Patrick arrived, smacking down his tray of food and taking over the conversation as was his habit.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, “but I have this new crim sex case. A woman attacked by three mimes. They did unspeakable things.” He followed his punch line with a comedic rim shot, tapping his index fingers on the table and hitting an imaginary cymbal in the air. “Ba-dat, tsh.”

Ryan cracked a smile and looked to Lila as if seeking permission to laugh.

Lila didn’t laugh. “You’re an asshole, Patrick.”

“Get off your high horse, Nash. It was just a joke.”

She looked at him coldly. “Fuck you.” Then she stood, picked up her sandwich and milk, and walked off. As she left, she heard Patrick say, “What the hell’s her problem?”

And just like that, Lila was a victim again.

She took her lunch back to her office, her anger on high boil. Patrick and Ryan would be talking about her now; she hated that. And she hated how she could so easily be thrown into a bad memory. And she hated Patrick for being such a jerk. Who the hell tells rape jokes in a professional setting?

Lila thought about Joe’s words as she sat down at her desk to eat alone. He had called her a legal ninja Jedi, but there was nothing ninja about how she had handled Patrick that day. She had worked so hard to come across as confident and calm, only to have the façade crumble with one stupid joke. How could Ryan and Patrick not see her for the fraud she was?

She wanted a do-over. She wanted to go back and handle it the way she imagined Andi would have—a sharp word, scolding Patrick for his disrespect, followed by a cold stare, one that she would hold until Patrick wilted in apology. Instead, her panicked reaction would, undoubtedly, feed Patrick’s misogynistic view of her.

Ryan, on the other hand, would likely ask her what happened, and if he did, what would she tell him? He could probably guess most of it. If word got around about Lila’s past, she worried people in the office might treat her differently. They might even take her off of sex crimes cases altogether, to protect her tender sensibilities. Lila feared that far more than anything.

She knew now that she wanted to prosecute men like Donald Gray. She needed to prosecute them.

Lila had long ago resigned herself to the fact that her attackers would never be caught, but her hunger for justice—for vengeance—still burned hot. She could feed that hunger by convicting other men who hurt other women. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be close. She’d experienced it when Donald Gray stared at her in court as if he wanted to punch her, and she wanted more.

If Ryan ever asked about her reaction, she would dodge his question. If he persisted, she would simply tell him that it was none of his business. She could not risk having her secret exposed.