Chapter 85 – Relaxation Centre

Margot’s POV

Scarface stepped forward with all the calm menace of someone who knew we were hanging onto his every word. His hands clasped behind his back, his gait slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the control.

“Let me remind you,” he added, tone sharpening, “that honesty is expected. But dishonesty will be recognized. Fabrication, manipulation, or withholding of key details will reflect negatively on your record. And your partner’s.”

Crap…

“Before we begin… let me debrief you on what the rest of today will entail.” He started up again. His eyes swept the room, pausing on a few girls long enough to make them fidget in their seats.

The man had a gift for discomfort, that was for sure. No yelling, no theatrics. Just quiet, slow control.

“Every Saturday,” he continued, “each of you will be given the option to continue on in The Prisoner Project… or to leave.”

A few murmurs rippled through the rows of seats.

I blinked. Leave? I remember them telling us this before… but would anyone seriously opt to go home already? Why throw yourself into something like this if you weren’t prepared to at least make it to the second week? But then I guess most people in here hadn’t been so lucky with the types of inmates they were assigned to… I can only imagine what that must be like…

My heart gave a strange flutter. I glanced at Cara, who looked equally caught off guard. “We’re both staying though, right?” she whispered, as I nodded once to confirm.

The scarred man raised a hand for silence before the murmurs grew louder.

“But,” he said, his tone hardening, “if you do choose to leave the program early, you forfeit your eligibility for the financial reward at the end of the term.”

Of course. There was the reminder. The catch-22.

His lip twitched, like he enjoyed dangling that carrot in front of us. “Let that sink in before making any rash decisions, ladies. Why come all this way, survive the first week, just to leave empty-handed?”

He had a point there… even if I hated to admit it.

That smug little pause told me everything. This wasn’t a mercy. This was a manipulation. Give us a false sense of agency, then yank away the incentive that had drawn most of us here in the first place.

He didn’t need to say it out loud, we all knew the truth: no one would walk away without that money unless they were completely broken… which maybe, some of them already were.

A beat passed. Then he shifted gears with that eerie, casual tone of his, like we were about to be offered a welcome drink at a luxury hotel.

“After your one-on-one evaluations are completed, you will each be free to enjoy the rest of the day here… at the Relaxation Centre.”

The what?

I blinked again, trying to figure out if he was joking. But no – his expression was as smooth and as cold as polished steel.

“This facility was built specifically for our female participants,” he continued. “A weekly reward. A chance to reset and… recharge before another week of programming resumes.”

He stepped to the edge of the stage and nodded toward one of the suits off to the side.

A large monitor behind him flickered to life, revealing a floor plan with glowing labels: Spa, Rooftop Bar, Library, Flower Garden, Beauty Studio, and more.

A quiet wave of astonishment passed through the room.

“There is a fully equipped spa,” Scarface explained, “where each of you has your own personal locker. Inside, you’ll find fresh clothing, towels, and hygiene supplies that are not permitted inside the prison compound… including razors for shaving.”

I heard a few girls gasp softly; others exchanged wide-eyed looks. Cara raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“There’s also a rooftop bar,” he added, “serving alcohol and restaurant-style meals. All of which are complimentary for our participants every Saturday.”

That definitely got a reaction.

Laughter bubbled up from a cluster of girls in the row ahead of us. The tension in the room visibly lightened. I couldn’t blame them. After what we’d all endured, even the word 'alcohol' sounded like heaven, even for someone who didn’t exactly drink…

“A reading library is available,” he went on, “for those who wish to borrow books and take them back to the prison compound.” He stated, as I felt my chest lighten at the idea.

That would keep me going through this project… I loved reading books!

“You’ll also find a flower garden outside, complete with loungers and sun umbrellas. A studio down the hall offering classes throughout the day such as yoga, pilates, and meditation.” He continued, as the list was becoming never-ending.

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It was like someone had plucked pieces of a wellness resort brochure and shoved them into a government building.

“A small cinema where different movies will play throughout the day… and finally…” He paused, as we all waited on the edge of our seats now.

“There is a large beauty salon. Open all day. Haircuts, nail care, waxing, facials… whatever you like. Our staff is licensed and on-site.” He nodded, as though he had just delivered Christmas early.

He let that hang there like an infomercial pitch.

“This,” he said, drawing himself up straighter, “is your reward. A paradise, if you will. A controlled one, but yours nonetheless. If you have a hard week, which no doubt you will sometimes, then you always have this to look forward to!”

I had no words. My head was spinning. Was this a joke? A trap? It was almost too good to be true…

Cara leaned toward me with a dry scoff. “They’re seriously trying to bribe us with spa days and booze.”

I let out a quiet, stunned breath. “If this is a bribe, it’s a damn good one.”

“True…” she suddenly giggled, as I held back my own laugh.

He returned to center stage again, his voice sharpening slightly as he came to a close.

“You will remain here until your name is called. After your evaluation, you’ll be free to explore the center at your leisure. Take care of yourselves. You’ll need the strength for returning later tonight…”

And with that, he stepped back, allowing his clipboard-wielding colleagues to begin checking their notes.

A quiet buzz of conversation reignited in the hall, now filled with a very different energy—one of cautious optimism, confusion, and whispered excitement.

Cara flopped back in her chair. “Okay, that’s not the worst at least.”

“No,” I agreed, already jittery. “I just hope they call us quick to get it over with.”

I wasn’t eager to lounge in a robe or sip a fancy cocktail.

Not yet.

First, I had to give my report.

The thought of sitting in a private room with a psychologist and laying out everything from the past week made my palms sweat.

A relaxation centre.

That’s what they called it.

Hopefully it works…