Chapter 8

Anastasia's POV

The holding cell reeks of disinfectant and despair. I've been here for six hours, sitting on a cold metal bench, my mind racing through everything that's happened. Every time I close my eyes, I see Marian's smug smile, and hear Liam's cruel laughter.

They planned this. All of it.

The door buzzes open and Detective Martinez appears with another officer. "Ms. Campbell, your attorney is here."

"My attorney?" I blink in confusion. I haven't had time to call anyone except Felicity.

She leads me to a small interrogation room where a man in an expensive suit sits waiting. He's older, maybe in his fifties, with silver hair and sharp, calculating eyes. He rises as I enter.

"Ms. Campbell, my name is Robert Black. I've been retained to represent you."

I slide into the chair across from him, my hands still trembling. "I don't understand. I didn't hire you. I can't afford—"

"Your friend Felicity contacted a legal aid organization. They referred your case to me." He opens his briefcase, pulling out a notepad. "Now, I need you to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Start from the beginning."

For the next hour, I lay it all out. My marriage to Liam. The drugging. The hotel room. The divorce. The company he stole from me. My suspicions about the hit and run being another setup.

Mr. Robert listens without interruption, occasionally making notes. When I finish, he leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"This is going to be difficult, Ms. Campbell. The evidence against you is circumstantial, but it's compelling. Your car was found at the scene. Your ex-husband reported it stolen, but only after the accident. That raises questions about his timeline."

"So you believe me?" Hope booms in my chest.

"What I believe doesn't matter. What matters is what we can prove." He taps his pen against his notepad. "The problem is, you have no alibi that can be independently verified. It's your word and your friend's against physical evidence."

My hope deflates like a punctured balloon. "So what do we do?"

"We fight. We investigate. We find holes in their story." He leans forward, his gaze intense. "But I need to be honest with you, Ms. Campbell. Given the circumstances and the evidence, they're likely going to deny bail. You need to prepare yourself for that."

My heart sinks with despair at his words. "No bail? But I'm pregnant. I have a doctor's appointment next week. I need—"

"I'll do everything I can," he says gently. "But you need to understand the reality of your situation."

****

The bail hearing is a nightmare. The prosecutor paints me as a flight risk with no ties to the community, no steady employment, and a history of erratic behavior following my divorce. They conveniently leave out the part where my husband set me up and stole everything from me.

Mr. Robert argues passionately for my release, citing my pregnancy and lack of criminal history. He points out the suspicious timing of the car being reported stolen and questions why I would commit such a crime when I had no motive.

But the judge isn't swayed. "Given the severity of the charges and the defendant's current unstable living situation, bail is denied. Ms. Campbell will remain in custody pending trial."

The gavel comes down like a death sentence. As they lead me back to the holding area, I catch a glimpse of Felicity in the gallery. She's crying, her hand pressed against her mouth. I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I can't quite manage it.

The county jail is worse than I imagined. The orange jumpsuit they give me hangs loosely on my frame. They process me like I'm cattle— fingerprints, photos, medical examination. When the nurse asks if I'm pregnant, I nod.

"How far along?"

"About six weeks, I think."

She makes a note on her clipboard, her expression neutral. 

"You'll be placed in a cell with other pregnant inmates. The medical team will monitor you, but you need to let the guards know immediately if you experience any bleeding or severe cramping."

They assign me to a cell with two other women. One is a heavily pregnant woman named Rosa who barely acknowledges my existence. The other is younger, maybe early twenties, with dark circles under her eyes that match my own.

"First time?" She asks as I settle onto the thin mattress of my bunk.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You've got that look. Like you can't believe this is real." She extends her hand. "I'm Jade."

"Anastasia." I shake her hand weakly. "How long have you been here?"

"Three months. Still waiting for my trial." She pulls her knees up to her chest. "What are you in for?"

"Vehicular manslaughter. But I didn't do it."

Jade lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, everyone in here is innocent. Didn't you know?"

I want to argue, to insist that I really am innocent, but what's the point? She's heard it all before.