MK could feel her heart thudding violently against her ribs, each beat loud enough that she was convinced the officers walking beside her could hear it. The metal cuffs around her wrists were cold—too cold—biting into her skin with every step. They were heavier than she expected, not because of the weight, but because of what they meant.
Whatever this was—whatever she had chosen—it could no longer be undone.
Calm down, she told herself, dragging in a breath that burned her lungs.
You planned this. You paid for this. You wanted this.
The words felt thin the moment the gates came into view.
They didn't open dramatically. They rose—slow, layered slabs of steel grinding apart with a sound that felt ancient, like something enormous shifting in its sleep. Beyond them stood a place where mercy wasn't just absent—it had never been invited.
Maximum security wasn't loud the way movies promised.
It was quieter. Heavier.
The kind of quiet that pressed against your skull and made your thoughts echo too loudly.
MK stepped inside.
The smell hit her first—rust, sweat, damp concrete soaked in years of despair that no amount of bleach could erase. Rows of barred cells lined the corridor, eyes already watching her. Some curious. Some bored. Some sharp with intent.
She didn't need to look at them to feel the calculations happening.
What did I get myself into?
The thought came instantly—and stayed.
She straightened her shoulders anyway.
News traveled faster than footsteps in places like this.
"She's cute," a tattooed woman muttered from one of the blocks, her voice carrying easily.
"Yeah," another replied. "But I heard Vivian's already noticed her."
"That's unlucky," someone laughed softly. "Nobody touches what belongs to the boss."
Names mattered here. Not reputations—names. Influence weighed more than muscle, and Vivian had both: connections outside, control inside.
"What's her name?"
"Michelle… or something like that."
Not far from them, sitting on a narrow bench with her head lowered, Shriya heard everything.
Her throat tightened painfully.
Michelle.
The name felt like a deliberate cruelty, as if the prison itself had decided she hadn't suffered enough. Shriya's knuckles were bruised, her cheek swollen beneath a fading black eye. She'd learned quickly that keeping her head down didn't guarantee safety—but it improved survival odds.
Of all the names in the world.
She swallowed hard and didn't look up.
MK was escorted deeper inside. Intake was efficient, impersonal. Clothes stripped away. A number assigned. Rules delivered without emotion. She listened, nodded, memorized—but her mind wasn't there.
She was here for one reason.
Later, when she was finally allowed into the common area, someone stepped into her path.
"Welcome, newbie."
MK barely had time to react before another voice cut through the space—sharp, commanding.
"Leave her. She's mine."
The room shifted.
MK turned slowly.
The woman standing there looked carved out of threat—tall, broad-shouldered, scars mapping her arms like unfinished sentences. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. People stepped back anyway.
"I'm Vivian," she said. "What I say goes. What's your name?"
MK met her gaze.
Her face stayed calm—not defiant, not submissive. Just still.
"MK."
No rush. No tremor.
Vivian paused. Just for a fraction of a second.
Fear was familiar to her. So was rebellion. But this—this quiet neutrality—was rare. The only other person who'd ever looked at her like this was the girl she'd been testing for weeks.
Shriya.
But even Shriya's eyes burned with irritation. MK's held nothing at all.
"Why are you here?" Vivian asked.
MK tilted her head slightly, as if deciding whether the question was worth answering.
"I'm here for someone."
That was all.
No crime. No explanation. No apology.
The air shifted again. For someone sounded intentional. Dangerous. Like unfinished business.
"Who?" Vivian asked, slower now.
"Shriya."
The name landed wrong.
Vivian didn't like surprises—especially ones attached to people who refused to break properly. She recalculated quickly.
If MK was here for Shriya, then MK wasn't desperate. She was deliberate.she has power.
And deliberateness frightened people more than rage.
Vivian smiled—the public kind.
"She's under my watch," she announced, loud enough for others to hear. "Which means no one messes with her."
MK nodded once.
No gratitude. No submission.
Just acceptance.
The message spread instantly.
MK hadn't planned this.
But she accepted it.
She needed to survive.
The day passed without MK seeing Shriya.
That reality settled in sharply. Movement was controlled. Schedules rigid. Prison didn't bend for love. It barely tolerated humanity.
MK was assigned cleaning duty—floors, bathrooms, endless repetition. By nightfall, exhaustion wrapped around her bones.
So much for romance, she thought bitterly.
She learned her first real rule of prison quickly
No one attacks the unknown.
When she walked the yard, she didn't rush. Didn't scan wildly. Didn't flinch. She moved like someone who already knew where she belonged—slow, deliberate, eyes forward.
People noticed that more than strength.
Violence was common here. Predictable. What unsettled people was certainty. And MK carried it like armor.
She didn't speak.
That was mistake number one everyone else made—talking too much.
Rumors followed her anyway.
"She doesn't look scared."
"Who pays to come here?"
"I heard she asked for someone specific."
"That's insane."
MK never corrected them.
On the third day, a commotion rippled through the block.
MK's body went cold before her mind caught up.
On the floor—held down, blood at the corner of her mouth—was Shriya.
"Shri—Shriya," MK said aloud before she could stop herself.
Every head turned.
Shriya looked up.
Their eyes met.
And everything else disappeared.
Recognition hit first. Relief second. Pain last.
"MK," Shriya breathed.
MK forced herself to straighten.
"Don't you respect your boss?" she snapped, voice loud, sharp, deliberate.
Shriya almost laughed.
They'd played this game before—back when anger was safe and love didn't cost blood. Boss and servant. Authority and defiance. It was muscle memory now.
Time to sell the fear.
"sorry, boss," Shriya said, lowering her gaze.
The watching eyes shifted.
The lie took root.
"You disappoint me."
Shriya swallowed — then did something that sealed the illusion.
"I won't again, boss," she said hoarsely. "There was a traitor. He sold me out."
MK almost laughed but kept up the act.
"I know," she said smoothly. "That's why I'm here. To make sure you didn't talk."
The whispers ignited.
Vivian watched from the side, impressed.
Fear had been bought. And MK reputation, of being ruthless was planted.
MK turned away, faking irritation.
"If you're this weak," she said, "I don't need you."
"Boss—" Shriya moved reaching out, gripping MK's hand.
The touch was so sudden it stole the air from both of them.making them gasp.
For a heartbeat, the world collapsed—months of separation, fear, anger, longing, all crashing together in one violent rush. MK's breath caught as if she'd been struck. Shriya's fingers trembled where they clung to her hand, as though letting go might erase her.
Their eyes met.it said it all.
Nothing else existed.
Shriya's composure fractured first. A single tear slipped free, cutting a clean line down her bruised cheek. It wasn't weakness—it was relief. Raw and overwhelming. MK was alive. Here. Real.
MK lifted her hand before she could stop herself, her thumb brushing the tear away with aching care. Her body leaned in instinctively, pulled by memory and hunger and something deeper than want. Shriya's lips were cracked, pale—she knew why. Prison stole softness first. Still, MK wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pour everything unsaid into that single moment.
Shriya saw it.
And shook her head—just once.
A warning. A boundary. A reminder of where they were.
"Boss," Shriya said quickly, her voice steadying with effort, louder now so others could hear.
"If you give me another chance—"
The word boss snapped MK back into the present like a blade against skin.
The yard rushed in again. The eyes. The danger. The lie they were selling.
MK swallowed, her chest tight with everything she couldn't say. She turned her face away before it betrayed her, anger slipping easily into place—it was safer there.
She had never blamed fate before.
But standing here, watching the woman she loved bleed and bow in the same breath, MK thought—perhaps for the first time—that fate could be cruel beyond forgiveness.