It had been a week since I was locked up in that suffocating cell, and the walls had already begun to feel like they were breathing with me — stale air, cold cement, the constant buzz of fluorescent light flickering over my head.

Each passing day had been nothing short of torture.

Not the kind that comes from bruises or chains — but from silence, from the way time stretched painfully when you had nothing left but thoughts that refused to stop whispering why and how.

Vincent had been coming to visit lately — though I didn’t know why.

Sometimes he’d stand outside the cell without saying a word, his tall frame casting a long shadow through the small bars. Sometimes he’d ask short questions — “Are you eating?” “Do you need anything?” — in that same cold, distant tone that made my chest tighten.

And sometimes, he just watched me — his eyes unreadable, like he was trying to see through me, searching for something I couldn’t give him anymore.

I didn’t know whether to hate him or to pity him.

He didn’t believe me, yet he still came.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe habit.

Or maybe he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t pretending to be weak.

Either way, his visits drained me more than the silence ever could.

Then there was Morgan .

My sweet, loud, hot-headed friend who refused to let anyone silence her.

She had visited four times in total, each time bringing chaos into the cold station.

The guards didn’t know what to do with her — she was like a storm in human form.

The last time she came, she’d completely lost it.

She screamed at Vincent so loudly that even the officers outside had paused to stare.

Tears streaked down her cheeks as she threw her purse on the ground and almost lunged at him with the metal pin from her shirt, calling him every name imaginable.

> “You’re a heartless bastard!” she had shouted.

> “How can you even look at her after what you’ve done!?”

Her voice had cracked, trembling with anger and heartbreak all at once.

I’d had to beg her to stop, grabbing her trembling hand through the bars, whispering, “Please, Morgan, enough. Just go. Don’t make this worse.”

Her eyes had softened immediately, but I saw the fire still burning there — a promise that she would make things right if no one else did.

And Adrian...

If there was anyone who had kept me alive these past few days, it was him.

He came every single day, his presence steady, calm — a comfort I didn’t realize I’d needed so badly.

He made sure I got proper food, brought in medications when the cold floor made my body ache, and even convinced one of the officers to get me an extra blanket.

He didn’t talk much about the case; he just reassured me over and over, “Alice, we’ll get you out. I promise you. Just hang on.”

Sometimes I’d just sit there and watch him talk to the officers with that unshakable confidence. He always had this calm authority — the kind that made people listen.

And every time he walked out, I felt like a little part of my fear went with him.

But even with all that, the nights were the worst.

That was when the reality hit hardest — when I was alone, and the whispers of my thoughts became too loud.

The night before everything changed, I’d sat on the edge of the small metal bed, staring at the cracked wall, my mind drifting in and out. My fingers trembled as I pressed a hand against my abdomen, my heart pounding.

Earlier , when I’d gone into the restroom in the cell, I had seen blood again — faint but enough to freeze me in terror. My hands shook violently as I stared down at the reddish stain on my underwear, a shiver running through me.

Panic seized me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe. My hands flew instinctively to my stomach as tears welled up in my eyes.

“No… please no…” I whispered shakily.

The fear was unbearable. The thought of losing these tiny lives — the innocent, fragile thing I had left — tore something inside me. I didn’t care about the accusations, or the humiliation, or the betrayal anymore. None of it mattered.

I just didn’t want to lose my babies.

Our babies.

For a moment, I even thought of calling for Vincent — but the idea died before it could leave my lips. He wouldn’t believe me. He didn’t believe anything that came from me anymore. And the thought of him doubting me again was a pain I couldn’t survive.

So I sat there on the cold floor, sobbing silently, pressing my trembling palms to my stomach, whispering promises that everything would be okay — even though I wasn’t sure it would.

---

The next morning came slow.

The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall, and I pulled my thin blanket tighter around myself, half-asleep.

Then, suddenly, the metallic clang of the cell door opening snapped me awake.

Two officers stood in the doorway, their expressions neutral.

