On the outskirts of Northbridge, a tired stone building loomed over the hillside. A faded sign read: “Northbridge Women’s Correctional Facility – Second Unit.” The rusted gates creaked open with reluctant effort, and Nora Shaw stepped out, blinking at the unfamiliar sunlight after three long years behind bars.
A lone gray goose glided across the cloudy sky, while autumn leaves danced across the gravel path at her feet. Desolation bloomed in her chest.
“You’ve been granted early release—good behavior,” the female officer said gently. She gave Nora a lingering look, eyes full of pity. “You’re still young. You’ve got time. Make the most of it.”
Nora managed a faint, practiced smile and nodded, then turned and walked away without a word. *Good behavior?* she scoffed internally. *What did that ever get me except injustice? The liars and manipulators are still out there, living their best lives.*
A gust of wind pierced her thin coat, and she instinctively hugged it tighter. This autumn felt colder than she remembered—more lifeless. Just brittle leaves and bone-deep emptiness.
Three years ago, her world had imploded. The man she loved had betrayed her trust, and instead of justice, she got a prison sentence. Not even a visit. Just a divorce agreement slid under her cell door like an afterthought. She signed it, and oddly, felt lighter for it.
Her only regret? Not destroying him when she had the chance.
Now she was the one left to pick up the pieces.
She walked along the roadside, savoring the sharp scent of freedom in the air. Her hands, rough and calloused, bore the proof of what prison had taken from her. But it hadn’t broken her completely.
Nora lifted her gaze to the sky, where streaks of sunlight tried to force their way through the cloud cover.
Suddenly, a silver Maserati screeched to a stop in front of her. The passenger door opened, and a man in a dark tailored suit stepped out. Wire-rimmed glasses framed his professional, unreadable face.
“Miss Nora” he said coolly. “Please get in.”
“Miss Nora...?” The title echoed like a slap. Three years ago, Adam Carrington’s assistant had called her Mrs. Carrington” She didn’t move. “Where is he?”
“He’s... unavailable,” the man replied. “Mr. Carrington sends his apologies.”
Unavailable. Probably cuddled up somewhere with her half-sister, Melanie Shaw.
Nora’s tone turned brittle. “James,” she said, “where’s Evan? I want to see my son.”
Her baby had been only a few months old when she was taken away. What did he look like now? Did he know who she was?
James avoided her eyes. “He’s well. Bright. Obedient. Mr. Carrington dotes on him.”
“Dotes on him”, she thought bitterly. The same way he doted on me—until he needed something. Back then, she had been thrilled about the pregnancy. Blissfully unaware that Adam only wanted their baby’s cord blood to treat Melanie’s leukemia. Even when the odds were abysmal, he had gambled everything—for Melanie.
And now? Could he really love a child who had been conceived as a lifeline for someone else?
“I want to see him,” she said flatly.
James shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll have to speak with Mr. Carrington.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I will.”
Through endless sleepless nights in that cold cell, only one thought had kept her sane—she would get her son back. No matter what it took. She wouldn’t let Melanie play pretend-mother to her child.
“Has Adam remarried?” she asked suddenly, surprised by her own voice.
James hesitated, then said, “He’s getting married today.”
“Today”..? Nora let out a short, bitter laugh. How poetic.
She looked toward the hills in the distance. “Thank you for the ride, James. Tell him... thanks for the thought.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away. A single suitcase trailed behind her, wheels scraping over the pavement. The wind chased her with a swirl of leaves, but she didn’t look back.
James watched her go, sighed, and returned to the car. Stubborn to the end. She might’ve lost her title, her wealth, and her freedom—but not her fire.
At the Carrington’s estate, the atmosphere was electric. The wedding of Adam Carrington CEO of Carrington Industries, and Melanie Shaw, the darling of Northbridge’s high society, was in full swing.
The manor was draped in pink roses—Melanie’s favorite. Guests from the city’s elite mingled beneath crystal chandeliers, champagne in hand.
Melanie, glowing with early pregnancy, wore a custom white gown with delicate lace and a dramatic satin bow. Adam stood beside her in a tailored navy suit, his posture as rigid as his smile.
As the officiant prepared to pronounce them husband and wife, reporters hovered just beyond the archway, eager for a front-page moment.
“Adam Carrington”, the officiant intoned, “do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Adam’s dark eyes locked on Melanie’s for a moment—but then something shifted. A memory surged. Another woman in a white dress. Another promise.
He faltered.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Melanie nudged him. “Adam?” she whispered.
Snapping back into the present, he forced a warm smile. “I do—”
The double doors at the back creaked open.
All heads turned.
There she was,
Nora Shaw. Draped in a jade-green dress, her black hair loose over her shoulders, she looked untouched by time. Pale, striking, and still—somehow—ethereal. Her eyes, though, told a different story. A woman carved out of scars.
Gasps filled the room.
“Is that her? The ex-wife?”
“The one who went to prison? What is she doing here?”
“Crashing the wedding—Jesus…”
Photographers surged forward. The scandal had just ignited into wildfire.
Adam’s face turned stone cold. Melanie’s grip on her bouquet tightened until her knuckles whitened.
Nora kept walking—unbothered, untouched, unstoppable.
She didn’t need to say a word.
Her presence was enough to shatter the illusion.
