CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: SOMETIMES MEDICINE DOESN’T WORK

"Lawyer Holden?" Her voice carried the raspiness of someone who just finished working, "So late?"

She glanced at the time on the wall, it was already close to eleven o’clock.

Justin Holden’s gaze calmly landed on her face, as though scrutinizing a case file.

There was no excess expression on his face, not even a twitch of the eyebrows.

He took the hair tie out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Your hair tie." His voice was flat and straightforward, "Just found it in my car."

Jean Ellison froze for a moment, her gaze moved from his face to the tiny hair tie, then back to his face.

She reached out, her fingertips touched the slightly cool metal and entwined hair, and took it.

Her fingertips unconsciously twiddled her own few strands of deep chestnut hair wrapped around the tie.

"Oh... thank you."

She thanked him in a low voice, her tone somewhat wavering.

She held the hair tie, seemingly wanting to close the door, but Justin Holden stood there, with no intention of moving aside.

His tall figure almost blocked the entire door gap.

"Anything else?"

Jean Ellison looked up at him, her brows slightly furrowed, that bit of displeasure from being disturbed resurfacing.

Justin Holden met her gaze, his Adam’s apple moved ever so slightly.

The corridor was unusually quiet, with only a faint sound of water running from somewhere far in the pipes of an unknown household.

He spoke, his voice low and steady, revealing no ripples, as if stating a most objective fact.

"My insomnia kicked in."

He paused, his gaze passed over her shoulder, looking into the softly lit corner of the living room, as if something there held an antidote.

"Severe, only here,"

His gaze returned to her face, capturing every subtle change in her eyes.

"Only in this bedroom can I fall asleep."

Jean Ellison’s eyes opened wide.

She seemed to have heard the most absurd joke, the corners of her mouth involuntarily tugged upward, but quickly pressed into a cold, straight line.

Her eyes carried a hint of aloofness, clearly reflecting undisguised skepticism, stabbing straight at him.

"Lawyer Holden,"

She spoke, her voice not loud, yet each word clear, with a calmness almost deliberate.

"If you have insomnia, you should see a doctor, take medication, not come to me."

She slightly tilted her head, as if questioning a witness with a logically flawed testimony in court.

"Doesn’t the medication work?"

Justin Holden remained silent.

Her gaze was like a probe, trying to pierce through the flawless ice layer on his face.

He could feel the sharp sarcasm in her words.

The fingers by his side twitched slightly against the fabric of his suit pants, the fingertips scraping over a rough texture.

Justin Holden maintained his usual rigid calm, only his eyelids drooped slightly, avoiding her overly direct scrutiny.

Perhaps he really was being too presumptuous.

"Medication,"

He spoke, his voice still steady, only carrying an unnoticeable dryness.

"Sometimes really doesn’t work."

He lifted his eyes, refocusing on her face, stubbornness visible in his dark pupils.

"I need a place where I can fall asleep, here, especially tonight."

His gaze weighed down heavily.

Jean Ellison’s lip line tightened, and the lines of her cheeks appeared rigid.

Her hand gripping the door handle tightened, her knuckles slightly white.

She stared at him, seemingly trying to find even a slight flaw on his face, any reason to kick him out.

Yet the man’s expression management was flawless, only deep in his eyes lingered an unrelenting exhaustion and almost obsessive persistence.

Time seemed to stop.

The corridor sensor light went out again, enveloping them in deeper darkness.

Jean Ellison took a sharp breath, the sound particularly clear in the quiet environment.

The sharpness and anger in her eyes deflated like a balloon pricked by a needle, leaving only deep fatigue and helpless compromise.

"Tomorrow,"

She finally spoke, her voice very low, carrying a resigned hoarseness.

"Court starts at nine."

Justin Holden said nothing, only nodded slightly.

He knew, of course. This case was rare in his career, one he devoted all his energy to unravel and prepare for.

The opponent was cunning, the evidence chain interlinked yet concealed intricacies, each step like traversing a thorn-filled dense forest.

Jean Ellison’s heart, what mattered most was Jesse.

Her expectations for him, almost all hinged on these few hours of court confrontation, he couldn’t falter, he needed enough energy to win this case.

"You’re my only defense attorney."

Jean Ellison’s voice lowered, almost down to a mere whisper.

This sentence dropped like a heavy stone between them.

She turned sideways, allowing the door to open wider.

"Come in."

She turned and walked inside, no longer looking at him, her back showing intense fatigue.

The door softly closed behind Justin Holden, cutting off the last bit of light and chill from the corridor.

He stood in the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the small living room.

Everything was much the same as last time, simple and tidy, with her unique cool aura.

The air still carried a faint lingering of freshly brewed tea.

Jean Ellison walked straight to the bedroom, without looking back.

She stopped at the door, back facing him.

"The sheets are clean."

Her voice came muffled, without inflection,

"The bathroom is over there, don’t turn on the main light."

"I’ll sleep on the couch."

Justin Holden interrupted her, she glanced back, saying nothing more.

Jean Ellison pushed the door open and walked into the bedroom, closing it behind her.

A soft click, the door lock engaged.

The living room fell completely silent.

Justin Holden stood there for a few seconds, then took off his suit jacket, casually draping it over the back of the lone armchair in the room.

He loosened his tie, his movements somewhat slow, the expensive silk tie felt unusually heavy in his hand.

He walked to the couch and sat down, the couch let out a soft, burdened creak.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped, thumbs pressing firmly against his temples, which throbbed with pain.

In the darkness, the living room was like a box, everything silent.

Only from under Jean Ellison’s bedroom door, a weak sliver of light seeped out, casting a faint trace of brightness on the floor.

He stared at that line of light, distracted, as if it were the only floating plank in a sea of darkness.

The exhaustion of his body surged, pulling heavily at his limbs, but deep in his mind, it was exceptionally clear, as if a cold string tightly tethered, unable to relax.

Various thoughts uncontrollably clashed in his mind.