The Prison Project Novels & Stories

Killian I followed Lucas towards the jail cells in the lower level of the Pack prison. The upper floors were used for administration with areas being newly sanctioned off for rehabilitation. One of Elena’s lists included prison reform, and as I entered the building I knew she was correct. Punishment alone would not force a man to repent his crimes. Only opportunities to improve quality of life could turn a criminal into an upstanding citizen. “They were out in the courtyard,” Lucas explained on the way, “taking their morning exercise. Each prisoner walks with a guard, sometimes two if they have exhibited threatening behavior.”

“Rachel doesn’t want redemption. She wants validation, which is not the same thing.” Still, she didn’t tell me not to do it. Maybe because she knew I wouldn’t listen. Or maybe because she saw the same thing I did in Rachel’s eyes—something fractured. And familiar. I spent the rest of the morning in my office, pulling up every document I could find on the Sanborn Project. Buried articles, old grant mentions, dusty nonprofit databases. It was real. A massive plan to create a women’s rehabilitation campus, complete with transitional housing, trauma therapy, and job placement services. A dream decades ahead of its time.

After spending time arranging all that, I went to the bathroom to freshen up, I was changing and I could feel it slowly. I went under the shower and put on the shower to cleanse my body and it helped bring down my throbbing Heart. After freshening up I wore a pair of shorts and shirt and went straight to my bed and laid on it, and slowly my eyes became weak and I slowly slept off. Lucy’s pov. “Elliot, is Dominic not acting straight?” I asked him. Because it’s not adding up at all. “I don’t know what you mean Lucy,” Elliot says. “It’s weird how that prisoner is being treated, she is not treated as a prisoner properly,Elliot” I said to him while using my right hand to mess up with my hair.

"You should look into what happened to Rosabella in prison." "What happened?" "That's where this divorce really started." Mia took her phone back and turned to leave. "Wait!" I stopped her. "What exactly happened to her in prison?" Mia paused and looked back at me. "Broken bones, a ruptured spleen, thirteen knife scars," Mia’s voice was cold. "And PTSD, malnutrition, chronic insomnia." Every word was a bullet to my heart. "How… how is that possible? I paid people off…" "Paid them off?" Mia sneered. "Who did you pay? The Rossi family?"

Third person pov: The Council’s high-security prison was a cold, underground fortress made of white stone and reinforced steel. There were no windows, no clocks, and no sounds except for the hum of the air vents. In the center of the most secure cell sat Silas. He wasn't wearing his expensive silk suits anymore. He was in a plain gray jumpsuit, his hands and feet shackled to the floor. But even in chains, he didn't look like a prisoner. He sat with his back straight, a calm, bored expression on his face.

T he creation of the prison had begun.

The thought of her frantic calls, her unanswered texts, twisted a knot of guilt in my stomach. Despite Adrian’s power, his influence, his overwhelming presence, I refused to give in. I refused to be his puppet, his whore. I clung to that small spark of defiance, that refusal to be broken, as if it were a lifeline. Ten days. Ten agonizing days had passed since I was imprisoned in this opulent prison. The walls seemed to be closing in on me, the silence amplifying the turmoil within me. My sanity felt like it was slipping away, slowly, inexorably. Adrian remained steadfast in his demands, his resolve unshakeable. Every passing day reinforced the grim reality: he wouldn’t release me until the r

"And the freed half of the buried world knows exactly how the angry half operates, because until six weeks ago they were all in the same rooms. Adrian, you wanted to attack our own design before the world does. You are going to have help. We are going to build the shelter, and then we are going to staff it with the very people the network used to own, because a jailer's secrets are worth nothing against a prison full of freed inmates who remember every corridor."

I never heard from him again. The day I called the police, I moved out of the apartment. The company set me up in a luxury unit downtown and gave me a company car. Three months in, a major event I led pulled in four million dollars for the company. I was promoted straight to Director. The film adapted from my novel premiered. I left two unhealthy relationships behind. And I finally walked into the life I deserved. --- [End]

Inside the café, they met with a contact, a retired prison warden who had knowledge of the inner workings of Citadel Penitentiary. The warden, a grizzled man with a weathered face, greeted them with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. He understood the enormity of their request and the risks involved. He shared valuable insights, detailing the protocols, the key personnel, and the intricate system of checks and balances that governed the operations of the prison. As they sat in a secluded corner of the café, poring over maps and blueprints, the weight of the task ahead settled upon them. They knew they were up against formidable odds, but they were driven by a shared determination to reunite