Chapter 1

ALICIA

  I was still wiping spilled beer off my jeans when my phone buzzed. The name flashing on the screen made my stomach clench.

  Diana.

  I almost ignored it, but something told me to pick up. The moment I answered, her slurred voice slipped through the line.

  “Come pick me up… Shelton Hotel… I had a little too much to drink.”

  I sighed. “I’m not your damn driver, Diana.”

  Her reply came fast. “Don’t you want your mother’s gold bracelet back?”

  My heart stopped.

  That bracelet was the only thing of my mother’s I had left. I’d searched for it for months, accused Diana of taking it but she lied. She’d sworn she knew nothing, called me crazy, and said I was making baseless accusations. She basically gaslit me into silence. And now…

  “You had it all along?” I whispered.

  She laughed. “Are you coming or not?”

  I didn’t even bother changing out of my bar uniform. I didn’t take off my name badge. I just grabbed my bag and left.

  I didn’t care if I looked like a waitress walking into a palace. That bracelet was mine. It was the only thing left of my mother, and I wasn’t letting go of it this time.

  The Shelton Hotel was glowing with wealth and laughter when I arrived. Crystal chandeliers. Red carpets. Girls in satin gowns giggling with men in tailored suits. The kind of party I’d never be invited to.

  I slipped through the crowd like a shadow, eyes scanning for Diana. When I found her, she was lounging with her rich friends, drink in hand, smirking like she owned the place.

  I didn’t even waste words. “Where’s the bracelet?”

  She lifted her glass, swirling the red liquid. “Have a drink first.”

  “I’m driving you, remember?” I muttered.

  She smiled sweetly. “Then forget the bracelet.”

  I clenched my fists. “You said I could have it.”

  “And you can. Just one drink.”

  I hesitated. Just one. Then I’d get the bracelet and leave.

  I took the glass and downed it in one go. The burn hit my throat. Heat rushed through my chest. And my mind… my mind started slipping.

  “Where… is my bracelet?” I asked, swaying slightly.

  Diana laughed. “You’re so easy, Alicia.”

  Her friends burst out laughing. She pulled the bracelet out of her purse and dangled it like a toy. “Come take it.”

  I reached for it, but my hand missed. My vision blurred. My knees buckled. My skin burned. My thoughts twisted. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Just a shaky breath. Something was wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong.

  “What… did you… do to me?” I finally managed.

  “Enjoy your night,” she whispered, before turning to someone behind me.

  “Take her away.”

  Rough hands grabbed my arms. Two men. Strangers. Dragging me out of the hall like I was nothing.

  And as the lights faded, all I could hear was Diana’s laughter echoing behind me. I tried to pull away, but my arms wouldn’t respond. My voice stuck in my throat. People kept laughing in the background, like I was invisible.

  I tried to fight them. I kicked, screamed, begged—but I was no match for the two men dragging me through the hallway like luggage.

  They pushed me into a hotel room and slammed the door shut behind us.

  “Let’s make this easy,” one of them growled, yanking at my arm.

  Panic exploded in my chest. One guy stepped into the bathroom. The other reached for my waist. I squirmed, shoved, twisted.

  By some miracle, I broke free and slammed into the guy coming out of the bedroom. He stumbled. That was all I needed.

  I ran.

  The hallway spun around me. My legs felt like they were tied to bricks, but I kept moving, heart pounding like a war drum.

  Doors. So many closed doors. Then I saw one that was open.

  I bolted inside and slammed it shut behind me, flipping the lock just as heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  Breathing hard, I turned around.

  There was a man sitting on the bed.

  Dark suit, loosened tie, confusion on his face. His jacket was draped over the chair, and his shirt was half open. He looked up sharply.

  “Who are you?” he asked, voice low, hoarse.

  I backed away, dizzy, flushed, aching all over. The drug was still in my system, making my skin feel too tight and my thoughts too loud.

  He stared at me as the minutes ticked by, then finally stood up. His gaze was tired and hazy, his pupils dilated like mine.

  He stepped closer. “I… I’ve been drugged,” he said quietly. “I need… Look, I don’t want to force you. Just tell me.... do you want this? I’ll compensate you. I just… need this....”

  His voice broke at the end. I didn’t answer.

  I didn’t trust my mouth to say anything.

  I didn’t trust my brain to think straight.

  But my body moved.

  I kissed him.

  And just like that, we fell into something hot, desperate, and messy. The kind of night that doesn't feel real until the guilt hits in the morning. And by that, I mean.... we had sex.

  When I opened my eyes, the sun was slicing through the curtains. He was still asleep beside me.

  I gasped and shot upright. My head throbbed. My dress was wrinkled, my badge still clipped to it, and shame burned hot in my throat as I stared at the hickeys on my naked body.

  I quickly got dressed, grabbed my bag, and slung it across my body just as I stumbled out of the room.

  I had lost my virginity. To a stranger. In a hotel room.

  But at least it wasn’t those two creeps.

  And somehow, that twisted fact made me feel slightly less broken.

  But Diana…?

  Diana was going to pay.

  I got home with trembling legs and fire in my chest. The door creaked open, and there she was — Diana — curled on the couch, face pale, eyes red from crying.

  Patricia, her mother, was pacing like a madwoman.

  The moment she saw me, she rushed over and gripped my hands. “Thank God you’re here.”

  She reached into her purse and handed me something. I looked down.

  My mother’s bracelet.

  I barely had time to react before she said, “Diana hit someone with her car last night. The girl’s in the hospital. The police are on their way.”

  I scoffed. “Re....a...l...l ..y?”

  Patricia’s grip tightened. “I need you to tell the cops that you were the one who ran that girl over last night.”

  My heart stopped. “What??”

