"Prisoner number 391, you have a visitor."
The prison guard shouted as he unlocked the cell door. A woman in a prison uniform labeled 391 walked sluggishly toward the guard.
Thud!
The guard shoved the woman's back.
"Walk properly. Don't think that just because you're the daughter of a former prime minister candidate you'll get special treatment here. Your father was murdered by your own mother. You're in prison for attempted murder—on your own sister. Your family truly amazes me."
The guard opened the visitation room door and pushed the woman in so roughly that she nearly stumbled.
"Fifteen minutes!" he yelled before slamming the door shut.
Prisoner 391 lifted her head to see who had come to visit her. Her brows furrowed when she saw a man in a suit, his blonde hair neatly slicked back, sitting calmly in one of the visitation chairs.
"Please, have a seat, Miss Isolde Veyra," the man said with a sweet smile, extending his hand for a shake.
"I'm Lucien. A private detective. I'm here to help you and your mother get out of your sentences." Isolde, the woman with prisoner number 391, pulled her hand back after briefly shaking his.
"You're not a lawyer or anything like that. You're a detective. Besides, my mother and I have already been proven guilty. I can't bear going through another trial, being turned into a spectacle again." Lucien observed her face—the bruise on the corner of her lip, the marks on her neck and wrists.
"But I can get you and your mother out of here without another trial. You must be struggling in here, aren't you? The other inmates must be tormenting you both because of your background. You were once the most powerful family in the country. Your father was known for his generosity, backed by powerful political allies—until his eldest daughter destroyed his career, and one by one, your family's crimes came to light. You were the spark that burned it all down."
Isolde scoffed, rolling her eyes in frustration.
"What do you really want? Money? I don't have any. Everything my father left behind went to my siblings. You won't get a single penny from me."
Lucien folded his arms on the table, leaning forward slightly. His head tilted down, and he stared intently at Isolde.
"I'm not after money," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, though Isolde could still hear him clearly.
"I want you to do something. It might cost your life—but if you're willing, you and your mother can walk out of this hell right now." Lucien leaned back in his chair again, folding his arms across his chest.
"I know you and your mother have been treated unfairly here, by people who hate your family. If you follow my orders, you won't have to sleep crammed in a stinking cell, be bullied by other inmates. You could breathe free air again, and your beloved mother wouldn't have to spend her old age behind bars."
Lucien's offer was tempting, but Isolde wasn't new to the game. She knew that a big reward always came with a big price. She didn't know what the detective wanted her to do, and she didn't care to find out.
"Offer that opportunity to someone else. I'm not interested," Isolde said, standing up and walking toward the exit door of the visitation room—just as the prison guard opened it, signaling that the fifteen minutes were up.
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Crash!
Isolde's food tray hit the floor after one of the inmates intentionally tripped her. Her meal was scattered all over the dirty ground.
"Oops, my bad. I didn't mean to. You know, I used to be a model—these long legs of mine get in the way sometimes," said a woman with brittle, fake blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, smirking mockingly at Isolde.
Isolde knew it wasn't an accident. Inmate number 296 had tripped her on purpose—she had never liked Isolde.
Without saying a word, Isolde got back up and ignored her, heading to get another serving. She couldn't eat what had fallen on the floor. But when it was her turn again, the food staff refused to serve her.
"You've already received your portion. You can't get another one," said one of the food servers, his face hidden behind a clear plastic mask.
"Didn't you see my food fell? I haven't eaten anything!"
"Whether you've eaten or not isn't our concern. You got your portion, and that's all you get. If we serve you again, the others will ask for seconds too. Everyone gets one serving, whether it ends up in your stomach or on the floor."
As if that weren't enough, another inmate sitting nearby chimed in.
"If she gets to eat twice, we want seconds too! This tiny portion isn't enough for us. You people should be fair!" shouted an elderly inmate with a wrinkled face.
Isolde was really upset, so she grabbed her empty tray very tightly. At that moment, someone tapped her wrist. She looked around and saw her mother next to her, who was kindly giving her a food tray.
"You can have mine, dear. I'm not hungry." The other inmates stirred, mocking the scene, turning Isolde and her mother into a spectacle.
"Aww, what a touching family moment. Mommy feeding her starving daughter," inmate 296—the same one who had tripped Isolde—jeered loudly, provoking laughter and taunts from the others.
"If you hadn't killed your husband, and your daughter hadn't tried to kill her own sister, neither of you would be in here. Such a charming family—on TV you looked perfect and harmonious, but behind the scenes you're out here murdering each other!"
