“Any Last Wish Before You Leave?” the Billionaire’s Fiancée Whispered as She Tightened the Rope Around His Missing Maid—Seconds Later, He Kicked Open the Farmhouse Door...

Three months later.

The Connecticut State Superior Court in New Haven was packed to absolute capacity.

Dozens of news crews, high-society spectators, and legal analysts filled the wooden pews. The air was thick with tension as the preliminary hearing for State of Connecticut v. Sloane Whitmore reached its dramatic climax.

Behind the defense table sat Sloane Whitmore. The three months in state custody had stripped away her glamor. She wore a plain grey prison jumpsuit, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her face pale and sunken. Beside her sat three top-tier defense attorneys, whispering frantically over stacks of documents.

On the other side of the courtroom sat the prosecution team, flanked by Grant Mercer and Leah Bennett.

Leah wore a tailored navy blue wool dress, her dark hair pinned back elegantly, a delicate gold necklace framing her neck. The physical bruises on her neck had faded into pale memory, replaced by a quiet, serene dignity that commanded respect from everyone in the room.

Grant sat right beside her, his hand firmly holding hers beneath the table, his thumb tracing reassuring circles against her knuckles.

"Call your next witness," Judge Marcus Thorne commanded from the bench.

The lead state prosecutor stood up. "The State calls Mr. Grant Mercer to the stand."

A wave of whispers rippled through the gallery as Grant stood up. He buttoned his dark suit jacket, squeezed Leah’s hand once, and stepped up to the witness box, taking the oath with a cold, clear voice.

For the next hour, the prosecutor led Grant through the events of that fateful night—the discovery of the missing ring in Sloane’s safe, the tracking of the burner phone, and the frantic drive to the abandoned farmhouse.

"Mr. Mercer," the prosecutor asked, standing near the jury box. "When you broke down the farmhouse door, what precisely did you witness?"

Grant’s eyes shifted across the room, locking directly onto Sloane Whitmore, who flinched and looked down at her hands.

"I saw Sloane Whitmore kneeling behind Leah Bennett," Grant said, his voice deep and echoing through the silent courtroom. "She was holding a jute rope pulled tightly around Ms. Bennett’s neck. Ms. Bennett was unconscious, suffocating, and covered in gasoline."

"And what did Ms. Whitmore say to you upon your entry?"

"She lied," Grant replied flatly. "She claimed Leah had kidnapped her. But when I revealed that I had already found my mother’s ring in her personal safe, she pulled a loaded revolver from her purse."

Sloane’s lead attorney jumped to his feet. "Objection! Relevance and speculation!"

"Overruled," Judge Thorne snapped. "The witness is testifying to direct observation."

The prosecutor nodded. "Mr. Mercer, the defense has claimed that Ms. Bennett was an embezzler who staged her own kidnapping to extort money from you and the Whitmore family. Based on your ten years of working closely with Ms. Bennett, is there any truth to these allegations?"

Grant leaned forward, resting his hands on the wooden railing of the witness stand. He didn't look at the prosecutor; he looked directly at the reporters sitting in the front rows.

"Leah Bennett managed my entire estate for ten years," Grant said, his voice filled with absolute authority. "She had total administrative access to my personal bank accounts, my family heirlooms, and my corporate funds. In ten years, not a single penny was ever unaccounted for. She is a woman of flawless integrity, absolute honesty, and unmatched strength."

He turned his gaze softly toward Leah, who sat at the counsel table, her heart swelling with profound emotion.

"The only crime Leah Bennett ever committed," Grant added softly, "was working for a man who took her presence for granted for far too long."

Sloane’s attorney stood up for cross-examination, attempting to attack Grant’s credibility by bringing up his romantic involvement with Leah.

"Mr. Mercer," the defense attorney sneered, stepping closer. "Isn't it true that you fired Ms. Bennett immediately after this incident and moved her into your private residence? Isn't it true that you are now romantically involved with your former maid?"

The courtroom gasped. Sloane sneered from her chair.

Grant didn't flinch. He looked at the attorney with a cool, dangerous smile.

"I didn't fire her to hide her, counselor," Grant replied smoothly. "I resigned as her employer because I intend to marry her."

A explosion of noise broke out in the gallery. Reporters scribbled frantically on their pads, and the judge pounded his gavel repeatedly.

“ORDER IN THE COURT! ORDER IN THE COURT!”

Leah felt her breath catch in her throat, her face flushing crimson as she looked at Grant standing tall in the witness box. He had just declared his intention to marry her on live national television, turning the defense’s scandal strategy into an absolute declaration of love.

Sloane Whitmore let out a choked, hysterical sob at the defense table, dropping her head onto her arms as her lead attorney slumped back into his chair, knowing his defense was entirely obliterated.

Judge Thorne banged his gavel one final time.

"In light of the overwhelming physical evidence, recorded audio admissions, and sworn testimony," the judge announced sternly, "this court finds sufficient cause to bind the defendant, Sloane Whitmore, over for trial on charges of attempted pre-meditated murder, aggravated kidnapping, and extortion. Bail remains denied."

As the bailiffs stepped forward to lead a weeping Sloane away in chains, Grant stepped down from the witness stand. He walked straight past the reporters, straight past the legal teams, and stopped in front of Leah.

He held out his hand.

Leah placed her hand in his, letting him lift her to her feet.

"You really enjoy making grand statements in public, don't you?" Leah whispered, a radiant, tearful smile breaking across her face.