Scarlett’s POV

I had been in prison for five years.

Sometimes it felt like five years, sometimes a lifetime. In the beginning, I’d counted the days on the wall, scratching a tiny mark with a broken pen lid, but the habit faded. There was no point in keeping track when every day was the same as the last.

No one here cared about my past, about the woman I’d once been. To them, I was just Scarlett, the girl who’d fallen from grace, the one whose only use was to be their punching bag. I was ...