His Nanny Mate By Eve Above Story

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Chapter 315 A Change Of Heart

Ella

The courthouse’s archaic clock chimed, echoing through the expansive corridor. Warm sunlight filtered

through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the cold marble floor.

The hum of hushed conversations filled the hallway as I pushed my way out of the bathroom. In a few

minutes, I’d be back in court, facing another round of the tumultuous battle between Logan and the

local tenants.

I wasn’t looking forward to it; not in the slightest. And I especially wasn’t looking forward to it after my

emotional conversation with Miss Smith in the restroom.

Logan’s tall frame called out to me from the end of the hallway. “Ella,” he said, a strange sense of what

almost sounded like remorse in his voice, “I’d like to talk to you.”

The sunlight filtering through caught the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, but they bore an

uncharacteristic uncertainty to them.

“Oh, god,” I thought to myself as I approached. “What is it now?” “Does he look… remorseful?” Ema

asked, perking up slightly. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart after all.”

“Don’t get too excited, Ema,” I said plainly in response. “And don’t give the jerk too much credit. I’m

almost entirely certain that he doesn’t even have a heart in there to change.”

I approached and stopped a couple of feet in front of him, noticing how the hallway was emptying as

the others returned to court. “What is it?” I asked, checking my watch.

“Ella,” he began, his voice lower than its usual confident timbre, “about earlier-*

“What about earlier?” I interjected, raising a brow. “You mean when you tried to intimidate me, or when

you referred to a single mother and her dying son as ‘just business’?”

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The chandeliers overhead cast soft light, reflecting off the high-gloss wooden benches and illuminating

Logan’s conflicted expression.

Logan’s eyes softened a little more. If I didn’t know better, I would say that his shoulders slumped a

little, too. “It’s about both of those things,” he said.

I sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the bailiff, who was standing by the courtroom door with an

impatient look in her gaze. She held her wrist up and tapped her watch silently, signaling that it was

time to return to court.

“Go on,” I muttered. “But make it quick.”

He hesitated, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry. For all of it. That’s all I wanted to say.”

I took a deep breath, pressing my lips together. “An apology,” Ema said. “Maybe that’s a start.

Right?”

“Wrong,” I answered her. “It means nothing. And knowing Logan, it’s just another manipulative tactic to

bring me back to his side. And it’s not working, either.”

I said nothing in response to Logan’s apology. partially because the bailiff’s impatient eyes were now

boring holes in my skull.

“Look,” I said, “It’s time to get back in court. Just remember, you may be… complicated in my life, but

first and foremost right now, you’re my client and nothing more. I’m here to win this case for you

because it’s my duty as your lawyer.” I paused, glancing away. “But after your behavior, I’ve been

seriously reconsidering our agreement.”

Logan frowned, running a hand through his jet- black hair, which stood in stark contrast to the creamy

backdrop of the courthouse walls. “Ella, we made a contract. It’s binding, is it not?”

“Yes, we do have a contract,” I replied with a huff, the click of my heels echoing against the stone

flooring. “But binding or not, if I’m dealing with someone who lies about his intentions, it automatically

makes the contract null and void. I may need to rethink things.”

He took a step closer, his scent-a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Logan- filling the air. “I

never lied about my intentions. But Ella, if you’re so unhappy with our arrangement, after this case is

settled, you can leave. I promise I won’t stop you.”

I blinked, taken aback by his concession. This was not the domineering Logan Barrett I had come to

know. Before I could respond, the bailiff’s voice boomed, interrupting the cocoon of our conversation.

“Counsel, please return to the courtroom. We’re waiting on you.”

With a final glance at Logan, I proceeded towards the large wooden doors of the courtroom. To my

surprise, Logan reached out, holding the door open for me. I murmured a quiet thank you, deliberately

avoiding his gaze, and stepped into the room.

The large chamber felt even more imposing than before. The tall ceilings, flanked by ornate moldings,

dwarfed the attendees. The stained oak of the jury box and the witness stand contrasted with the deep

green of the room’s carpeting.

As I walked down the aisle, the room’s atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Heads turned, eyes

following us, their whispers a constant, hushed undertone. The opposing lawyer, Mr. Delaney, a slender

man with a shock of silver hair, stood as proceedings resumed.

Clearing his throat, he addressed the room. “Your Honor, given the circumstances, my client sees no

winnable outcome here. He’s willing to vacate the premises. But evicting all the tenants-it’s tearing him

apart.”

Murmurs swept across the room, punctuated by the shuffle of papers and the soft creak of leather

seats. I could feel the weight of Miss Smith’s gaze on me. When our eyes met, her look was one of

accusation, disappointment, and a plea for understanding.

It felt like a dagger to my chest, the responsibility and the implications of the case pressing down

heavily. As the room awaited the judge’s response, Logan, in a move that seemed completely out of

character, stood up.

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“Your Honor,” he began, pausing to look around the room. The sunlight streamed through the high

windows, casting long beams that highlighted the dust motes floating in the air.

“Mr. Barrett?” The judge said, peering at Logan over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Be seated.”

But Logan remained standing.

“Logan,” I hissed quietly, glaring up at him, “what are you doing?”

“Your Honor, I’d like to make another offer,” Logan announced, commanding everyone’s attention.

The judge leaned forward, interest piqued. “Go on, Mr. Barrett.”

Logan took a deep breath. “I will cover the landlord’s missed rent. In return, I won’t build the plaza.

Instead, I’d like permission to erect a statue on the premises-a tribute to the community and its spirit.”

A collective gasp filled the room. Even the judge seemed taken aback, his usually stoic face displaying

evident surprise. Mr. Grayson, mouth agape, blinked a few times as if processing what had just

transpired.

I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. All I could do was blink incredulously up at

Logan, my eyes wide with shock.

“Mr. Barrett, are you fully understanding the implications of your proposition?” the judge asked,

eyebrows raised.

“I am, Your Honor.”

Mr. Grayson seemed to find his voice, albeit shakily. “If Mr. Barrett is genuine, my client may be open to

discussing these terms.”

With a nod, the judge declared, “Court will adjourn for today to give both parties a chance to discuss

this new development.”

The sound of the gavel echoed in the silent room, punctuating the end of another chapter in this

ongoing saga. As the audience began to disperse, I turned to Logan, utterly shell-shocked. “What was

that?”

Logan looked at me, the sunlight illuminating his face, revealing the soft creases around his eyes.

“A change of heart, Ella. Or maybe, just maybe, it was there all along.”

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