The cell is cold in the morning.
Jack wakes before the lights come on.
Before the guards start their rounds.
Before the noise of the prison begins.
He lies on the thin mattress for a moment.
Staring at the ceiling.
Then he rolls off the bunk.
His feet hit the concrete floor.
Cold.
Hard.
Jack moves to the center of the cell.
Places his hands flat on the ground.
Kicks his legs up.
His body inverts.
Handstand.
Steady.
Controlled.
He begins the pushups.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Up.
His breathing is measured.
His muscles burn.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the tenth rep, his shoulders are shaking.
By the fifteenth, his arms are trembling.
He pushes through.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
Eighteen.
At twenty, he drops.
His feet hit the floor.
He stands, breathing hard.
Shaking out his arms.
Twenty.
I used to do fifty.
The thought stings.
Jack looks down at his hands.
They're still strong.
Still capable.
But they're not what they were.
I've gotten rusty.
He thinks back.
To the beginning.
To the first man who taught him how to fight.
***
Fifteen Months Ago
The gym smelled like sweat and old leather.
It was a basement operation.
No windows.
Concrete walls.
A single heavy bag hanging from a rusted chain.
Jack was skinny. Desperate.
He'd heard about the old man from someone on the street.
A retired fighter.
Someone who'd been good once.
Before everything fell apart.
Jack found him in the back of the gym.
Sitting on a folding chair. Wrapping his hands.
The old man looked up. His face was weathered. Scarred.
"You lost?" the old man asked.
Jack shook his head.
"I need you to train me," Jack said.
The old man laughed.
It was a dry, humorless sound.
The old man looked him up and down.
Jack stepped forward.
"I'll pay you."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"With what?"
"I'll work off your debts," Jack said. "Whatever you owe. I'll pay it."
The old man stared at him.
"How do you know about my debts?"
Jack shrugged. "Heard about it somewhere."
The old man stared and Jack. He looked innocent then. No tattoos, hands clean, eyes round and defenseless.
"You don't even know what I owe." The old man said.
"I don't care," Jack said. "Train me. I'll handle the rest."
The old man was silent for a long moment.
Then he stood.
Walked over to Jack.
Looked him in the eye.
"You serious?"
"Yes."
The old man nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said. "But if you quit, the deal's off. And you still owe me."
Jack nodded.
"Deal."
The old man held out his hand.
"Martin Ace."
Jack shook it.
"Jack Morris."
Martin smiled faintly.
"Alright, Jack Morris. Let's see what you're made of."
***
The training was brutal.
Martin didn't go easy on him.
Didn't coddle him.
Didn't care if Jack was tired or hurt or bleeding.
Every day, Jack showed up.
Every day, Martin pushed him harder.
Jabs.
Crosses.
Hooks.
Uppercuts.
Footwork.
Defense.
Conditioning.
Jack's knuckles bled.
His ribs bruised.
His muscles screamed.
But he didn't quit.
Martin taught him more than technique.
He taught him how to read an opponent.
How to stay calm under pressure.
How to turn pain into fuel.
"Fighting's not about being the strongest," Martin said one day. "It's about being the smartest. The most patient. The most willing to endure."
Jack absorbed every word.
Every lesson.
Every scar.
After six months, Martin told him he needed real experience.
"You can train all you want," Martin said. "But until you've been in a real fight, you don't know shit."
"So what do I do?" Jack asked.
Martin smiled.
"You go find trouble."
***
Jack found it.
He started picking fights with street thugs.
Anyone who looked like they could handle themselves.
Anyone who wouldn't go down easy.
He lost the first three fights.
Got his ass kicked.
Came back to Martin bruised and bloody.
Martin just nodded.
"Good," he said. "Now you know what losing feels like. Don't let it happen again."
Jack didn't.
He won the next fight.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
He got better.
Faster.
Smarter.
One night, he picked a fight with two guys outside a bar.
Big guys.
Twins.
They called themselves Chip and Dip.
Jack thought he could take them.
He was wrong.
They beat him senseless.
Left him in the alley.
When Jack came to, they were standing over him.
Grinning.
"You got balls," one of them said. "Stupid balls. But balls."
The other one laughed.
"You want to learn how to fight for real?" he asked.
Jack spat blood.
"I already know how to fight."
"No," the first one said. "You know how to get your ass kicked. There's a difference."
They helped him up.
Took him to their place.
Taught him things Martin hadn't.
Dirty tricks.
Street tactics.
How to fight when the rules didn't matter.
Jack learned.
And he kept learning.
***
Seven months later, Martin collapsed during a training session.
Jack rushed him to the hospital.
The doctors ran tests.
Cancer.
Stage four.
Lungs.
Liver.
Everywhere.
"How long?" Jack asked.
"Weeks," the doctor said. "Maybe a month."
Jack looked at Martin.
Martin just smiled.
"I knew," he said quietly.
"You knew?"
"For a while now."
Jack's throat tightened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Martin shrugged.
"What difference would it make?"
Jack didn't have an answer.
