Chapter 1
Richard Quinn was the man who sent me to prison.
He destroyed my life for the sake of his first love.
The irony? He came to see me every month, sitting silently on the other side of the glass.
Every time, the guard gave him the same answer, "She refuses to see you."
For two years, I never looked at him once.
I refused his visits. I refused his apologies. And I never let my hatred fade.
I didn't know why he kept coming.
I only knew that when I walked out of that prison, everything would change.
*****
"Inmate 9527, you have a visitor."
The cold, mechanical voice echoed through the prison corridor, sending a chill down everyone's spine.
I stopped polishing the part in my hands, not missing a beat as I set it firmly on the assembly line.
"The other inmates glanced over, some with pity, others with smug satisfaction. Their whispers crawled through the air like bugs in a damp corner.
"It's Richard again, huh? Guy never misses a month, rain or shine."
"Tsk, he sent his own fiancée to prison, and now he comes every month acting all lovesick. Who's he putting on this show for?"
"9527's got some guts. Two years, and she's never once let him in."
I tuned them out, stripped off my grimy gloves, and followed the guard toward the visiting room I knew all too well.
Every step felt like walking on poisoned blades.
The iron gate slammed shut behind me, cutting off all sound. I sat down on the cold metal chair and picked up the phone that always reeked of disinfectant.
On the other side of the glass, a blurry figure sat there.
I didn't need to see him to know exactly who it was.
That name was once my whole faith, my universe. Now, it was a curse that gnaws at me in the dead of night.
Without even looking, I could picture him—expensive tailored suit, hair perfectly in place, that face that used to make my heart skip a beat.
Was he wearing guilt, or just that cold, businesslike indifference?
I picked up the phone, not hesitating for a second, and spoke to the guard monitoring us, my voice flat and emotionless. "Tell him I'm not seeing him."
Then I hung up, the receiver hitting the base with a sharp click.
The guard, clearly used to this monthly routine, picked up his own phone and, sounding resigned, repeated my words to the other side. "Mr. Quinn, Olivia she won't see you."
I didn't waste another second. I stood up, turned around, and walked toward the iron gate that kept me from freedom.
As the door swung open, I caught Richard's silhouette reflected in the polished doorknob, still sitting there, frozen, not moving an inch.
Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days.
He came twenty-four times.
I turned him away twenty-four times.
And with every single rejection, my hatred was honed to a razor's edge.
Back in my cell, I lay down on the hard wooden bed and closed my eyes. But my memories wouldn't let me rest; they dragged me right back to that hellish afternoon two years ago.
Richard's office on the top floor of the Quinn Group was bathed in sunlight, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering city skyline.
I was still wearing the engagement ring he'd given me, chatting happily about the details of our wedding next month.
But then he slid a document across the desk, his voice colder than I'd ever heard it. "Olivia, this is proof that you used your position to embezzle twenty million dollars from the company."
I froze, my mind going completely blank.
I asked, "Richard, what are you saying?" I stammered, her hands trembling as she grabbed the document.
Every transaction listed was like a knife pointed at me, and the signature, my own handwriting, stared back at me in black and white.
"No way. I didn't do this!" I shot to her feet, my voice cracking with disbelief.
Richard stared at me, his face, eight years of love, now cold and distant, like a stranger. Not a single trace of emotion.
"The evidence is ironclad," he said, each word landing like a sledgehammer, shattering my world.
The office door swung open, and a group of uniformed police officers walked in.
I looked at Richard in utter despair, desperately searching his face for even a hint of a joke, any sign of pity.
Not a trace. Nothing at all, only a cold, lifeless silence.
As the cuffs snapped shut around my wrists, I spotted Victoria lurking behind Richard.
It was his first love—the woman who always looked so delicate and harmless.
A tiny, victorious smile played at the corner of her mouth.
In that instant, everything clicked.
At first, I was like a wild beast, raging against the cage, howling my innocence. All it brought me was cold, merciless suppression and even deeper despair.
The old-timers in my cell block, seeing me as some pampered rich girl, found every way to make my life hell.
They stole my food, ripped up my books, and even dumped cold water on my blanket in the middle of the night.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
Tears were the most useless thing in this world.
Once, the queen bee of the cell block swaggered over and snatched the bun I'd just gotten. I didn't resist; I just let her have it.
The next day, she broke out in angry red rashes, itching so bad she was writhing on the floor. They had to rush her to the infirmary.
No one realized I remembered exactly how she was allergic to that cheap lotion she used on her face. The night before, while everyone was asleep, I quietly sprinkled her allergy trigger into it.
After that, nobody dared mess with me again.
They started to fear me because I was ruthless and coldly silent.
A quiet enemy is way scarier than one who's always making noise.
I started making use of every resource I could get my hands on. With the meager wages I earned from prison labor, I bribed the guard in charge of the library, trading for books on law and business strategy.
By day, I was just Inmate 9527, going through the motions—numb, just another cog in the system.
But at night, when everyone else was out cold, I'd devour those books under the faint glow leaking in from the corridor, starving for every scrap of knowledge.
Every legal clause, every business case, became a cornerstone of my revenge plan.