The Closing Arguments
The sound of the gavel echoed like a heartbeat inside the courtroom. Judge Jennifer Capiña raised her stern eyes to the rows of faces watching her from the gallery.
“This court will now hear closing arguments,” she announced.
Amber Gatmaitan sat at the witness bench, her palms damp against the wood. She could hear her pulse in her ears. Every word spoken now could turn into the last stone laid upon Harry Bolaños’s fate.
Atty. Nikolai Fortun rose first. He was as sharp as ever, his suit pressed to perfection, his eyes glinting with cold fire. He approached the jury box with a slow, deliberate pace.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Fortun began, “you have heard the testimonies. You have seen the evidence. You have been shown where loyalty bends the truth and where emotions cloud facts. The accused, Mr. Harry Bolaños, stands before you not as a victim but as a man whose choices ended in blood.”
Amber’s chest tightened. She tried not to look at Harry, but her gaze betrayed her again. He sat at the defense table, his hands clasped, his dark eyes fixed on Fortun with quiet defiance.
Fortun’s voice sharpened. “Consider not only the evidence presented but also the inconsistencies of the witness who claimed to remember clearly, yet faltered when pressed. Why falter, if not because her heart bends toward the accused.”
Objection thundered from the defense.
“Sustained,” Judge Capiña said firmly. “Mr. Fortun, confine your statements to admissible evidence.”
Fortun inclined his head but pressed on. “The state believes beyond reasonable doubt that Mr. Bolaños is guilty of orchestrating the crime. Do not be swayed by charm or by the smoke of sympathy. Justice is blind, but it requires your clear eyes.”
He ended his argument with a sharp turn back to his seat.
The defense attorney rose, older and calmer, his voice steady as he approached. “Members of the jury, what you have heard from the prosecution is a story, not proof. The truth is this: there is no conclusive evidence tying Mr. Bolaños to the act. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Motives were assumed, not demonstrated. And suspicion is not the same as guilt. My client has been painted as a monster, but you must decide based on facts, not fear. You must remember that justice is not vengeance.”
Harry kept his eyes low, but Amber felt the weight of his silence pressing against her.
The Judge called for recess before deliberation. Amber stood on shaky legs, her throat raw with unspoken words.
Private Cracks
In the hallway, Ernie Cabello caught her by the arm. “Amber, you cannot keep doing this to yourself. They are tearing you apart in there. You are letting them see something you should never let them see.”
Amber whispered, “I did not mean for this to happen.”
Ernie’s eyes softened but his grip stayed firm. “Then end it. Walk away. Do not let him take you down with him.”
“I cannot,” she breathed.
Ernie’s jaw tightened. “Then you are lost, Amber.” He let go, shaking his head as he walked away.
Before Amber could steady herself, Razel Ann del Prado approached, recorder already in hand, eyes glinting with triumph.
“You think you can hide it,” Razel said smoothly. “But the world already sees it. The way you look at him, the way you hesitate. The jury notices, the public notices. You have already betrayed yourself.”
Amber snapped, “What do you want from me.”
“Only the truth,” Razel answered. “And if you do not give it, others will.”
Amber’s stomach churned.
Moments later, Celso Canlas Bolaños stepped from the shadows. Harry’s older brother, his face worn with sleepless nights, regarded Amber with a strange mixture of pity and anger.
“My brother is not innocent,” Celso said quietly.
Amber froze. “What are you saying.”
“He is not innocent,” Celso repeated. “But he is not the monster they want him to be either. He has done things, but he is still my blood. If you care for him the way I think you do, then you must decide if you are willing to carry that weight.”
Amber’s throat went dry. “Why are you telling me this.”
“Because you need to understand,” Celso said, his voice trembling, “love does not erase the truth. It makes the truth heavier.”
Then he walked away, leaving Amber shaken.
Confession Before Judgment
The night before the verdict, Amber could not sleep. She tossed in her apartment, the silence pressing in. Every word from court replayed in her mind, every gaze from Harry burned behind her eyes.
When she heard the knock on her door, she froze. Slowly, she opened it.
Harry stood there, unshackled, his presence raw and dangerous.
“How did you—” she began, but he raised a finger to his lips.
“I should not be here,” Harry whispered. “But I could not let tomorrow come without seeing you.”
Amber’s heart thudded. “If they find you here—”
“Then it will not matter,” he cut in. “Because they will condemn me anyway. But I need you to hear me. I need you to know. I did not kill him. I have blood on my hands, yes, but not his. Believe that.”
Amber’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Why are you telling me this now.”
“Because tomorrow they will take me from you,” Harry said, stepping closer, his voice breaking. “And I cannot go without knowing if you feel it too. This pull between us. This fire neither of us can kill.”