Chapter 2

ALICIA

  “No,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’m not doing it.”

  Patricia’s eyes narrowed, her expression turning cold and hard. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I’m not taking the fall for something I didn’t do. Diana did this. Not me.”

  I was about to reveal what Diana did to me last night, but before I could open my mouth, Patricia dropped the one threat she knew would break me.

  “I’ll stop your grandmother’s treatment,” she said quietly.

  The air left my lungs.

  My mouth hung open as I stared at her, stunned. “You wouldn’t.”

  She didn’t blink. “Try me.”

  My father married my mother first. They’d waited five years for a child. When she couldn’t conceive right away, he had an affair—with Patricia, his secretary.

  Patricia gave him a daughter: Diana. Then my mother got pregnant. I was born, but she died during childbirth.

  He married Patricia after that, and she raised me like I was nothing more than a stain in her picture-perfect family.

  She never loved me. Never hugged me. Never called me hers. But my grandmother—my dad’s mom—she loved me more than anything. She showed me pictures of my mother, told me stories of how kind and beautiful she was. I grew up staring at those photos, wishing I could have met her just once.

  When my dad died in a car accident, my world crumbled.

  My granny’s heart couldn’t take it. She collapsed the day of the funeral and was hospitalized. She’d been there ever since—fragile, fading—but alive.

  And Patricia?

  She took control of everything. The company, the house, the money. Nothing was left for me.

  But I didn’t complain. I had a roof over my head. I worked at the bar. I hustled. I earned just enough to survive.

  And I still got to visit my granny.

  That was enough.

  Until now.

  Now she was threatening to rip even that away.

  “Please,” I whispered. “Don’t do this. I… I can’t lose her too.”

  Patricia folded her arms. “Then do what you’re told for once. Unless you want to be the reason your granny dies, too. 

You want to save her? Tell the police it was you driving the car. You’ll be out in a day or two. That’s what happens with these things.”

  I didn’t believe her. Not fully. But I couldn’t gamble with my granny’s life.

  So when the police knocked with a warrant, I just stood there... frozen.

  They said a car belonging to Diana Stewart was involved in a hit and run. The girl who got hit was still in the hospital.

  Patricia stepped forward, glaring at me like she was daring me to ruin everything.

  “She’s my daughter,” she told the officers smoothly while pointing at me. “She was the one driving.”

  I felt the words crash over me like cold water.

  I turned to Diana, who was standing in the corner, pale and quiet. She wouldn’t even look at me. Just let out a shaky sigh like someone had just unclenched her noose—and handed it to me instead.

  I didn’t say a word as they read me my rights.

  Didn’t scream when they cuffed me.

  Didn’t beg when they took me away.

  I told myself I was doing the right thing. But every step away from home felt like a funeral march.

  At the station, they took my blood. Said they were checking for alcohol. Then they locked me in a cell.

  It was small and cold.

  I’d never been inside one before.

  I kept thinking Patricia would show up. That she’d bring a lawyer. That she’d keep her word and get me out.

  But the hours dragged. The walls closed in. My stomach twisted with fear.

  And no one came.

  The night in the cell felt like it would never end.

  I sat curled up on the cold bench, arms wrapped around my knees, trying not to break. But it was impossible not to. Every creak of the metal bars, every distant scream, every footstep in the corridor made my chest tighten with fear.

  I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. The lights never went off, and the air smelled of sweat, metal, and despair. I kept replaying Diana’s face in my head—the way she’d sighed in relief when the cops took me away. She didn’t even say thank you. Not even a whisper of guilt.

  My back ached. My eyes burned. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I just wanted it to be over.

  By morning, when a guard came to take me out of the cell, I thought maybe—maybe—Patricia had finally come. Maybe there was a lawyer, maybe I could go home.

  But it wasn’t a lawyer.

  It was the prosecutor.

  He looked at me like I was a nuisance he had to deal with before lunch. “We got your blood test results,” he said. “You had alcohol in your system when you hit that girl.”

  My throat closed.

  “I didn’t....” I tried to speak, but he cut me off.

  “You were drunk. That’s a crime. Driving under the influence, reckless endangerment, and the list goes on.

  I froze.

  Alcohol?

  That damn drink Diana forced on me.

  I never drank. I didn’t even like the taste. But I had taken a glass just to get my mother’s bracelet back. That one sip… that was all it took to make things worse.

 Maybe I should’ve spoken up. Maybe I should’ve screamed Diana’s name at this point, but I didn't.

  “When… when do I go home?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

  He scoffed. “Home? You should worry about your arraignment.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, everything spiraled.

  I was taken into a courtroom and made to stand in front of a judge I’d never seen before. Everything was moving too fast. My brain felt like it was on fire. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t even processed what was happening.

  “Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” the judge asked after I was made to take an oath.

  I wanted to scream not guilty. I wanted to say Diana’s name. I wanted to tell the truth. But in the back of my mind, I heard Patricia’s voice again—“I’ll stop your grandmother’s treatment.”

  And just like that, I admitted that I was guilty.

  The judge asked for details of the accident. I had none. How could I give details about something I didn’t do?

  Then the prosecutor spoke. He painted me like a spoiled little rich girl, entitled and reckless. A drunk teenager who thought she was above the law.

  I barely recognized the person he was describing.

  But the judge? She seemed convinced.

  “You show no remorse,” she said, eyes cold. “Girls like you kill with your carelessness, then cry in designer dresses for sympathy. You think human life is disposable? I will make an example out of you.”

  My heart dropped. “Wait—no—please. It was a mistake, I.....”

  “Silence!” she snapped.

  Then she started reading my charges. “Driving under the influence. Hit and run. Second-degree murder.”

  Second-degree murder?

  My knees buckled.

  The girl… she had died?

