The clang of the breakfast bell jolted Sophia awake. The air in the cellblock was damp and sour, heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and boiled porridge. She pushed herself up slowly, her stomach twisting. The nausea had grown worse.

Tasha swung down from the top bunk, giving her a worried look. “You look like death.”

Sophia forced a smile. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Tasha folded her arms. “I mean it. You’re pale. They’ll notice soon.”

Sophia pressed her palm against her belly beneath the thin prison fabric. A secret she couldn’t protect in this place. “Let them notice,” she muttered, though fear burned her throat.

At breakfast, Marla strutted past, smacking Sophia’s tray so that the grey mush splattered across her lap. “Oops. Guess I slipped.”

Sophia’s fists clenched. She wanted to hurl the tray at her, to scream, to fight—but her body sagged with weakness. The laughter from the tables stung more than the cold food soaking her skirt.

“Leave her,” Tasha snapped, sliding in front of Sophia like a shield.

Marla smirked. “Or what? Princess will faint before she swings.” She leaned close to Sophia’s ear as she sauntered away. “Better guard that belly. Secrets don’t stay secrets long in here.”

Sophia’s blood chilled. She bent her head, staring at the mess on her tray until her vision blurred.

---

When the guards called her name later that morning, Sophia assumed it was for the infirmary again. But Tasha grinned. “Not this time. Someone’s here for you.”

Sophia’s heart jumped. For a moment she imagined Lucas, impossible as it was. When she was ushered into the visiting room, the sight of her mother made her knees buckle.

“Mother,” she whispered, the word breaking as she picked up the phone behind the glass.

Mrs Kingston pressed her hand to the partition, her eyes red. “My darling girl.”

Sophia’s throat ached. “Where is Father? Why won’t he come?”

Her mother’s lips trembled. “He… he can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Sophia’s voice rose. Guards shifted near the door.

Tears welled in Mrs Kingston eyes. “He says the family must stay out of the scandal. He believes silence is survival.”

Sophia’s breath caught. Her chest cracked open. “So his name means more than me.”

“No!” her mother cried. “I begged him, Sophia. I screamed at him. But he—”

“Then I have no father.” Sophia’s voice was steel now. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Her mother shook her head desperately. “Don’t say that. I will never abandon you. Never. I’ll fight for you if I have to stand alone.”

Sophia’s hand trembled against the glass. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Mrs Kingston face crumpled. “Because I thought… I thought he was right. That silence would shield us. But it’s killing me. I had to see you with my own eyes.”

Sophia bit her lip until blood came. “You still love him, don’t you?”

Mrs Kingston flinched. “He’s my husband. But you—you’re my daughter. If I must choose, I’ll choose you.”

The words cracked something inside Sophia. Her tears spilled at last, falling fast as she pressed her forehead to the glass. For a fleeting moment, she felt like a child again, comforted by her mother’s touch even through the barrier.

Her mother searched her face. “You look so weak. Tell me, Sophia… are you ill?”

Sophia froze. For a moment she almost denied it. But then the words burst out in a whisper: “I’m pregnant, Mother. Lucas’s child.”

Mrs Kingston hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes darted toward the guards. “Oh, Sophia…”

“Please, Mother,” Sophia gasped, the words tumbling out. “Don’t let them take my baby. Promise me.”

Mrs Kingston eyes widened, but before she could answer, the guard seized Sophia’s arm and pulled her back. The phone clattered as she was dragged toward the door. Her mother’s sobs followed her into the echoing corridor.

---

At the Kingston mansion that same evening, Mr. Kingston poured himself a glass of brandy. The fire flickered, shadows dancing across his sharp features. He stared into the glass, seeing not the amber liquid but a younger face—Mary, frightened and desperate, the night she bore his child.

“Your choice,” he had whispered then, taking the infant from her arms. His choice, his sin.

The memory clawed at him now. Two women, two babies. One kept, one hidden. And now the daughter he had raised was rotting in a cell, carrying another child he could not acknowledge.

The knock at the door startled him. His wife entered without waiting for an answer. Her eyes were still swollen from tears.

“You visited her,” he said flatly.

“I did.”

“I forbade it.”

“You don’t own me,” Mrs Kingston snapped. “I’m her mother. You can wall yourself up in your ledgers, but I won’t stand by while she suffers.”

He slammed the glass down, brandy sloshing. “Do you want this house burned to the ground? Do you want the council to strip everything from us?”

“I want my daughter,” she fired back.

Their voices tangled, fury and passion in equal measure. The air between them was thick, electric, almost intimate. His hands shook on the edge of the desk. “One day you’ll see I was right.”

“One day,” she said coldly, “you’ll see you lost everything by clinging to it too tightly.”

She turned and left him to his shadows.

---

That night, Sophia was escorted back to her cell. As the guards walked ahead, their careless words echoed down the hall.

“Clinic transfer scheduled. Westbridge by the week’s end.”

“Good,” the other muttered. “Better the city deals with her before the baby complicates things.”

Sophia stumbled, nearly falling. The chains on her wrists clinked as she pressed her hands to her stomach.

Westbridge. Clinic. Transfer.

Each word pounded like a drumbeat of doom.

In the silence of the hallway, she whispered, “They won’t take you. I won’t let them.” But her voice cracked, and only the rattle of her chains answered.Still, in her heart, a tiny spark of defiance refused to die.