Chapter 2: The Prison

During her four years in prison, her ego was destroyed by various torturous acts: whips, cigarette burns, and scalding water. She witnessed the bloody bodies of her fellow sufferers, one after another. Regularly, she drifted to sleep to the sounds of their shrieks and screams.

Her night terrors were horrific. Sometimes, she would wake at night, or open her eyes in the morning, convinced she saw a cold corpse staring at her, eyes wide open and reaching toward her throat. Sometimes, she felt the warm blood of someone who had just been slaughtered on the bunk above her. The nightmares overwhelmed her, blurring with reality and sending her into a deep, dark spiral of her own mind.

Four years in that hellhole felt like death itself had its hand around her soul, and she constantly feared becoming the next victim. Now, barely having made it out alive, she was free. The notions of love, hate, and being a Prescott heiress meant nothing anymore; it was all just drama. She just wanted to stay alive.

“We’re here. Remember what you’re supposed to do,” Harrison spoke. “And nothing more. Cross Grandma, and you know there will be consequences.”

His warning brought her back to reality as she realized they had arrived at the hospital. Frederick had already left the car unnoticed.

“I understand, Mr. Prescott,” Claire replied, hurriedly nodding. She knew Elizabeth was her only lifeline. Only if Elizabeth lived a long life could she avoid returning to that hellish abyss.

Looking up, Claire tried her best to flash a big smile as she entered the hospital room. Her face hadn't worn that expression in years, and though it felt unnatural, seeing her grandmother's face for the first time in ages was a comfort.

“Grandma, I’m back,” Claire said gently.

“Oh, my! Are you really back?” Elizabeth asked, pulling her into a hug, sobbing uncontrollably. “Oh, thank goodness you’re back… This is good… This is what’s right…”

“Yes, I’m here, Grandma,” Claire replied. Her eyes welled with tears as she held Elizabeth tightly, feeling the warmth of an embrace she hadn't felt in four years. She had missed it terribly.

“Why are you dressed so scarcely? And your dress, it’s so dirty! Harrison, how could you let your sister wear something like this?” Elizabeth scolded.

“No, it’s my fault—” Claire interjected, cringing at the word ‘sister’— “I was in a hurry to see you, Grandma, so I didn’t change my clothes.”

“I’ll take her to change,” Harrison replied, clenching his fist and leading Claire away.

When she returned, she was dressed in a bright red dress. It was lavish and silky, like the clothes she used to wear, as if she were once again the haughty heiress of the Prescott family. But four years of torment had left her so frail that even the smallest size hung loosely. Her long sleeves and coat wrapped tightly around her, making her exposed, skinny legs look even more sickly.

The very day Claire was retrieved from prison, Elizabeth agreed to surgery, continually asking about her well-being. Noticing the dark circles under her grandmother’s eyes, Claire realized that Elizabeth hadn’t slept well since her incarceration began.

Guilt and remorse coursed through her body as she considered the stress she had caused her already-ill grandmother. For years, Elizabeth had pleaded for Claire’s release. It wasn't until her stomach cancer that they reluctantly agreed to bring Claire home.

“Claire, I don’t think you killed Anna. Sure, I know you were spoiled by us, and a bit arrogant, but you’re kind-hearted… you’re not a murderer…” Elizabeth began. “You’ve suffered these past four years, my child.”

She held out her hand, tears streaming down her face as she noticed Claire’s gaunt figure, her heart aching.

“It’s okay. I’m fine, really…” Claire responded, trying to act nonchalant, but she couldn’t hold back her burning tears. She buried her head in Elizabeth’s arms and let herself cry.

She wanted to stay by her grandmother’s side that night, but Elizabeth insisted she go home: “You’ve just gotten out. These past four years must have been hard. You don’t want to be in a hospital. Listen. Go home, rest well today, and come back tomorrow, okay?”

Not wanting to worry Elizabeth, Claire nodded and headed toward the sliding doors. The word ‘home’ seemed so inaccurate now.

Once outside the hospital, she realized she had no money. Money hadn't mattered in the hellhole she'd been in for the past four years, but now, survival would be nearly impossible. She couldn’t call a cab, and no one could drive her even if they wanted to. With Harrison gone, she had no choice but to walk. Prescott Manor was far out in the suburbs, and it would take her over five hours to get there.

She had no choice but to start her journey.

The thin clothes she wore were no match for the cold. The relentless wind cut at her like a knife, and her skin burned. Her chest ached with the frigid air, and it felt like her lungs were covered in ice.

Halfway there, it started to snow. Claire used to love the snow, but now… it felt like a threat to her very life. By the time she reached the villa, her limbs were numb. So much so, that when Frederick’s Cayenne rolled up, she had no strength to move out of the way.

His eyes darkened when he saw her. He got out of the car and stormed over, showing no detectable sympathy.

“Claire, what kind of trick are you trying to play now? You really—” But he stopped mid-sentence as Claire collapsed to her knees with a thud.

“Don’t hit me. Please…” Claire begged, curling up into a ball on the ground. Flashbacks of the violence she’d endured in prison flooded her mind.

Frederick’s heart tightened, his hand frozen in mid-air, as he stared at Claire kneeling before him. Unable to respond, he averted his gaze.

“Frederick, what’s wrong?” Caroline Beaumont’s voice came from inside the car. Her hands clenched tightly as she opened the door, but her expression remained perfectly masked.

Claire froze at the sound of her smooth, familiar voice.