  The world started spinning around me. I felt like I was underwater, screaming, but no one could hear.

  “I wasn’t the one driving,” I finally blurted out. “Please, I didn’t—It wasn’t me! It was my sister, she....”

  “Enough!” The judge slammed her gavel down.

  “Sentenced to life imprisonment,” she said. Just like that. Like she was talking about a parking ticket.

  I didn’t even feel the guards grab me.

  I screamed, kicked, thrashed at the air as they dragged me out of the courtroom. My voice cracked. My throat burned.

  “I’m innocent! I didn’t do it! PLEASE!”

 “Please.... I don’t even have a car!”

  No one looked at me. No one listened.

  The door slammed behind me.

  And just like that… my life was over.

Chapter 3

DAMIEN

  I woke up with a pounding headache and the unmistakable ache of regret settling in my chest.

  My eyes adjusted slowly to the morning light spilling through the hotel curtains. The sheets were tangled around my waist, and I was completely naked. I sat up, groaning as fragments of last night came rushing back.

  Damn Danny.

  My cousin thought it would be funny to spike my drink and push some girl at me as a birthday surprise. I'd only gone to that ridiculous party out of respect for my uncle. Should’ve left earlier. Should’ve seen it coming.

  Instead, I stormed out like a caged bull and rented a private suite just to cool off.

  I remembered pacing. Feeling wired. Not thinking straight. Sitting down. And then…

  She ran in.

  The door had been open. I hadn’t meant to leave it that way. But she entered like she was running from something—wide-eyed, shaky. I still couldn’t picture her face clearly. Everything about her was a blur, a fever dream.

  But I remembered the rest. The kiss. The way she trembled. The way she didn’t say no.

  The blood on the sheets.

  Was it her first time?

  I stared at the faint red stain, my gut twisting. She hadn’t seemed afraid—just… overwhelmed. And I’d asked for her consent. I’d promised to compensate her. I always kept my promises.

  But she left.

  Why?

  I swung my legs off the bed and rubbed my hands over my face. Maybe she thought I was just another arrogant billionaire out for a night of fun. Maybe she didn’t believe I meant what I said.

  My phone rang. I answered distractedly while moving toward the bathroom. A quick call about this morning’s board meeting.

  By the time I got out of the shower and started getting dressed, I spotted something lying on the carpet near the foot of the bed.

  A plastic badge.

  I bent down and picked it up.

  “Stewart.”

  There was a small bar logo printed in the corner of the badge.

  So… she worked at a bar.

  I pocketed the badge and straightened my cuffs. I didn’t know why I cared so much. But I did. I wanted to see her. Talk to her. Not out of guilt—though I wouldn’t deny there was some—but because I’d made a promise.

  She deserved more than silence.

  Later that afternoon, after a tense meeting with the board, I handed the badge to Lewis, my assistant.

  “Get the CCTV footage from the hotel. Use this to track her down. I want to find her.”

  Lewis, ever efficient, nodded and left without a word.

  By evening, he was back—but with disappointment.

  “The hotel cameras were down last night,” he said. “Maintenance issue. They only came back on this afternoon. Nothing from last night.”

  I clenched my jaw. “And the girl?”

  “I went to the bar,” he continued. “She didn’t show up today. I asked around—she’s private. No social media. No close friends. Just works hard and keeps to herself. But I did get a name and address. Alicia Stewart. Red hair.”

  I gave a slow nod. “Go to her house,” I said. “Bring her to me. I don’t care how long it takes. I owe her. And I want to keep my word.”

  Two hours later, Lewis returned—with her.

  He led her into my office. 

  “This is Alicia Stewart,” he said and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving us alone.

  I stood from behind my desk, expecting… something. Recognition. A flicker of memory. A pull in my gut.

  But nothing came.

  She stood there awkwardly, hands clasped, eyes downcast. Her hair was black. Her posture tense. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft and uncertain.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I’m… Alicia Stewart.”

  I studied her. She didn’t sound like the girl from last night. Then again, I hadn’t exactly been sober. My memory was hazy at best. Still… this didn’t feel right.

  But then she started talking.

  “I went to the Shelton Hotel last night,” she said. “Someone at work mentioned I could make extra cash helping out at an event. It seemed harmless, but when I got there, two guys forced me to drink. They drugged me. Tried to....”

  She stopped, biting her lip. “I managed to escape. I ran into a room… I think it was yours.”

  She was blushing. Hesitating. Embarrassed.

  That shy, broken tone. That vulnerability.

  Maybe it wasn't her, or maybe it was.

  “Was it… your first time?” I asked carefully.

  She nodded. “Yes. I always wanted to wait for marriage, but… last night ruined that.”

  I looked away for a second, jaw tightening. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. 

  I exhaled slowly and turned back to her. “Your hair… last night it was red.”

  She smiled nervously. “Wig. I wear one at work. I don’t want anyone recognizing me outside the bar. My mom would kill me if she found out I worked there.”

  “And your name...” I raised an eyebrow. “You said Alicia Stewart, right.”

  She shifted on her feet. “It’s… Diana actually. Diana Stewart. That’s my real name. But I use Alicia at work. It’s easier that way. Clean separation.”

  “And your family?”

  “I help take care of my granny,” she added quickly. “She’s been in the hospital a while now. My mom refuses to support her treatment. They don’t get along. So I work extra shifts… quietly.”

  I stared at her for a long moment.

  She was composed, but not confident. Poised, but not defensive. If this was all an act, she played it well.

  I let out a breath and finally said, “I owe you an apology. Last night… that wasn’t me. I was drugged. My cousin pulled a stunt I didn’t see coming.”

  She nodded slowly. “You saved me. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what those men would’ve done to me.”

