Chapter 003

The woman spat at me in a venomous voice, "You don't belong here." She stood at the bars of my small cell, a huge figure, her jaw clenched and her eyes strained. Her presence was threatening, and her skin was harsh from years in the system.

I stared at her while attempting to calm my breathing and stop the panic from fluttering in my chest. "Neither do you," I murmured to myself since I lacked the confidence to say it out loud. Not quite yet.

Her boots reverberated on the concrete floor as she vanished into the hallway, grinning. My heart leaped at the sound of the cell door slamming behind her.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested back against the chilly wall. I couldn't handle the weight of the situation's reality. I was living a life that I could hardly identify as my one minute, and then I was thrust into this sterile, oppressive environment—this... jail.

How had it all gone so badly? The person I had trusted the most had deceived me and left me. Damien's face briefly appeared in my thoughts, even though I hoped it wouldn't. I recalled how his hands used to feel like home and how he had spoken those assurances to me. How could he have been so totally betraying me?

I was meant to be protected by him. And yet he had watched with empty words and excuses while the world I had known fell apart. My world had fallen apart the day he had disappointed me.

With tears threatening to fall, I shook my head. I couldn't afford to be overcome by my grief just now. The luxury of self-pity was not available to me.

The days in this place blended together. Every one was colder than the last, and they all felt the same. There was nothing but my thoughts and the distant chatter of other women to fill the void as I woke up in a small, fluorescent-lit cell. The food was terrible, and I couldn't get rid of the depressing atmosphere in the air.

The worst thing? It was the seclusion. The way I felt as though the walls were closing in on me and forcing me deeper into the shadowy recesses of my thoughts. It had been days since I last saw Damien. Not even a trip. Nothing on the phone. Nothing.

Naturally, I had made an effort to contact him. Through the letters and the phone calls. However, each time I called his number, I only received voicemail. Words could never express the impact of his icy silence.

"How could you leave me here?" My voice cracked as the words escaped my lips in a whisper. I balled my fingers into fists and pressed them against the bed frame's chilly steel.

In my breast, the agony of betrayal blazed. I seemed to have vanished entirely from his life, a passing recollection that had lost all significance. The fact that he had misled me and lied to me wasn't enough. He had gone farther, no. He had gone on with his life, leaving me broken and alone in this hellhole.

He no longer cared about me. Strangely enough, that hurt even more than the charges. More than the guards, the bars, and the other prisoners' jeers.

Then, as I was about to lose myself in my sorrow, a voice crackled over the intercom.

"Jemma Wilson," went the voice. "Awaken. You've got a guest.

I got up so fast I almost tripped. I walked to the door's small window and strained to see who had come to see me, my heart pounding in my chest.

After a shadow went by, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps—firm, deliberate. My breath caught. My heart told me it couldn't be Damien, but my head cried out for it to be.

When the door opened, I saw a person I hadn't anticipated.

Alina.

Her eyes were narrowed and her posture was tight as she stood there. She was silent for a while. Rather, she simply gazed at me while a small, derisive smirk curled her lips.

"What are you doing here?" With all the anger I had been suppressing exploding, I spat.

My shout did not bother her, and she leaned against the doorframe. "I figured you might be curious about what it's like to lose everything. to have the entire world abandon you. Her voice sounded too sweet, like venom-laced honey.

My thoughts was racing as I stood motionless. "You—" I was unable to complete the sentence. What was there for me to say to the woman who had helped me get here? The lady who had ruined everything we had created by infiltrating Damien's and our lives?

"You think I don’t know what it feels like?" With her eyes fixed on mine, Alina went on. "You don't believe I know what it's like to have everything taken away from you? To be discarded like garbage?"

I started to respond, but she silenced me by raising a hand. She continued, "You should be thanking me, Jemma," in a low, calculated voice. "Because while you’re stuck in here, I’m the one who’s making sure that Damien is finally getting what he deserves."

I squinted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don’t worry," she purred, her face lighting up with a sickly smile. "You'll see in due time. However, I wanted to come here to let you know that you are not alone in being deceived. It's not just you who has been rejected.

I took a step back from the door, my head spinning with rage and bewilderment. What was she trying to say? What did she say?

Alina remained silent. She simply took a step back and vanished down the hallway, her heels making a loud clicking sound on the chilly pavement.

As I stood there, my mind was racing. I felt like screaming. I wanted to break something, to toss it. Anything to relieve the oppressive sensation that was taking over my life.

Instead, with shaky hands, I sank back onto the bed.

Something that didn't set well with her had been mentioned. Was Damien receiving his just desserts? What was meant by that? What had brought her here? Was she attempting to influence me even more? Or did I not fully understand the story?

I had no answers. Just a few more inquiries.

I turned to see the figure standing there as the door opened again, this time with a gentle groan.

Damien was the one.

But he was unusual in some way. His face was pallid, and his eyes were wild. He appeared as though the entire world had fallen on his shoulders and that he hadn't slept in days.

He said, "I need to talk to you," in a strained, low voice.

Uncertain of what to anticipate, I stood slowly. Was this the time he would finally give an explanation? Was he coming to ask for my pardon, to convince me that he hadn't deserted me?

Was this another deception, or what?

He said, "Jemma," and moved closer, his hand extended toward me.

I flinched, every part of me screaming for me to flee and avoid him. However, I was immobile. Both he and I were trapped.

"I’m so sorry," he said, his voice cracking.

Then I noticed it—the smallest hint of something in his eyes that caused me to doubt everything.

Was it regret? Or was it something much more sinister?

I had no idea. I was going to find out, though.