CHAPTER 003
1055 Words
LYRA’S POINT OF VIEW
Cold crept in through the cracks in the walls, seeped into my skin, and wrapped around my bones like an iron grip. No matter how tightly I curled up on the thin mattress, the chill never left.
The cell reeked of damp concrete and sweat. Scratches and names, ghosts of the people who had lived here before me stained the walls.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I pressed my hands against my face, my fingers trembling.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
But the bruises on my wrists from the handcuffs said otherwise. The ache in my ribs screamed the truth about where the officer shoved me into the police car.
Kieran believed them.
He thought I did this.
I swallowed hard, my throat raw from screaming. It hadn’t mattered. No one had listened. The police, the judge, and even the man who had once professed his love for me had not listened
Love.
What a cruel joke.
A sharp clang echoed through the hall, followed by the sound of footsteps. Heavy. Measured.
I was tensed.
The women in the cell across from mine stopped their quiet murmuring, their eyes flickering toward the approaching guard.
The footsteps stopped outside my cell.
"You've got a visitor," the guard muttered.
Hope flared, then died just as quickly.
Kieran wouldn’t come. He had already condemned me.
Still, I forced myself to stand, my legs shaky from exhaustion. The door buzzed, then slid open. The guard grabbed my arm, his grip rough as he led me down the hallway.
Eyes followed me.
Some were filled with curiosity. Others are driven by a deep hunger.
I kept my gaze forward.
We reached a small room with a scratched-up metal table and two chairs. A woman sat waiting, her face sharp, her posture relaxed, but her eyes— her eyes were too knowing.
The guard shoved me inside. "Ten minutes."
The door shut behind me.
The woman leaned back in her chair, watching me.
"You’re Lyra Whitmore."
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
She smirked. "You’ve made quite the name for yourself. The rich fiancée turned criminal. "They're tearing you apart out there."
My jaw tightened. "Who are you?"
"Celeste Moreau," she said easily. "And I know exactly what they did to you."
I stared at her. "I don’t even know what they did to me."
She chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart, they caged you. Just like they did to me."
I sat down slowly, my body still on high alert. "What do you want?"
Celeste tilted her head. "The real question is—what do you want?"
I hesitated.
What did I want?
Justice? Revenge? Will I wake up and realize this was all a nightmare?
"I didn’t do it," I whispered.
Celeste’s smile faded. "I know."
My fingers dug into the edge of the table. "Then why am I here?"
She shrugged. "Because someone made sure you would be."
My stomach twisted. "You mean—"
"A setup," Celeste said simply. "And a damn good one. Someone wanted you out of the picture."
Kieran.
The name burned in my throat like acid.
"I—" My voice cracked. "I don’t know how to fix this."
Celeste leaned forward, her eyes dark. "Then you have two choices. You break… or yo… or you break out."
My breath hitched.
Escape?
That wasn’t possible.
Was it?
Before I could respond, the guard returned. "Time’s up."
Celeste stood, her smirk returning. "Think about it, princess."
Then she vanished.
The guard yanked me to my feet, dragging me back to my cell. My thoughts spun, my pulse pounding.
Break… or break out.
I had nothing left.
No one was coming to save me.
Maybe Celeste was right.
Maybe escape was my only option.
The sickness started three days later.
At first, it was just nausea. It was a wave of dizziness that left me gripping the sink in the tiny bathroom attached to my cell.
Then came the vomiting.
I barely made it to the toilet before my stomach heaved, emptying whatever little I had eaten.
My cellmate, a woman named Tasha, watched from her bunk. "You pregnant?"
The words struck me with a forceful impact.
I shook my head. "No. I—"
The world swayed, and I collapsed onto the cold tile.
The next thing I knew, I was in the infirmary.
A man in a white coat frowned down at me. "When was your last period?"
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
I tried to remember. Count back the weeks.
And then—
No.
No, no, no.
Kieran.
That was the final moment we shared together. It was the night before everything fell apart.
The doctor’s voice was distant. "We’ll do a test, but given your symptoms, I’d say you’re about six weeks along."
Six weeks.
Pregnant.
I stared at the ceiling, my mind unraveling.
Such an event couldn’t be happening.
However, I knew deep down that it was already true.
Something inside me curled up, warm and fragile. A life.
His life.
Kieran’s.
Tears burned my eyes.
He would never know.
And he didn’t deserve to.
Not after what he did to me.
He threw me away like I was nothing.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, my fingers trembling.
It didn’t matter what happened to me anymore.
I had to survive.
For them.
This is for my child.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Tasha was snoring softly in the bunk across from me.
I felt sick.
The pain stems not just from the pregnancy, but from everything. The feelings of betrayal, fear, and uncertainty are overwhelming.
I found myself imprisoned.
But I wasn’t alone anymore.
There was a small, fragile heartbeat inside me now. It was dependent on me.
I wouldn’t let them take that away.
Footsteps.
I tensed, turning my head toward the bars.
A shadow passed by.
Then—
A whisper.
"There’s a way out."
My breath caught.
The figure didn’t stop walking, but the voice lingered.
"But it’ll cost you."
My heart pounded against my ribs.
Who?
What did they mean?
I sat up slowly, my fingers digging into the thin blanket.
Break… or break out.
Celeste’s words echoed in my head.
Maybe this was my answer.
Maybe… there was still a way out.
- Writer