  “I still feel responsible,” I said. “I don’t want to put a price on what happened, but… I meant what I said last night. Let me compensate you.”

  “There’s no need,” she said quickly. “You already helped me more than you know.”

  She turned slightly, about to leave.

  I stopped her. Gently, but firmly, I caught her hand.

  “Diana Stewart,” I said quietly. “I made a promise last night. And I never break my promises.”

  She blinked at me.

  “Tell me how I can help you,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m not letting you walk out that door.”

Chapter 4

ALICIA

  The prison cell stank of rusted iron, bleach, and old regret.

  We were seven in the room. Seven women, one rusted toilet in the corner with no privacy, two torn mattresses shared between us, and a flickering ceiling bulb that never turned off. It was always cold, even when it wasn’t.

  I sat on the far end, knees to my chest, silent tears rolling down my face as I pressed my back to the wall.

  It had been over a month.

  And I still couldn’t believe this was my life now.

  Every day felt like I was watching someone else’s nightmare from inside their body. The orange jumpsuit clung to my skin like shame. My name was now just a number on a roster.

  No one came to see me.

  Not Patricia. Not Diana.

  Not even a letter. Not even a fake apology.

  But the silence that hurt the most was my granny’s.

  She had no idea where I was. No one would tell her. I used to visit her every single day. She depended on seeing me, hearing my voice. Now she’d just be lying there, wondering why I abandoned her.

  I couldn’t breathe when I thought about it too long.

  Word spreads fast in prison.

  Everyone already knew my story—or at least, the version they were told. Some pitied me. Others called me a fool for taking the fall.

  Four of the women in my cell made it their mission to make me miserable. For reasons I didn’t know, they despised me. Maybe it was because I cried too much. Maybe it was because I looked like someone they once hated.

  But two of them—elderly women named Fiona and Miss June—were kind. Quiet. Protective.

  “You’re too young to rot in here,” Miss June whispered one night, pulling a thin blanket over me.

  “God will send someone,” Fiona added, always hopeful. “The truth always finds the right ears.”

  I wanted to believe that. But hope had started feeling like a cruel trick.

  Still, I clung to one thing: if I could just get one more chance, I’d tell the truth.

  Yes, it meant confessing that I lied under oath.

  Yes, it meant risking a perjury charge.

  But five years was better than life. Five years meant I could see my granny again before it was too late.

  The next morning, just after the cell doors opened and we were handed breakfast, the sour smell of beans hit me like a wave.

  Suddenly, my stomach twisted.

  I gagged.

  The retching came fast and violent.

  Eyes turned. Voices called. The room spun. And then...

  blackness.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in the prison clinic.

  A nurse stood beside me, arms crossed, face unreadable. “You’re pregnant,” she said, as if it were the weather report.

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “It’s confirmed.”

  My heart sank.

  And then the tears came—loud, choking sobs I couldn’t hold back.

  I knew whose child it was. That night. That room. That man.

  The night everything fell apart. Of all the things I’d lost… this one thing had stayed. A piece of that night I thought I’d buried.

  Later that day, back in my cell, I was told I had a visitor.

  My heart jumped.

  Granny.

  She had found out. She’d come.

  But when I reached the visitation room, it wasn’t her.

  It was Diana.

  Decked out in luxury like she’d been dipped in gold....hair styled, nails flawless, heels worth more than everything I owned combined. She looked like a celebrity.

  For a moment, I froze.

  Had she won the lottery?

  Sold my life for millions?

  The anger that rose in my throat burned. But I swallowed it. I needed answers. And maybe… help.

  “Well, well,” she smirked, her eyes sweeping over me. “You actually look good in orange. Brings out your eyes.”

  I ignored her jab. “How’s Granny?”

  “Oh, she’s fine,” she said casually. “Patricia sees her every day. Makes sure she gets top treatment.”

  I exhaled, a tiny piece of my heart settling.

  “But let’s be clear,” she added, leaning closer, voice dripping with venom. “She’ll continue to be fine… as long as you keep your mouth shut and serve your time.”

  My fists clenched. “That’s not what we agreed. You said two days. This is life, Diana. Life. For something I didn’t even do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come here for a morality lecture. I came to remind you of something simple: Granny’s life is in your hands.”

  “She’s your grandmother too, Diana,” I said, my voice quiet. “How can you forget that?”

  Diana scoffed and rolled her eyes. “That old hag never cared about me. She only ever doted on you. Why should I care what happens to her now?”

  I flinched. It hurt to hear her say that. Granny may have been more affectionate with me, but she was still family. Didn’t that mean anything to Diana?

  She stood and adjusted her expensive coat like our conversation was over.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  She paused.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurted.

  Her head turned slowly. “What?”

  “I’m pregnant. And if I give birth here… they’ll take the baby away.”

  I swallowed hard. “I can’t live with that, Diana. Please… help me. Help me for the sake of this child. I’m begging you.”

  She stared at me in disbelief before sitting back down. Her lips parted slightly, still stunned.

  “Who’s the father?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  Her brows furrowed.

  “I didn’t… It was that night. The night you forced me to drink. The night you gave those men permission to… to take me.”

  Diana looked down.

  “I escaped. Ran into a hotel room. A man was there. I don’t even know who he was. I was drugged by you… I forgot about everything. Until now.”

  Silence hung between us.

  Then she whispered, “I’m sorry… for that night. I didn’t think they’d take it that far.”

 She sounded sorry. But Diana always sounded good when she wanted something.

  I didn’t believe her. But I needed help, anyway.

  She leaned forward, almost hesitant. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

  A part of me wanted to ask, How? Another part was already too broken to question anything.

  I just nodded.

  But Diana never came back.

  Not the next day.

  Not the week after.

  Not ever.