Amber whispered, “You should not say this.”
“But it is the only truth I have left,” Harry said. His hand hovered near hers, trembling but not touching. “Tell me you feel nothing, and I will leave. Tell me you do not care, and I will never look back.”
Amber’s tears fell. “I cannot say that.”
Their eyes locked, a universe of ruin suspended between them. They did not touch, not yet, but the space between them blazed.
Harry closed his eyes, pain etched across his face. “Then whatever happens tomorrow, it will not matter what the verdict says. We are already guilty.”
He turned and slipped into the shadows before she could speak again.
Amber stood in the doorway, shaking, her heart shattering with the truth she could no longer deny.
The gavel of judgment was waiting, but in her soul, the verdict had already been cast.
The Jury’s Long Silence
The following morning the courthouse air was heavier than the humid sky outside. Reporters filled the steps, microphones thrust forward like weapons. Amber moved quickly through the throng, her sunglasses not enough to shield her from their questions.
“Miss Gatmaitan, do you regret testifying?”
“Do you believe Mr. Bolaños is guilty?”
“Are you emotionally compromised in this case?”
Razel Ann del Prado’s voice cut sharper than the rest. “Or is it true that you are protecting him because you have fallen for him?”
Amber froze but forced herself forward. She could not afford a slip now.
Inside the courtroom, tension buzzed. The jury had been out since dawn. The bailiff called order, and Judge Capiña entered.
“The jury is still deliberating,” she announced. “This court remains in recess until a verdict is reached.”
A murmur rippled. The silence of the jury was a storm cloud.
Amber sat stiff, her gaze locked on the polished floor. Every second stretched unbearably. She imagined the jurors arguing behind closed doors, her name whispered, her eyes dissected.
Harry sat only feet away, yet the gulf between them was infinite. Still, she felt his eyes flicker toward her, restless, searching.
Ernie’s Ultimatum
During the recess, Amber stepped into the hallway, desperate for air. Ernie Cabello was waiting.
“Amber, I will not let you destroy yourself.”
She sighed. “Not now, Ernie.”
“Yes, now,” he insisted. “You think I do not see it? Everyone sees it. The way you defend him even when you are not supposed to. The way you break every time his name is said. This is not justice anymore. This is suicide.”
Her voice cracked. “You do not understand. He is not what they say he is.”
“Then what is he?” Ernie demanded. “A man you barely knew before this case? A man tied to violence? A man who could ruin you?”
Amber whispered, “A man who makes me feel alive.”
Ernie’s face twisted with pain. “Then you are lost to me, Amber. But know this: if you fall, I will not be there to catch you. I cannot watch you choose him over your own soul.”
He walked away without waiting for her reply. The echo of his footsteps felt like the collapse of a bridge she had not realized she still needed.
Shadows in the Gallery
When Amber returned to the courtroom, she noticed a figure in the gallery who had not been there before. Annie Dalisay. A rival witness, her eyes glimmered with malice as they locked onto Amber.
Annie leaned slightly forward, as though savoring a secret.
During the recess, Amber approached cautiously. “Why are you here.”
Annie smiled. “To watch. To see how far you will fall. Did you think I would not notice the way you look at him? Did you think the jury has not noticed?”
Amber stiffened. “Whatever you think you know—”
“I know enough,” Annie cut in. “Enough to unravel you. Enough to turn sympathy into suspicion. It is only a matter of when I speak, not if.”
Amber’s breath quickened. “Why are you doing this.”
“Because love makes people weak,” Annie whispered. “And weakness is what convicts men like him.”
Amber backed away, her chest aching. The walls of the courtroom were no longer neutral stone; they were closing in, alive with eyes and whispers.
The Night Before the Verdict
That evening Amber returned to her apartment, nerves frayed, heart bruised. The city lights outside her window blurred with rain.
She replayed every face: Ernie’s ultimatum, Celso’s warning, Razel’s accusations, Annie’s threat. And beneath it all, Harry’s words from the night before. We are already guilty.
A knock startled her. This time it was not Harry. It was Celso, carrying a folder.
“You should see this,” he said quietly.
Inside were letters, some written by Harry years ago. Angry letters, confessions half-spilled, regrets scratched into paper. They were not evidence for court, but they revealed a man torn between violence and longing for redemption.
Amber asked, “Why show me this now.”
Celso’s voice broke. “Because you need to decide what you love. The man you want him to be, or the man he really is. They are not the same.”
When he left, Amber sat alone with the letters. Her tears blurred the ink.
At midnight, unable to bear the silence, she whispered aloud to no one. “Harry, if they condemn you tomorrow, they condemn me too.”
The gavel had not fallen yet, but in her heart the verdict thundered already.
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and then Add to home screen.