The Price of Wrong Love

*Blackthorn Penitentiary, Cell A1093* “Get up." The guard's voice sliced through Hazel's dreamless haze. She blinked, squinting against the dim flicker of the overhead light. Her bunk, an iron slab bolted to crumbling brick, groaned as she shifted. “I said up, Princess." Hazel slowly sat up, her fingers brushing the familiar constellation of bruises along her ribs. “It's Hazel," she murmured. “What?" “My name. Not Princess. Not Heiress Killer. Just Hazel." The guard smirked, grabbing her by the arm. “Whatever you say, inmate A1093." She didn't resist. Resistance earned cold showers or worse. As he dragged her down the corridor, passing cells erupted in catcalls. “Rise and shine, Kingsley!" “Give Pike my love!" “Gonna cry for your mafioso hubby again?" Hazel kept her chin up. Dignity was all she had left. The hallway stank of bleach and something more bitter—fear, maybe. He shoved her into a supply room, slamming the door shut. Another guard was waiting, already cracking his knuckles. “Again?" she said flatly. Warden Pike stepped into the room, silk tie tucked into a flak vest. “Call it a wellness check." He circled her like a vulture. “You've been too quiet lately. Makes me nervous." “I stopped screaming for fun last month." Pike's hand snapped across her face. Hazel didn't flinch. The silence afterward rang louder than the slap. “You know," Pike mused, “you're not as broken as I expected. All this time, and you still look at me like I'm beneath you." Hazel licked the blood from her lip. “Because you are." That earned her a punch to the gut. She doubled over, coughing. But still, she smiled. “Enjoy it while you can," she said through gasps. “Your paycheck has an expiration date." Pike's face darkened. “You think that mob prince of yours is coming back for you?" Hazel straightened, wiping her mouth. “No. I'm coming back for myself." --- *Flashback – Three Years Ago* “Hurry up! You're going to miss the auction!" “I'm not here for diamonds," Hazel whispered to her reflection. The glittering gala spun around her—chandeliers, champagne towers, silk gowns. She stepped off the rooftop balcony, heels clicking across marble, heart pounding. That was when she slammed into him. “I—oh!" Champagne spilled down his tuxedo. Leonardo Moretti didn't curse. He laughed. “I should charge you for dry cleaning," he said, voice like gravel and velvet. Hazel, cheeks burning, blurted, “I'll cover it. Or buy you a new one." He c****d his head. “You're not on the guest list." “Neither are you," she shot back. He grinned. “Touché. Want to disappear?" She hesitated. Then nodded. --- *Present – Blackthorn, 2 a.m.* Hazel sat on the cold cement floor of her cell, knees drawn to her chest. The moonlight filtered through a narrow slit of a window, casting shadows across her face. She whispered, “Three years, Leonardo. Three years since you smiled and said you believed in me." Silence answered. She closed her eyes, letting memories flicker like broken film reels. “You're not like the others," he once told her, fingers brushing her cheek. But when Jessica vanished, he'd looked at her with pure disgust. “Don't lie to me, Hazel," he had snarled. “Her blood's on your hands!" Hazel had screamed until her throat shredded. No one listened. --- *Guard Station, 4 a.m.* “Did you hear?" one of the junior guards whispered. “About what?" “That girl. The Carver one. Jessica." Pike leaned in. “What about her?" “She's alive. Just walked into an NYPD precinct, claiming she'd been kidnapped but escaped. Says she doesn't remember anything." Pike's coffee mug slipped. “You're kidding." “Nope. Just hit the morning wire." Pike paled. “Then that means…" “She didn't kill her," the younger guard said quietly. --- *Leonardo's Penthouse, Manhattan* Leonardo stood frozen in front of the television. Jessica Carver's face—tired, pale, perfectly intact—filled the screen. Reporters screamed questions. She smiled weakly, “I don't remember much. It's a blur. I—I think I was drugged." His hands shook. He remembered Hazel's face during the trial. Her voice, raw. “I loved you. I would never—" He had silenced her with a glare. Leonardo turned to his driver. “Blackthorn. Now." “But—" “Now!" --- *Blackthorn Gates, Dawn* Hazel's cell door clanged open. She shielded her eyes as the lights flared. Pike was there, flanked by guards—but behind him stood Leonardo. She froze. His suit was rumpled, his eyes wild. “Hazel…" She said nothing. “I was wrong," he said, stepping forward. “Jessica's alive. I—I didn't know. I didn't—" “You didn't care to," Hazel said coldly. “I'll get you out. Doctors, lawyers—anything. Just please, come with me." She rose slowly, spine straight despite her limp. “You think I want anything from you now?" He faltered. “I never stopped loving you." She laughed. “You never started." Still, she walked past Pike, past the guards, and stopped before Leonardo. “I'll go," she said. Relief softened his face. “But not because I forgive you."