  Weeks stretched into months. Every knock on the cell gate, every whisper in the hallway—I hoped it was her. It never was.

  Hope died quietly inside me.

  Being pregnant in prison was a nightmare.

  The floor was too cold. The food too stale. The air too thin.

  There was no extra pillow, no prenatal vitamins, no comfort.

  My body ached constantly. My ankles swelled. The guards treated me like I was lying. Some days they skipped my meals just because they could. I wasn’t allowed to rest. My cellmates were irritated by my constant bathroom trips.

  The baby moved more now. Kicked stronger. And every time I felt it, I cried—because I knew they would take it from me the moment it was born.

  No name. No kiss. No touch. Just gone.

  Lately, the ones who hated me didn’t bother hiding it. I’d catch them watching my stomach when they thought I wasn’t looking.

  Two weeks before my due date, I was finally starting to sleep deeper.

  But that night, something sharp jolted me awake.

  Pain—unimaginable pain—sliced into my eye.

  I screamed, but I couldn’t even move before the second stab came.

  Straight into my other eye.

  The world turned red. My body twisted. I thrashed, reaching out into nothing. Blood poured down my cheeks, and my screams echoed through the cell.

  Footsteps. Gasps. The sound of chaos as the others rushed to me.

  And then, unable to bear the pain any further, I blacked out.

  I woke up in the prison clinic.

  Everything was dark.

  Pitch black.

  Silent.

  My eyes were wrapped in thick bandages. But I couldn’t feel them. Not really.

  “Hello?” I croaked. My voice cracked. “Is anyone there?”

  Silence.

  “Why… why is it so dark?” My fingers clawed at the air. “I can’t see… please, I can’t see...”

  A voice, calm and detached, finally spoke.

  “I’m sorry. Because both your eyes were stabbed, your corneas were severely damaged. From what we can tell… you’ll likely never see again.”

  I froze.

  “No,” I whispered.

  No.

  No.

  The pain meant nothing. The blood, the bandages—I could live with that.

  But darkness?

  Forever?

  “No, please no...” I sobbed, choking on my own voice. “I can’t.... please, no....!”

  And then…

 My blood pressure spiked.

  My water broke.

  A warm gush beneath me.

  Followed by another kind of pain. Deep, unfamiliar, primal.

Chapter 5

ALICIA

  The labour room was cold.

  Or maybe it was me.

  I was shaking violently, my hands clenching the sides of the metal bed while my body convulsed in pain. Sweat dripped down my forehead, mingling with the tears I could not hold back.

  I screamed again as another contraction tore through me like fire. The pain didn’t build — it slammed into me without warning, like a sledgehammer, over and over and over.

  “Push!” the nurse shouted.

  “I am!” I screamed back, my voice hoarse and ragged.

  The pain was unbearable. Worse than the stabbing, worse than the months of hunger and hopelessness, worse than blindness. This was a different kind of pain — one that dragged my insides inside out and stretched every nerve into snapping.

  I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.

  Every breath felt like a betrayal.

  I couldn’t see, but I could hear the rush of people, the urgency in their voices, the metal clinking of tools, the cold touch of latex on my thighs, and then—another contraction.

  Another wave of agony.

  “Almost there,” someone said. “One more, Alicia!”

  I screamed again, not from fear, but from the raw, animal desperation of a woman trying to claw her way out of death.

  And then… a sound.

  A cry.

  My baby.

  My baby was crying.

  I gasped in disbelief. A sob escaped me as the pain blurred, faded, vanished. That cry was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

  A tiny voice, strong and defiant — just like I wanted them to be.

  And then—darkness.

  My body gave out.

  When I woke up, I felt… light. Weak. Broken.

  My whole body throbbed from the war it had been through, but my first thought was the baby.

  “My child,” I whispered, reaching for the air. “Where’s my baby?”

  A moment passed.

  Then a calm voice spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Alicia. You had a stillbirth.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You lost the baby.”

  “No…” I shook my head, my bandaged eyes stinging with tears. “No. I heard crying. I heard my baby...”

  “You were in shock,” the doctor said flatly. “Your mind was overwhelmed. There was no cry. No signs of life. “You were hallucinating. Happens more than you’d think during trauma.”

  She said it like she was reading from a chart. Like my baby wasn’t real. Like I hadn’t just felt them inside me, hadn’t screamed them into the world.

  But I still remembered the sound. It wasn’t imagined. I felt it in my bones.

  “Let me see them,” I begged. “Please. Just let me hold my baby.”

  “They’ve already been buried.”

  “What?”

  “They were a stillborn,” she repeated. “The state follows protocol in such cases.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I started sobbing. Reaching. Screaming.

  “Please, just let me hold them. Just once. Please.”

  But her footsteps were already retreating. The door opened. Then closed.

  And I was alone.

  The next day, they returned me to my cell.

  I didn’t ask any more questions. I didn’t speak at all.

  I let them guide me back to the bed like a ghost being carried by the wind.

  I couldn’t see.

  I couldn’t cry anymore.

  I couldn’t even scream.

  I just sat. And breathed. And wished I wouldn’t wake up again.

  The others barely noticed me anymore. The four who used to torment me had grown quiet. Maybe they pitied me now. Maybe they were afraid of how hollow I’d become.

  Fiona and Miss June tried to speak to me.

  But I never answered.

  At night, I curled up on the bed, facing the wall, letting silent tears soak the bed.

  Every night the same question haunted me:

  Why me?

  What had I done to deserve this?

  Why had I lost everything—my sight, my child, my freedom?

  Two weeks passed.

  My body still ached in ways I didn’t know were possible. The tearing pain. The heaviness. The emptiness. But I’d grown used to it. I barely moved, barely ate. My cheeks had sunken in. Pretty sure my ribs showed through my thin jumpsuit.