Martin died three weeks later.
Alone in a hospital bed.
No family.
No friends.
Just Jack.
Jack sat with him until the end.
Held his hand.
Listened to his breathing slow.
Stop.
When it was over, Jack didn't cry.
He just sat there.
Staring at the old man's face.
He didn't know the first thing about the old man.vMartin never spoke about himself. Never asked for anything. Sometimes he doesn't even feel real to Jack.
As if he were a Ghost.
The hospital asked what to do with the body.
Jack told them to cremate him.
He took the ashes.
Drove out to the edge of the city.
To a field overlooking the water.
The wind was strong that day.
Jack opened the urn.
Let the ashes scatter.
Watched them disappear into the air.
A free spirit.
Just like you were.
Jack got his first tattoo the next week.
An Ace of Spades.
On his shoulder.
For Martin Ace.
The first man who ever taught him to stand up for himself.
***
Present Day
Jack stares at the tattoo now.
Runs his fingers over it.
The ink is faded.
But it's still there.
"Inmate!"
Jack looks up.
A guard is standing at the cell door.
Young.
Bored expression.
"You got a visitor," the guard says.
Jack stands.
"Who?"
The guard shrugs.
"A Ms. Crane."
Jack's stomach tightens.
Bella.
He doesn't say anything.
Just nods.
The guard unlocks the cell.
"Let's go."
Jack follows him out.
The visitor's room is different from the interrogation room.
No privacy.
No closed doors.
Just a long row of seats.
A thick pane of glass separating the inmates from their visitors.
Phones on either side.
Jack is led to a seat near the middle.
He sits.
The guard steps back.
Waits.
Jack stares at the empty chair on the other side of the glass.
His heart is pounding.
What is she doing here?
What does she want?
The door on the other side opens.
Bella walks in.
She's wearing a blazer.
Dark jeans.
Her hair is pulled back.
Her face is tight.
Worried.
She sees Jack.
Her expression shifts.
Relief.
Concern.
Something else Jack can't quite read.
She sits down.
Picks up the phone.
Jack doesn't move.
He just stares at her.
Bella's smile falters.
"Jack?" she says into the phone.
Her voice is muffled through the glass.
Jack reaches for his phone slowly.
Picks it up.
Holds it to his ear.
Silence.
Bella shifts uncomfortably.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Jack doesn't respond.
He just studies her.
Her eyes.
Her posture.
Her hands.
Is she acting?
Or does she really not know?
Bella's expression tightens.
"Jack, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"
Jack's voice is flat.
"Why are you here?"
Bella blinks.
"I... I was worried about you."
"Worried."
"Yes," Bella says. "I heard about the trial. About what's happening. I just wanted to make sure you were—"
"Were what?" Jack interrupts.
Bella hesitates.
"That you were okay. That you weren't... hurt. Or..."
"Or what?"
Bella looks down.
"Or doing the hurting."
Jack's jaw tightens.
"It's not like that," Bella says quickly. "I just... I needed to see you. To know you were alright."
Jack leans back slightly.
His eyes never leave hers.
"Do you know a Detective Borne?" he asks.
Bella's brow furrows.
"Detective Borne?" she repeats.
"Yes."
"No," Bella says. "I don't think so. Why?"
Jack exhales slowly.
She doesn't know.
She really doesn't know.
He leans forward.
"You're a fool," he says quietly.
Bella's eyes widen.
"What? Jack, what are you—"
"Your new boyfriend," Jack says. "Daniel."
Bella's face goes pale.
"He's not my—"
"He's a detective," Jack says. "Detective Daniel Borne. He's working my case."
Bella stares at him.
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
"No," she says. "That's not—"
"He got close to you to get to me," Jack continues. "To get information. To build his case."
Bella shakes her head.
"No. That's not possible. He's a lawyer. He told me—"
"He lied," Jack says.
Bella's breathing quickens.
Her eyes dart away.
Thinking.
The phone.
The convenient meetings.
The way he always knew where to find me.
The way he never questioned anything.
Her hand goes to her mouth.
"Oh my God," she whispers.
Jack watches her.
Sees the realization hit.
Sees the horror spread across her face.
Bella looks back at him.
"Jack, I swear I didn't know. I didn't—"
"It doesn't matter," Jack says.
"Yes, it does!" Bella says. "I would never—"
"You put me in danger," Jack says.
His voice is cold.
Clinical.
Bella's eyes fill with tears.
"I didn't know," she says. "I swear to God, I didn't know."
"You should have been more careful."
"I just wanted something normal," Bella says. "I just wanted—"
Jack laughs.
It's a bitter sound.
"Normal?" he says. "You wanted normal?"
Bella looks down.
"That's rich," Jack says. "Coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're the one who helped me with my revenge plan," Jack says. "You're the one who came up with King's Paradise. You're the one who introduced me to Maya."
Bella's jaw tightens.
"That was different."
"How?"
"That was back then," Bella says. "I thought it would just be a nightclub. A legitimate business. It was Kain's black book that ruined everything. That ruined—"
She stops herself.
