Chapter 143 143. Cell Mate
Camila's POV
"Fill out your approved visitor list. You have up to ten names." The intake officer handed me a worn clipboard.
I stared at the blank lines, my hand shaking slightly as I wrote. Lucien Hayes. Maya Brooks. Rafael Cortez. Damon Ashford. Silas Ashford. Seraphina Ashford. Rosalind Park. My pen hovered over the eighth line before I added Mama Cortez. Then Javier Cortez. The tenth line stayed empty.
"That's all?"
"That's all I have."
She took the clipboard without comment and handed me a plastic bag of yellow scrubs and sandals.
"You'll change in there."
The locker room smelled like a gym that hadn't been cleaned in years. The fabric of my dress still carried traces of Lucien's cologne as I took it off. I held it to my face for a moment, breathing him in one last time, before folding it carefully and placing it in the bag they'd give back when I was released.
If I was released.
The yellow scrubs were stiff and scratchy. The plastic sandals were too big. I caught my reflection in the metal mirror and barely recognized myself.
They led me through a maze of corridors until we reached what they called a pod. A large open room with two levels of cells lining the walls, metal stairs connecting them. In the center sat bolted-down tables surrounded by women in identical yellow uniforms. The noise was overwhelming. Constant shouting, the clang of steel doors, a television mounted high on the wall playing something I couldn't hear over the chaos.
"Cell 2B," the officer unlocked a door on the upper level.
The space was barely six by eight feet. Two metal bunks bolted to the wall, a stainless steel toilet with no seat, a tiny sink. And sitting on the lower bunk was my cellmate.
She was older, maybe fifty, with a scar that ran from her left eyebrow to her jaw. Her eyes were flat and cold as they assessed me.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
I forced myself to breathe.
"Be strong. For yourself, for your family, for the man waiting for you on the outside."
"Top bunk's yours," my cellmate said, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Thank you." I climbed up, my hands gripping the metal frame. The mattress was thin as paper, the pillow a big joke. My back was against the cold wall, trying to make myself as small as possible.
My hand drifted to my pocket where I'd hidden my engagement ring. They'd let me keep it after processing, though I couldn't wear it. The stone caught the fluorescent light as I pulled it out, running my thumb over the smooth stone.
"That's an interesting ring."
I looked down. My cellmate was staring up at me.
"Thanks." I tucked it back in my pocket.
"Can I take a look?"
The request surprised me. She seemed calm, almost curious. Maybe I'd misjudged her. Maybe she wasn't as scary as she looked.
"Sure." I climbed down and held out the ring.
She took it carefully, turning it in the light. "Beautiful. Someone special give you this?"
"My fiancé." The word felt strange in this place. "Lucien. We're supposed to get married when I get out of here."
The words started flowing before I could stop them. About how we met, how he'd driven me crazy at first, how we'd fallen in love despite everything working against us. How he'd proposed in Vienna just days ago. How he'd promised to wait for me.
"He's my everything... my biggest support..."
"Must be a rich man to buy something like this."
"He's successful," a small, sad smile touched my lips. "But it's not about the money. He's the first person who ever truly saw me. He calls me Fiera."
The woman's expression shifted, a dark shadow crossing her face.
"I killed my husband," the confession dropped like a stone in the quiet cell. "Stabbed him seventeen times."
I felt a chill race down my spine, my hand twitching to reach for the ring. She didn't look at me; she was staring at the band as she slowly began to slide it onto her own ring finger. It stopped halfway, her knuckle too thick for the delicate gold.
"I need my ring back."
"It's pretty though." She twisted her hand, making the emerald catch the light. "Suits me."
"That's my engagement ring." I kept my voice leveled. "Please give it back."
"No."
The single word hit me like a slap. I looked at her face, saw the challenge there, the test. This was what I got for letting my guard down. For thinking anyone in here could be trusted.
"Give it back. Now."
"Make me."
I didn't think twice before lunging for her hand, grabbing her wrist to pry her fingers open. She was stronger and bigger, but I was desperate. She shoved me back against the metal lockers, her fist swinging out to catch me across the jaw.
My head snapped back. The world blurred for a second, but the pain only fueled the fire in my gut. I hadn't survived Victor Hayes and Ronan to be robbed by a common thief in a cage.
I threw myself at her again, my nails digging into her arm. We hit the floor in a tangle of yellow scrubs and limbs. She clawed at my face, leaving a stinging line across my cheek, but I managed to pin her arm down against the concrete. I drove my elbow into her ribs, hearing a satisfying grunt of pain.
"Give. It. Back!" I screamed, slamming my hand over hers.
I felt the ring bite into my palm as I wrenched it from her stubborn grip. I scrambled backward, clutching the jewelry against my chest, just as the heavy steel door hummed and slid open with a violent crash.
"Break it up! Now!"
A sharp crack landed across my shoulders. Then another on my back. The woman got the same treatment, both of us crumpling under the baton blows.
"On your feet! Both of you!"
I clutched the ring in my fist, tasting blood in my mouth. My cellmate's nose was definitely broken, blood streaming down her face. I had a split lip and what would probably be spectacular bruises on my ribs and back.
Worth it.
The disciplinary hearing took less than five minutes.
"Fighting on your first day." The sergeant shook her head. "That's a new record."
"But I didn't start it. She took my ring. I was just-"
"I don't care who started it. Two weeks, no visitors. Maybe that'll teach you to control yourself."