  I had stopped counting the days.

  Time didn’t matter when all you wanted was for it to end.

  That afternoon, I was leaning against the wall, legs curled under me, lost in the rhythm of my heartbeat.

  Then I heard it.

  “Alicia Stewart.”

  It was the warden’s voice. Tired. Stern.

  I turned my face toward the sound, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes?”

  “You’re free to go.”

  I froze.

  At first, I thought I imagined it. That maybe my mind was slipping again.

  “What did you say?” I asked slowly.

  “You are free to go,” he repeated, clearer now. “Someone powerful has secured your release. Alicia Stewart, you are officially a free woman.”

  I didn’t move.

  Didn’t breathe.

  I just sat there, lips parted in shock.

  Free?

  I finally stood, wobbling slightly on my feet, still not understanding. “What… what do you mean? Who?”

  But he didn’t answer.

  He just repeated the words that shattered everything I thought I knew:

  “You’re free.”

  Free?

But why now? Who would want me free? I had nothing left to live for.

Or so I thought.

Chapter 6

DAMIEN

Two Weeks Earlier

I was sitting at my desk, but my mind was anywhere but here. The report on my screen may as well have been in hieroglyphics, because not a single word was sticking. I’d read the same paragraph four times, and still couldn’t tell you what it said.

All because of Diana Stewart.

She had called me out of the blue yesterday, casually dropping a bomb like it was a weather report: I had your baby.

I had stared at the phone in my hand for almost a full minute, trying to process what the hell she just said. A baby? Mine? After almost nine months of silence?

The first thing that kicked in was doubt. The second? A knot in my gut that refused to loosen.

It wasn’t that I didn’t remember the night. I remembered enough. I remembered the drugged haze from that idiotic party, the heat of frustration that drove me to book a room, and the action that changed everything. A girl had run into the room, nervous, and shaken, and one thing led to another.

I’d tried to convince myself that I hadn’t been the worst kind of man that night, but guilt had a funny way of clinging to your ribs. I gave Diana twenty million dollars. Not as payment, but as restitution. As a way to sleep at night. She hadn’t asked for it. I handed it over and made her sign an NDA to protect my name, yes, but part of me hoped it would also buy her a new beginning.

She took it. And vanished.

Nine months of silence. Not a whisper. Then suddenly, "Congratulations, Daddy."

Hell no. I wasn’t that easy to play.

Still... I went to the hospital. Took my personal physician with me—Dr. Kai Lin, a man I trusted like family. Diana looked the part. Exhausted, pale, hair clinging to her temples. The baby lay in a crib nearby, red-faced and squirming. I didn’t linger—ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to get attached until I knew the truth.

So I ordered a buccal swab on the baby, had Kai collect my blood sample afterward, and now—here I was. Waiting.

Eight more minutes until the result hit my inbox, and my heart was already pounding like a damn bass drum. I stood up from my chair and began pacing the length of my office, hands shoved deep into my pockets, jaw tight. The floor beneath my shoes felt uneven, like reality itself was tilting beneath me.

What if it wasn’t mine?

What if she was trying to play me?

And what if it was mine?

My entire life had been built around control. I built my empire from the ground up. StoneCore Industries. Every part of me was structured, calculated, controlled. But a child? A flesh-and-blood version of me, vulnerable, loud, unpredictable?

I didn’t know what kind of father I’d be. But I knew one thing: if that boy was mine, no one was going to raise him but me.

Three minutes left.

The door opened at this time. “Sir?”

I turned sharply. Amara Blake. Executive Director of Evelyn Stone Trust. Her sleek black suit was buttoned to perfection, clipboard in one hand, expression calm but with that glint in her eye she always had when she came bearing news, or game-changers.

I had almost forgotten this was the time of year we picked a prisoner to receive our private assistance. A small initiative under the 'Evelyn Stone Trust'—but a powerful one. We didn’t publicize it. We didn’t post about it online. We just found someone quietly suffering injustice..... and fixed it.

She stepped forward. “We’ve selected this year’s beneficiary.”

I nodded, and asked her to go on.

“She’s nineteen, going on twenty,” Amara continued. “Sentenced under what looks like very suspicious circumstances. Blind, recently attacked while in prison. Her story is... brutal, honestly. Her name is....”

“Hold that thought,” I said, raising a finger as my phone began to ring. “Give me one minute.”

She nodded and stepped back. I picked up my phone and lifted it to my ear.

“Doc?”

The doctor’s voice didn’t hesitate.

“Congratulations, Damien. The DNA was a match.”

I froze, every noise around me dulled by the pulse in my ears. “You’re certain?”

“Yes. One hundred percent. I’ve already sent the report to your email, but I wanted to tell you myself.”

He hung up, and for a full second, I just stood there.... motionless. Then I practically lunged toward my desk, pulled up the email, and stared at the results. There it was in black and white.

Probability of paternity: 99.99%.

My hands trembled slightly. Not from fear… not quite. It was something more layered. Joy. Terror. Responsibility. That strange ache in your chest when your entire future shifts in a blink.

I had a son.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes briefly, and let the wave wash over me.

“Amazing news?” Amara asked from across the room, brows raised.

I exhaled. “I’m a father.”

She smiled. “Wow. Congratulations. That’s huge.”

“It is,” I said, still blinking through the fog of disbelief.

She placed the file in her hand, on my desk. “I’ll leave this here for when you’re ready. It’s about the prisoner we discussed...”

“How long have you been working with me?” I asked, cutting her off.

“Five years.”

“Exactly. I trust your judgment. Handle this however you see fit. Use whatever resources you need.”

“Sir, I really think you should just...”