“Miss Alice Markston,” one of them said. “Please come with us.”

I blinked, confused. “W-What? Where are we going?”

They didn’t answer — just gestured for me to step out. My hands trembled as I rose to my feet, my mind spinning with possibilities. My heart raced painfully in my chest as I followed them down the dimly lit corridor.

When we reached the main office, I froze.

Adrian was there — standing by the desk, his usual calm expression replaced by a bright, relieved smile.

“Adrian?” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He turned the moment he saw me. “Alice.” His voice cracked with relief as he stepped closer, his eyes softening. “It’s over. You’re free.”

I blinked rapidly, the words barely registering. “What… what do you mean?”

“The maid confessed,” he said, his tone almost trembling from how quickly the words rushed out. “They found a hidden camera near the staircase. She admitted everything — said someone paid her to frame you. But she refused to say who it was.”

My lips parted as a soft gasp escaped. I felt my knees weaken.

It was like air finally filled my lungs again after days of suffocation.

“Adrian…” I whispered, tears already gathering in my eyes. “I… I can’t believe it…”

He smiled gently, stepping forward to steady me by the shoulders. “You don’t have to believe it, Alice. You’re going home.”

Home.

The word almost felt foreign.

---

By the time I stepped out of the police station, the bright sunlight blinded me.

For a moment, I just stood there, closing my eyes as the warmth touched my face. The wind brushed against my hair, carrying the faint scent of the city — exhaust, people, and something painfully alive.

I took a deep breath.

Finally.

After days of stale air and iron bars, I was finally breathing again.

“Come on,” Adrian said gently, motioning toward the car parked outside. “Let’s get you something to eat first.”

I nodded weakly, following him down the steps. But before I could take another step — I froze.

Standing near the doorway, leaning casually with his hands in his pockets, was Vincent.

He looked… different.

The same sharp suit, the same clean-cut perfection — but there was something off. His face was pale, his eyes darker than I remembered. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the guilt he was too proud to admit.

For a moment, our eyes met — just for a heartbeat — and it was enough to make every memory flash through my mind. Every moment we’d shared. Every word that had torn us apart.

He started walking toward me — each step measured, graceful, heavy with the kind of presence that used to make my heart race.

But now, I felt nothing.

No warmth. No longing.

Just the dull ache of betrayal.

I straightened, my fingers tightening around the small bag Adrian had given me. Without a word, I stepped aside and walked past him, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement.

I didn’t look back.

Not once.

The only sound that followed me was the quiet sigh that escaped him — and the unspoken words he’d never say.

---

At the entrance of the parking lot, the old butler came rushing forward. His wrinkled face was drawn with worry and relief.

“Madam Alice!” he called, slightly breathless. “The old Matriarch sent me — she wants you to come home. Please, the mansion is not the same without you.”

I turned to him, my throat tightening.

He looked at me like a father would, his old eyes glistening.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, shaking my head. “Tell Grandma that I’m grateful for her kindness… but I can’t go back. Not now.”

“Madam, please—”

“No,” I interrupted gently, forcing a small smile. “It’s better this way. She deserves peace, not more chaos.”

The butler’s shoulders slumped. He looked at me for a long time before bowing slightly. “As you wish, Madam.”

I turned back toward Adrian, who had been quietly waiting by the car. He gave me a look — half admiration, half worry.

“You sure about this?” he asked softly as he opened the car door for me.

I nodded, climbing in. “Yes. I’m done chasing people who never believed in me.”

He smiled faintly as he got in beside me. “Then where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere quiet, at least for now” I said, looking out the window as the city began to blur past. “I just want peace, Adrian. For me… and for the little ones I’m carrying.”

His hand froze on the steering wheel, eyes widening slightly, but before he could speak, I leaned my head against the glass and closed my eyes.

For the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t thinking about Vincent, or the mansion, or the Markston name.

I was thinking about freedom.

About starting over.

And about protecting the small, fragile life growing inside me — the only piece of love I had left.