C3

“Bend over, cough, and don't make a sound unless you want a baton across your spine.”

The female guard’s rubber-gloved hand shoves my head down onto the cold, disinfectant-slick metal table. I clench my teeth so hard my jaw pops, holding back the bile rising in my throat as she roughly searches my body, treating me like a carcass on a hook.

“The wedding witch finally got what she deserved,” the second guard mutters, tossing my torn champagne dress into a yellow hazmat bin. “She thought she could poison Alpha Lancelot's bride and walk away.”

They toss a faded, oversized orange jumpsuit onto the table. It smells like harsh lye and old sweat. As I pull the rough fabric over my bare skin, my mind snaps backward. I remember when Kara used to wash my hair in her marble bathtub, laughing while she braided soft jasmine flowers into my curls. Now, cold hands pry through my hair, searching for hidden razor blades. She used to call me her sister. Now strangers search my private parts while guards laugh at my shame.

“Get moving, inmate,” the guard growls, slamming a wooden baton against the cell bars.

They drag me down a dim hallway filled with the sound of clanging iron and echoed screams. Female wolves press their painted faces against the rusted bars as I pass, their yellow eyes glowing with hungry, predatory delight. They know who I am. They watched the livestream.

“Fresh meat!” a heavy wolf sneers, spitting through the grates. “We’re gonna tear you apart, bride-killer!”

The guard unlocks Cell 412 and shoves me inside. My knees hit the concrete floor hard, skin splitting open. The heavy metal door slams shut behind me with a thunderous bang, locking out the world forever.

I sit on the edge of the rusted metal bunk, my body shivering violently under the thin jumpsuit. The air is freezing, smelling of damp stone and old blood.

Before I can even catch my breath, a shadow falls over my bed. A tall, scarred inmate steps out from the corner. Without a word, her fist flies across my face.

My head snaps back against the concrete wall with a sickening crack. Blood bursts from my lip, warm and metallic, dripping onto my chin. She grabs my collar, yanking me up and slamming my back against the wall again. Pain flares through my ribs.

“You’re the rich little pack princess who tried to murder Luna Kara,” she growls, drawing back her fist for another blow.

I don't scream. I don't beg. Instead, a wild, broken laugh bursts out of my throat, raw and hysterical. I look her dead in the eye, blood coating my teeth.

“Do it,” I laugh, my voice cracking with pure madness. “Kill me! I’ve already lost my mate, my pack, my freedom, and my dignity! What else are you going to take from me?”

The inmate stops, her fist hovering inches from my nose. She stares at me, her eyes widening with genuine unease. Wolves fear strength, but they are terrified of someone who craves death. She slowly drops her hand, disgusted, and backs away into the dark corner of the cell.

“You’re crazy, bitch,” she mutters.

An hour later, two guards rattle my bars and drag me down to the prison medical bay for mandatory intake processing. The room smells like bleach and rubbing alcohol.

A female doctor with grey hair sits behind a wooden desk, scanning my intake papers. She motions for me to sit on the exam table.

“Lift your shirt,” the doctor commands softly, picking up a cold stethoscope.

I pull the front of my jumpsuit up just enough for her to listen to my lungs. But as the fabric rises, the doctor’s hands freeze. Her breath hitches.

She stares at my lower abdomen. Dense, jagged purple scar tissue covers my pelvis, stretching wide across my belly.

“This scarring is recent,” the doctor says, her professional tone dropping into something dark and heavy. “And extremely traumatic. This wasn't a wolf claw. How many months along were you when this happened?”

My chest locks up. My lungs refuse to take in air. I instantly pull my jumpsuit down, my hands trembling violently as I press them over my stomach.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I whisper, staring at the floor.

“I am a prison doctor, Precious, but I was a midwife for thirty years,” she persists, leaning in close, her eyes filled with grave concern. “That scar tissue comes from a forced, surgical emergency curettage. You lost a baby. Recently. Who did this to you?”

“I fell,” I whisper, my teeth chattering as the dark memory threatens to drown me. “Down the stairs. At a pack party.”

The doctor’s face hardens. Her eyes say she doesn't believe a single word coming out of my mouth, but she slowly writes something down on her clipboard without pressing further.

“You’re severely anemic,” the doctor says coldly, stamping my file. “Take her back to her cell.”

By midnight, the cell block is deathly quiet, save for the distant dripping of water and soft whimpering from down the hall.

I lie flat on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, every bone in my body aching.

A soft swoosh echoes near the bottom of the cell door.

I sit up sharply. A plain white envelope has been slid beneath the heavy iron door.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I slide off the bed, my bare feet freezing on the stone floor, and pick it up. The paper is heavy, expensive, smelling faintly of sweet jasmine.

Kara’s handwriting spans the front in elegant gold ink.

I tear the envelope open with shaking fingers. Inside is a single sheet of paper with a brief, handwritten message:

“Enjoy your new home, Precious. P.S. — I donated your entire ‘Precious Glow’ potion formula to the pack charity today. In my name, of course. Everyone thinks I’m a saint.”

A hot, furious rage burns through my veins. She took my life, she took my mate, and now she stole the healing spell formula I spent three years creating. I grip the paper, my knuckles turning white as I begin to tear it to shreds.

Then my eyes catch the fine, cramped postscript written at the very bottom of the page in jagged ink:

“You should thank me for making sure you lost it during that fall down the stairs. The baby would have been ugly anyway.”

The room spins violently. Air leaves my lungs in a sharp, agonizing gasp.

Suddenly, a blinding, razor-sharp pain slices through my gut. I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach as a violent wave of nausea hits me. I choke, gasping for air, and clap both hands over my mouth.

When I pull my hands away, my palms are covered in thick, dark crimson blood.

I cough again, coughing up a heavy splatter of blood straight onto the white concrete floor. The red fluid pools between my knees, dark and steaming in the cold night air. The pain inside my stomach feels like hot iron tearing through my organs.

Something is deeply wrong inside me—something poisoned, something rotten that began long before I stepped into this cell.

I open my mouth and unleash a raw, blood-curdling scream that shatters the silence of the prison block. It is a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and rage that makes guards down the hallway drop their batons and run toward Cell 412.

Footsteps echo rapidly down the corridor. Heavy boots pound against the stone floor.

By the time two guards slam their keys into the lock and throw the cell door open, flashlight beams blinding the dark room, my screaming has completely stopped.

I sit on the blood-stained floor, wiping the thick crimson smear from my lips with the back of my hand. I am completely motionless. I look up at the guards, my eyes totally hollow, a terrifying, silent smile spreading across my red-stained face.

I don't look at the guards. I look right past them, staring straight into the dark security camera mounted on the corner wall.

“You should have killed me, Kara,” I speak softly to the empty air, my voice dripping with cold, deadly promise. “Because now I have nothing left to lose.”

Two floors up, in the dark monitoring room overlooking the prison grounds, Theo sits in a leather chair.

He watches the security monitor, the live feed showing Precious covered in blood, smiling directly into the lens.

Theo slowly closes his leather notebook, setting a gold pen beside the screen.

For the first time since the trial began, the corner of his sharp mouth twitches upward into a dark, satisfied smile.