“I need to be with my son,” I said firmly. “Nothing matters more right now.”

She hesitated but nodded. “Of course. Congratulations again.”

I grabbed my keys and left without another word.

The hospital room was quiet when I stepped in. Diana sat on the bed, the baby in her arms. She looked… tired. Hollow, almost. Her skin was pale, her hair tangled and dull. But the baby…

Tiny. Wrinkled. Quiet.

I approached slowly. “Is this… him?”

She looked up, startled for a second, then nodded.

I reached for the baby, and she handed him over without protest. I held him close, my arm cradling the fragile body. His little fists were curled, and when he shifted, I saw it—the same deep-set eyes. My eyes.

A strange tightness gripped my chest.

“Hey there,” I whispered. “Daddy’s here. Daddy loves you.”

It felt ridiculous saying it out loud. But something in me needed him to hear it.

After a while, I placed him gently in the crib beside Diana. Then I turned to her, hands in my pockets.

“So… What do you want?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I paid you twenty million. That was more than enough to take care of yourself and prevent a pregnancy. Yet here we are. So tell me.... what do you want in return now?”

Her mouth parted, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky. “Nothing. I’m not here to demand anything from you.”

I folded my arms. “Really?”

She looked down. “That night was… my first time. I didn’t think I’d get pregnant. I was reckless. Scared. But I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I know it means nothing to you, but you’re… you were my first love.”

I raised a brow.

“I’m not asking for your love,” she rushed to say. “I just need you to understand. I didn’t hide the pregnancy to trap you. I was afraid. You’d already given me more than I deserved. What if you told me to get rid of the baby?”

She met my gaze. “When I gave birth and saw him… I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep him from you. He deserves a father. And you… you deserved to know.”

Silence stretched between us. I watched her carefully. She wasn’t acting. If she was lying, she was damn good at it.

I sighed, running a hand down my face. “You’ve been through a lot. And no matter how this started, you brought him into this world. That matters.”

Her eyes welled up.

“I want the best for my son,” I added. “He deserves a real family. But I’ve never believed in marriage. Not for myself.”

She nodded slowly. “I understand. I won’t force you. Just… let me stay close. Let me be with him. Even if it’s from a distance.”

I studied her. No demands. No tantrums. Not even a plea. Only raw, broken honesty. And maybe that’s what made me say it.

“If I ever do get married,” I said carefully, “it would be for him. And it would be to you. For now, I’m willing to let you be… my fiancée. But only for his sake. That’s all.”

A tear slid down her cheek, but she smiled. “That’s more than I could have ever hoped for. Thank you, Damien.”

I nodded once.

“I haven’t named him yet,” she said, touching the crib. “What should we call him?”

I thought of a name I'd always liked. But I changed it mid-thought as someone's face came to mind—Evelyn. My sister. Gone too soon. Her favorite name growing up had been Jeff.

“Jeff,” I murmured. “My son will be called Jeff Stone.”

Diana whispered it back like a prayer. “Jeff Stone. It's a wonderful name.”

Chapter 7

ALICIA

I heard the sound of soft footsteps before I felt the warmth of a hand on mine. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and roses—someone must’ve brought flowers.

“Good morning,” a gentle voice said. “Alicia, can you hear me?”

I nodded slowly, my heart thudding. My eyes were still bandaged, but the doctor had promised—if the surgery went well, today might be the day I'd see again.

I felt trembling fingers at the sides of my face, unwrapping the gauze layer by layer. My palms grew damp. What if it didn’t work? What if I opened my eyes and there was still nothing?

The last piece of gauze slipped away.

“Okay,” the doctor whispered. “When you're ready... open your eyes.”

I took a shaky breath and slowly let my eyelids part.

At first, everything was blurry—just swirls of light. But then…

Shapes began to form.

A ceiling. A bright window. The blurred outline of a woman in white.

Tears spilled before I could stop them.

“I… I see…” My voice cracked. “I can see.”

A sob caught in my throat as I turned, blinking through the haze.

The doctor in white hovered beside me, but my gaze drifted past her……to the woman standing in the corner with her arms crossed tightly. Amara Blake, the one person who had unexpectedly gotten up to fight for me. Her face came into focus—tired, but smiling through tears of her own.

“You kept your promise,” I whispered.

She stepped forward and took my hand, covering it with hers.

“I told you I would,” she said. “You’re not alone anymore, Alicia. This is just the beginning. You’ve got your life back now.”

Listening to her words, the past came flooding back—so vivid, it felt like I’d been pulled into it against my will.

I remembered the sound of keys jingling. The heavy slam of a cell door. The click of my chains being unlocked. I remembered the guard’s voice—flat, almost bored—as he said, “You’re being released.”

Released?

I didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Then, I was led down a hallway I thought I’d never walk again. At the end of it stood a woman.

“I’m Amara Blake,” she said. “I’m here on behalf of the Evelyn Foundation. I’ll be taking you with me.”

With me. Not to someone. Not to the police. With her.

My steps faltered. I pulled back slightly, squinting even though I couldn’t see. “What do you mean, taking me with you? Who the hell are you?”

She didn’t flinch. “I told you. Amara Blake. Executive Director.”

Then, without giving me time to ask more questions, she guided me gently—but firmly—to a waiting car outside the gates. The world was loud and overwhelming out there. Cars. Wind. Voices. I hadn’t heard the city in almost a year. I stumbled.

She steadied me. “Careful.”

I didn’t thank her.

She opened the door and helped me inside like I was made of glass. She didn’t sit in the front with the driver. She climbed in right beside me in the backseat, like this was personal.

As the car pulled away from the prison, I curled my legs under me like I needed to be small again.

“Who are you really, and what do you want from me?” I asked. My voice was cold, flat—armor I’d worn for too long.

