. Social media was pulsing with anonymous tips and whispers. Someone had leaked screenshots—Victor's messages, his patterns, his cover-ups. Ayra's contacts in media had taken it further. And just like that… the silence broke.

Girls.

Voices.

So many of them.

Stories poured out like a flood breaking past a dam. Stories that mirrored mine. Some worse. Some exactly the same. All of them painful. And all of them real.

Antonio handed me coffee, then placed his phone beside mine. "You don't have to read them. Not now."

But I did.

Not because I wanted to relive it—but because I wanted to see them. These women. These survivors. I wanted to know I wasn't alone anymore. That I never was.

At one point, I broke down in the middle of our shared kitchen. The mug slipped from my hand, shattering on the tiles. I slid down the cabinet and cried—not the soft, cinematic kind—but raw, hiccupping sobs that made my chest feel like it was caving in.

Antonio knelt beside me. He didn't speak. He just held me. And that was enough.

Later that evening, Ayra visited. She brought soup and a printed stack of emails from other victims who wanted to come forward. She looked at me like I was something both breakable and bright—like I was finally stepping into a power I never knew I had.

"You didn't just survive him," she whispered. "You exposed him. And in doing that… you freed more than just yourself."

That night, as I stared at the ceiling, my voice cracked in the dark.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"I know," Antonio said.

"But I also feel… powerful."

He kissed my forehead. "That's because you are."

Antonio's POV

The courtroom was cold.

Not just in temperature—but in silence, in stares, in the weight of truth hanging heavy in the air. Selene sat beside me, her fingers curled tightly around mine. I could feel her pulse against my palm. Fast. Steady. Brave.

Victor stood ahead, flanked by his lawyers, his face painted in that same smug neutrality I'd come to loathe. He looked smaller here, like a king stripped of his throne. The evidence Ayra had helped me collect—the photos, the digital trail, the recorded testimonies from others—stood stacked like a fortress behind us.

And Selene...

She was no longer a victim whispering in shadows.

She was the firefly turned flame.

I still remembered the night Ayra called me. Her voice trembled with fury after she followed a hunch—pulling up old texts Victor had sent to her, to her friends, and to others she barely knew. Patterns. Predation. Proof.

We worked silently, like soldiers. No loud accusations, no emotional explosions. Just deliberate planning, methodical collection. Because when you're up against someone like him, truth isn't enough—you need armor made of facts.

Selene didn't know at first. I had waited. She'd endured enough, and I didn't want to bring her another storm unless I could offer her shelter too. But when I told her, she didn't break.

She chose to fight.

That morning, as she gave her statement to the judge, I felt like I was witnessing something sacred. Her voice was clear. Her hands shook, but she didn't stop. And when she said, "He stole moments from me I'll never get back—but he won't steal another second," I felt a lump catch in my throat.

The crowd was quiet. But not empty. There were other survivors there too. Ayra. Her mom. My sisters. People who had once been strangers, now standing as Selene's unshakable army.

When the judge finally spoke, the verdict rang clean and sharp:

Guilty.

Victor's face fell. For the first time, he looked human. Fallible. Powerless.

Later, outside the courthouse, Selene clung to me. Reporters swarmed, cameras flashed, but I only saw her.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

"I know," I said. "But now… you're free too."

She looked up at me, eyes glistening. "What do I do now?"

"You live," I smiled. "You live like hell. Loud, bright, and unstoppable."

She leaned up and kissed me right there on the courthouse steps, like the world could wait.

And as we walked away hand in hand, I knew the war was over.

But her story?

It had only just begun.