The scent of the jail was a mixture of industrial bleach, stale sweat, and despair. It clung to Elena’s clothes, seeping into her pores, a visceral reminder of how far she had fallen. Forty-eight hours ago, she was a CEO’s mistress walking the red carpet. Now, she was walking through the corridors of a maximum-security detention center, about to make a deal with the devil.
Veronica sat behind the reinforced glass, looking like a bird plucked of its feathers. Her perfect blonde hair was lank, her expensive clothes replaced by a bright orange jumpsuit. But her eyes they were as sharp and venomous as ever.
Elena picked up the black receiver. "I’m here."
Veronica leaned forward, a sneer curling her lip. "Look at you. The tragic heroine. Tell me, Elena, does it hurt? Knowing that he chose a