She let out a slow breath before answering. “We’ll talk more when we get to my office.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s code for ‘I’m lying.’ I’ve learned the hard way—people don’t help you without a reason. So don’t pretend you’re doing this out of kindness.”

She sighed. “Then let me give you a reason.”

I folded my arms. “I’m listening.”

“The Evelyn Foundation,” she said, “was created by our chairman— a man who lost his sister.”

I didn’t say anything.

“She was separated from him as a child. Years later, after he made a name and fortune for himself, he searched for her for nearly a decade. Eventually, he found her... in prison.”

I swallowed hard, but kept my mouth shut.

“She’d been sentenced at eighteen for a crime she didn’t commit. Thirty years. By the time he found her, her health had deteriorated. She’d already had one leg amputated after an untreated infection. She was bullied, starved, ignored. And when her second leg got infected… she just stopped trying. Stopped fighting. Stopped eating. No one noticed until it was too late.”

I clenched my fists.

“She died a day before he reached her. All he got back was a body.”

A lump formed in my throat.

Amara went on, her voice steady but low. “He made sure the people responsible paid. All of them. But even that didn’t bring him peace. So he created the Evelyn Foundation—named after her. He swore that others like her would be assisted. Especially those with disabilities. Especially those with no one.”

I turned my face to the window, refusing to shed a tear.

“He gets one chance every year,” she said softly. “One prisoner. He pulls all his strings, gets all the approvals, pays whatever it takes to set someone free. This year… that someone was you.”

I turned to her sharply. “Why me?”

“Because your case came across my desk,” she said. “Because you’re blind. Young. Because your story screamed of injustice. And maybe, because someone still believes you deserve a second chance.”

I don’t know why her story about Evelyn got to me.

Maybe it was the part about her legs being amputated, or the image of her lying in that cell, too tired to care anymore. Maybe it was the fact that I’d nearly become her. We were strangers, born into different tragedies, but somehow… we ended up in the same hell.

Still, I found myself asking the question before I could stop myself.

“Between me and this Evelyn,” I murmured, “who do you think had the more pathetic life?”

Amara sighed. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Well, I do,” I said, curling my arms around myself. “She died in prison. I was left to rot in one. Either way, we both lost.”

There was a pause. I didn’t expect her to answer.

But she did.

“I think both of you deserved better,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry that the world didn’t give it to you.”

Her voice wasn’t pitying. Just honest. It made me bristle anyway.

“So where’s your mysterious chairman?” I asked, forcing indifference into my tone. “Are you taking me to him now for inspection? Or does he only show up to collect the pretty broken girls?”

She didn’t even flinch. “No. He just became a father for the first time. He’s taking time off to be with his child.”

I looked away, jaw clenched. A child. A family. Love.

Good for him.

“So it was you, then,” I said bitterly. “You picked me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her answer came slower this time. “Because… when I saw your file, I saw Evelyn again. I thought—if I could save even one person like her, maybe it would make some difference.”

I snorted. “Difference?” I laughed, sharp and joyless. “Lady, you should’ve just left me there. I’m blind. I’ve got nothing. No home. Not even a reason to keep breathing. You should’ve let me rot quietly and die like everyone expected me to. You’d have saved yourself the trouble.”

Silence.

Then, to my surprise, Amara reached over and took my hand.

Her palm was warm.

“You’re not alone anymore, Alicia,” she said, and somehow her voice didn’t waver. “No matter what it takes, we’re going to help you get your life back.”

I pulled my hand away. “Yeah right. Heard that one before.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” she replied softly. “Just let us try.”

A bitter smile twisted on my lips. “So? Where are we going, since you’re so full of hope and miracles?”

“To a hospital.” She replied quietly.

I laughed again—louder this time, unhinged.

“Oh, perfect,” I said, clapping once like it was a joke. “Now it makes sense. All that kindness and backstory and dramatic rescue? Just a setup. You’re harvesting my organs, aren’t you?”

“Alicia....”

“Don’t bother denying it,” I said, leaning back into the seat with a sigh. “It’s fine. Honestly. I’ve been ready to die for a while now. Might as well let someone make use of what’s left of me.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again.

“We’re not taking anything from you,” she said. “We’re giving you something.”

I turned my head away once again. I didn't believe a word from her mouth.

But now, five days later, staring at a tall, well-dressed woman in navy-blue slacks and a crisp cream blouse, with a calm confidence about her—sharp, kind eyes and neutral smile, I was convinced that maybe—just maybe—miracles weren’t myths after all.

I could see.

My vision wasn’t perfect yet, but it was mine. And every time I blinked and still saw the world around me, I knew I wasn’t dreaming.

The white walls.

The clean beds.

The steady hum of machines and nurses walking past in soft-soled shoes.

It was real.

And Amara Blake was real too. The woman who held my hand through surgery, who never once let me feel like a charity case. She said I didn’t owe her anything, but that only made me feel the weight of it more. Because people like her… they didn’t exist in my world. At least, not before now.

But none of this erased the past.

Miracles were not apologies.

They didn’t undo the cold nights on the cell floor.

They didn’t erase the memory of a stillborn baby I never got to bury.

They didn’t silence the screams I let out that night, or the silence that followed when no one came.

And they sure as hell didn’t redeem the two women who ruined me.

Patricia.

Diana.

I repeated the names in my head like a sacred vow.

One gave the order.

The other carried it out.

Both watched me fall and smiled like it was a game.

They thought I’d die in there.

But I’m alive.

I can see.

And I remember everything.

I will never forget their names. I will never forgive what they did.

Let them enjoy their days in peace while it lasts.

Because no matter how long it takes…

No matter how far I have to crawl or what I have to become.....

 I will get my pound of flesh.