Isolde had had enough. She swatted away her mother's hand. Thankfully, the tray in her mother's other hand didn't fall.
With determined strides, Isolde approached inmate 296.
Gripping her empty tray tightly, she swung it and struck the woman's head with it, hard enough to send her staggering backward.
But Isolde's action only triggered the other inmates to rise and attack her. They pushed her to the ground and then began kicking and stomping on her body.
Isolde's mother tried to help her daughter, but one person against so many—there was no way she could win. She was shoved back, unable to break through the swarm of inmates assaulting her daughter.
All she could do was scream for help, pleading with the correctional officers—who turned their heads away, unwilling to intervene. Their silence gave the inmates indirect permission to continue their brutal attack.
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Isolde's body was covered in bruises—her eye, cheek, lip, and nose were all bloodied.
She was taken to the medical room, where her mother stood at her side while the prison doctor treated her wounds.
"Why didn't you just take the food I offered you? If you had accepted it instead of causing trouble with the other inmates, you wouldn't be hurt like this," her mother said, eyes brimming with tears as she looked at her daughter's condition.
Isolde cast her mother a cold glare. She hated seeing her cry.
"Can you shut up? All you've ever done is cry and cry—I'm sick of it."
The doctor stepped away, giving them some privacy to talk before the bell rang, signaling it was time to return to their cells.
"Isolde, are you still angry at Mama?" her mother asked gently, reaching to touch her hand once more, but Isolde pulled away.
"Don't act like we're a happy family in here. All you ever did was cry. You never protected me from Dad. But when Olivia was in danger, you saved her. You even killed that bastard for her. But back then... when I needed you to protect me, all you did was cry and plant hatred in my head—for Olivianne and her prostitute of a mother."
Isolde turned to leave the medical room. As she passed her mother, she noticed the bruises on her wrist and cheek. She must've gotten them trying to protect Isolde during the attack.
A guard arrived to escort Isolde to the isolation room—she was being punished for causing a disturbance.
The isolation cell was tiny, even smaller than the one she shared with her cellmates. There was no sound, no light—only pitch blackness. In the silence, Isolde could hear the ringing in her ears. The stillness was deafening.
In that darkness, Isolde sat in silence, her thoughts turning to the other inmates' deep hatred toward her and her mother—and to the bruises on her mother's body.
Yes, Isolde hated her mother. She hated that she went to prison to help the one person she despised most in the world. But that didn't mean she could stand seeing her mother treated like that by the other inmates and the guards.
Alone in isolation, Isolde found herself thinking about Detective Lucien's offer.
She had already guessed that whatever he wanted wouldn't be easy—the reward was freedom from this prison. So whatever it was he expected her to do... it had to be something big.
But was it really more complicated than living in this prison?
Stripped of the luxury she once had, deliberately tortured by both inmates and guards—Isolde figured it would be better to die out there trying than to rot and be beaten to death in here.
At least out there, she could breathe fresh air.
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Lucien smiled as Isolde appeared—he had come to revisit her today. He didn't look the least bit surprised to see her battered and bruised.
"I came back because I had a feeling you'd accept my offer. Was my hunch right?"
Isolde scoffed. She hadn't slept all night in the isolation cell.
"Whatever your offer is, I accept. But on one condition. I'm not doing anything today. I want you to rent me the most comfortable hotel room you can find so I can rest. Tomorrow, you can order me around however you like. Deal?"
Lucien held out his hand with a wide grin. "Deal. Besides, there's no way you could do what I need with your body covered in bruises like that."
He turned to the correctional officer who had escorted Isolde.
"You can go with the guard—he'll help you pack your things. And your mother's."
"Oh, one more thing," Isolde added. "I don't want to be in the same car as my mother. Send her to my sister's house. I'm sure you know the address—that shouldn't be too hard for someone like you."
Lucien gave a slight nod, and Isolde left with the correctional officer.
Moments after she was gone, another inmate was brought in to meet Lucien.
It was inmate number 296—the same one who had tripped Isolde on purpose to provoke a fight the day before.
Lucien reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of ecstasy, slipping it into the inmate's hand.
"Payment for your hard work," Lucien whispered into her ear.
The inmate frowned. "This is too little. It's not worth what I did."
"Hey. It's enough to keep you flying for a week. If you want more, use your talents—open your legs for the guards. Maybe if you're good enough, they'll let you use the confiscated stash." Lucien whispered again before pushing inmate 296 out of his way.
…