Shadows In Steel

In this prison, inmates are nothing but breathing property.

And me?

I’m the most defiant piece of filth in this private cage.

Aaron is the man who holds the key—a warden rumored to have no soul and even fewer weaknesses.

He was always a statue in black. Uniform pressed to perfection. Buttons fastened to the throat. Boots polished like mirrors. He watched us from his raised platform with eyes like winter—cold, distant, untouchable.

Until that midnight.

When an “infraction” earned me a personal summon to his private quarters.

No cameras.

No witnesses.

Just the sterile hum of fluorescent lights and the weight of locked doors.

He removed his cap first.

Then the belt.

The heavy leather slid free with a slow hiss. When the metal buckle struck the floor, the crack echoed off concrete walls like a warning shot.

“You thought a riot would get my attention?”

Before I could answer—before I could even inhale—his fist tangled in my hair. My head jerked back. A sharp sting burst across my scalp as he forced me down, driving me to my knees between his thighs.

His palm collided with my face.

Hard.

My vision flashed white. My head snapped sideways. The copper taste of blood bloomed instantly across my tongue.

“Cole,” he growled.

He leaned closer, the stiff fabric of his uniform brushing my nose. His voice lowered, smoothing into something deadly. Controlled. Predatory.

“I’m going to teach you what ‘discipline’ means in my world.”

The word discipline sounded less like a lesson—

And more like a sentence.

“Now,” he said quietly. “Use your mouth. Pick up the belt.”

– Four Years Earlier –

February 14, 2021

9:52 a.m.

"Fuck!”

I coughed. Hard.

The burnt chicken choked me.

Smoke curls toward the ceiling.

That was the second chicken.

I was aiming for grilled chicken with garlic butter shrimp.

Simple and perfect for a romantic dinner. Plus it was Jess's favourite.

What I created looks like charcoal with ambition.

I stare at the pan in disbelief.

I am genuinely terrible at this.

There’s only one option left.

Claire.

I prop my phone against the counter and FaceTime her.

It rings once.

Twice.

She answers, her voice filling the kitchen. “Hey, Cole. What’s up?”

I clap my hands together in mock desperation. “Claire. I need help. I’m cooked.”

She squints. “What happened? Are you okay, did something happen?”

Without a word, I tilt the phone toward the tray.

Burnt chicken in full display.

“Ohhh, fuck. That's crazy man” she says, pressing a hand to her mouth. “More like you’re roasted.”

She bursts out laughing.

“This is not funny,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “It’s our anniversary. I just wanted to make something nice for Jess.”

Her laughter softens.

“Alright,” she says finally. “I’ll save you. But you owe me. Big time.”

“I’ll name my first kid after you.”

“Don’t push it.”

With Claire walking me through every step, dinner slowly transforms from disaster into something edible. Then impressive. Then actually good. Jess would really love this.

By the time we hang up, the kitchen smells incredible.

The gifts arrive.

The cake arrives.

The table is set.

Everything is perfect.

All that’s left is to shower, dress up, and wait for Jess to come home.

And for the night to begin.

_

It was past 10pm already, I stood by the door. Flowers in hand, waiting for Jess.

But she doesn't show up.

I texted, called.

Texted again and again.

But, no reply.

I already called Claire about five times already but, she knew nothing of Jess's whereabouts.

I paced back and forth in the living room, checking my screen from time-to-time. Waiting for something.

A text.

A call.

Anything.

I couldn't call the cops because it wasn't up to twenty four hours yet, so all I could do was sit idle.

And wait.

I felt helpless. She'd never been this late. And if she ever needed to skip dinner or branch anywhere...

She called in advance.

Fear and anxiety crept in, subtle at first.

What if something happened ?, what if she was hurt. Kidnapped. Anything.

I palmed my face, already feeling sticky from sweat.

I stared at the table, what was supposed to be a romantic anniversary dinner, was now a flipping mess.

The candles burned lower than they were originally meant to.

Wax pooled at the base of each one, softening the sharp edges of the table setting I spent time arranging.

And the food, well.... The chicken looked fine at least, but the butter and shrimp, all mushy.

I looked at the flowers, they were already beginning to lean.

I checked the clock, it was past 11 now.

I stared at my screen, I was scared, yes. Anxious, totally. But I just couldn't bring myself to call.

I didn't want to seem insecure.

Dramatic.

Controlling.

At 11: 52, headlights sweep across the living room wall.

I'm at the door before she even unlocks it.

When she steps inside, she looks tired. Slightly flushed, sweaty, drained.

Before I could speak, she lounges into my arms, "I'm so sorry Cole, my battery died, I had to stay extra hours at work. I'm sorry."

I exhaled, biting back my questions, "it's okay baby, it's okay. You're home now."

Came out more like I was assuring myself and not her.

When we finally let go of each other, she noticed the slight changes in the living room.

The decorations. The lights. The flower petals on the floor. The balloons. The framed photo of our first trip together.

"Cole....." She called, hand over her mouth, "this is.... This is crazy" her eyes were glossy.

Her smile softened - and for just a moment, something flickered behind her eyes. Something complicated. It's swift.

I ignore it.

She's just probably tired from having a long day.

"You did all this.... Yourself ?"

"It's our anniversary baby, and it's also Valentine's. You're special so you deserve every good thing." I said wiping her tears gently.

"Awwwww, Cole...... I love you."

She pulls me in for a kiss, it's slow, tender, long. It felt good. Like home.

"Thank you Cole" she whispered. And I hugged her tightly. "Thank you so much."

Something felt weird about tonight. Crazily weird.