Jack leans forward.
"That ruined what?" he asks. "Me?"
Bella looks away.
"So you think I'm ruined," Jack says.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Bella's hands are shaking.
Jack's voice drops.
"Did you sleep with him?"
Bella's head snaps up.
"What?"
"Did you sleep with him?" Jack repeats.
"No," Bella says. "No, I didn't."
Jack stares at her.
"If he'd asked," Jack says slowly. "Before you knew who he was. Would you have?"
Bella's mouth opens.
Then closes.
She looks down.
"I... I don't know."
Jack sits back.
His expression is calm.
Almost satisfied.
"We have nothing more to talk about," he says.
Bella's eyes widen.
"Jack, please. I didn't know. I swear I didn't—"
"It doesn't change anything," Jack says.
"Yes, it does!" Bella says. "I would never betray you. I would never—"
"Leave," Jack says.
Bella shakes her head.
"Jack, please—"
"Leave."
"I'm trying to explain—"
Jack's hand slams against the table.
The sound echoes through the room.
Bella jumps.
Her eyes go wide.
Jack's voice is ice.
"Leave."
Bella stares at him.
Her face is pale.
Her hands are trembling.
She sets the phone down slowly.
Stands.
Walks toward the door.
She glances back once.
Jack doesn't look at her.
He just sits there.
Staring at the table.
The door closes behind her.
Jack exhales slowly.
He sets the phone down.
Leans back in his chair.
His mind is racing.
Bella.
Memories flash.
Her finding him after his suicide.
Her nursing him back to health.
Her helping him plan.
Her standing by him when no one else would.
I owe her everything.
She saved me.
She gave me a reason to keep going.
But then he sees the photograph.
Bella and Borne.
Kissing.
Smiling.
She put me in danger.
She let him get close.
She let him in.
Jack's jaw clenches.
I don't know if I can forgive this.
The guard appears.
"Time's up," he says.
Jack stands.
Follows him back to his cell.
***
Late Afternoon
The dance studio smells like sweat and lavender.
Sarah is stretching in the corner.
Her body is sore.
Tired.
But she feels good.
Alive.
Cleo is packing up her bag.
She's tall.
Blonde.
Beautiful in that effortless way that makes people stop and stare.
She's a social media influencer.
Hundreds of thousands of followers.
Sponsorships.
Brand deals.
The kind of life Sarah used to dream about.
"You know," Cleo says, glancing at Sarah. "With your looks and your talent, you could've been bigger than me."
Sarah smiles faintly.
"Maybe."
"It's a shame you gave it up," Cleo continues. "You had real potential."
Sarah's smile turns bitter.
"I met a good man," she says.
Cleo laughs.
"A good man? God, I wish I could find one of those."
She zips up her bag.
"You're lucky, Sarah. Really. A guy who loves you. Who's committed. Who's stable."
Sarah shifts uncomfortably.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "Lucky."
Cleo notices the shift.
"What's wrong?"
Sarah hesitates.
Then she exhales.
"David and I... we're not doing well."
Cleo's expression softens.
"Oh no. What happened?"
Sarah looks down.
"I think he's cheating on me."
Cleo's eyes widen.
"What? Are you serious?"
"Yeah," Sarah says. "I mean, I don't have proof. But... I can feel it. The way he's been acting. The way he looks at me. Or doesn't look at me."
Cleo sets her bag down.
Walks over to Sarah.
"Have you confronted him?"
"Not yet," Sarah lies. She does not want Cleo to know too much. Her only friend in the world still thinks she has a normal relationship. A relationship where she didn't agree to be a swinger couplefor a few weeks. She wants to keep it that way. "I don't know how."
Cleo's jaw tightens.
"You need to find out who she is."
"What?"
"Follow him," Cleo says. "Find out who the bitch is. And then you show both of them who his real wife is."
Sarah blinks. She knew who It was.
"I don't know if—"
"Sarah," Cleo says firmly. "You're twenty-one. You're beautiful. You're talented. He should be on his knees thanking God that you're willing to be his wife."
Sarah's chest tightens.
"You think so?"
"I know so," Cleo says. "And if he's stupid enough to cheat on you, then you make him crawl back. You make him beg for forgiveness."
Sarah looks at her.
Cleo's expression is fierce.
Confident.
"You deserve better than this," Cleo says. "You deserve someone who sees you. Who appreciates you."
Sarah's breathing quickens.
She's right.
I do deserve better.
I deserve to be seen.
She thinks about David.
About the way he's been distant.
Distracted.
About the way he looks at his phone.
About the way he comes home late.
He wanted an assertive woman.
He wanted someone who could stand up for herself.
Sarah's jaw tightens.
Fine.
I'll be assertive.
She looks at Cleo.
"You're right," Sarah says.
Cleo smiles.
"Of course I am."
Sarah stands.
Her body feels lighter.
Stronger.
"I'm going to confront that bitch," Sarah says. "And I'm going to make sure David knows exactly what he's losing."
Cleo grins.
"That's my girl."