Chapter 16: Shadows Behind Bars
Chapter 16: Shadows Behind Bars
Two hundred miles away from the glittering lights of Manhattan, the environment was entirely devoid of warmth, color, or hope.
Maximum-security federal prison block B was a labyrinth of cold gray concrete, steel bars, and the ceaseless, depressing clang of heavy doors. In cell 412, Isabella Rossi sat on a narrow, uncomfortable metal bunk, staring blankly at the chipped green paint of the wall inches from her face.
She wore the same coarse, scratchy gray jumpsuit she had worn on the day of her sentencing. Her hair hung lank and unwashed around her hollow cheeks. The pristine socialite who once demanded obedience with a wave of her manicured hand was completely gone, replaced by an invisible ghost forgotten by the world she once tried to rule.
Footsteps echoed down the metal-grated walkway. A corrections officer stopped outside her cell, banging a heavy baton against the bars.
"Rossi. Recreation time. Move," the guard ordered flatly, not even bothering to look at her.
Isabella didn't move. She didn't blink.
She thought about the gala. She thought about the VIP suite. She thought about the moment she struck a pregnant woman with her stiletto heel, believing she was securing her place at the top of high society.
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Instead, she had handed over the exact evidence that detonated her entire existence.
A sharp, bitter sob caught in her throat, but no tears came. There were no tears left. There was only the endless, ticking silence of a fifteen-year sentence, and the torturous knowledge that out in the real world, the family she tried to shatter was more powerful, more in love, and more unbreakable than ever before.
