Chapter 3 Chapter 3

"Sometimes, fate doesn’t knock—it sends a driver.”

The morning sun poured into their small apartment, warm and careless, as if the world hadn’t been cruel to them just days ago. Clara and Trinity sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch, a plate of pancakes between them, basking in the rare quiet.

“For the first time in forever,” Trinity said, stabbing her fork dramatically into a pancake, “we’re not broke, no one’s chasing us for rent, and Jason’s face is probably still red from humiliation.”

Clara laughed softly. “It feels unreal. Like we robbed a bank, but legally.”

Trinity leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. “You know what this means, right? Now that we’re not starving, we can finally join the dating pool. It’s time to find ourselves men with abs and no criminal records.”

Clara snorted. “Trinity, you hate men with abs.”

“True,” she said thoughtfully. “Too much maintenance. But I’m open to negotiation.”

They both laughed, the kind of easy, tired laughter that came after surviving something hard.

Then came the knock.

It wasn’t loud just a polite tap-tap that didn’t belong in their rundown building.

Trinity frowned. “You expecting someone?”

Clara shook her head and got up. When she opened the door, a man in his late sixties stood there in a neat black suit, rain-dusted shoulders, and the kind of presence that filled the doorway effortlessly. His silver hair was combed back, and his pale blue eyes flickered with quiet amusement.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said warmly. “I’m Roman. But you can call me Rome.”

Trinity blinked. “Uh… hi?”

“I’m here to pick you up.” He gestured to the sleek black SUV parked at the curb.

“Pick us up?” Clara echoed. “I thought we were supposed to start on Monday.”

Rome smiled, hands clasped behind his back like a teacher with an inside joke. “Oh, you start Monday. But you’re expected to arrive today. Orientation, room assignments, introductions… that sort of thing.”

“Wait...room assignments?” Trinity tilted her head. “We’re staying there?”

Rome raised a brow. “Of course. It’s all in the contract”

The two women exchanged wide eyed looks.

“The contract you didn’t read. And I'm certain Leanne mustve mentioned it” he added with a soft chuckle, turning toward the car. “Come along, ladies. It’s quite a drive.”

Clara’s stomach dropped. Trinity mouthed, "what the hell" before grabbing her bag and whispering, “This better not be some ‘live with the inmates’ nonsense.”

Rome didn’t say much during the drive. The further they went, the quieter the world seemed to get. The streets thinned into woods, then the woods into empty land, until Saint Ridge Penitentiary rose ahead of them like something carved out of an old movie.

The massive iron gates loomed over the road, guarded and silent, with tall towers disappearing into the mist. A faint hum filled the air like static, or power restrained.

Trinity pressed her face against the window. “Please tell me that fence isn’t electric.”

“Of course it is,” Rome chuckled calmly

Inside, the prison wasn’t quite what they expected. The walls were clean, the air cold, but it was the people that unsettled Clara, the guards’ blank expressions, the hum of heavy locks, and somewhere far away, the echo of laughter that didn’t sound entirely human.

Meanwhile, in the mass hall, the inmates were gathered. Some eating, some pretending not to care, but all curious. Rumors about the new assistants had been spreading all morning.

Six wards, twenty-four inmates total. Each ward would have four assistants assigned. Most of the inmates were dangerous, powerful, and worst of all, bored.

Peterson Brattfield, son of the mayor and one of Saint Ridge’s most notorious prisoners, balanced his tray as he made his way from the buffet table. He was in the middle of a lazy smirk when the main doors opened.

The room stilled.

Two women walked in behind Rome. One with soft brown curls tucked under a cheap cap, the other with sharp eyes and a nervous smile.

Trinity. Clara.

The silence stretched too long, the sound of footsteps bouncing off the tiled floor. And then...disaster.

Trinity, not watching where she was going, collided with Peterson.

The tray flipped. Food flew. A dull crash echoed.

The hall froze.

Trinity’s face went pale. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

Peterson just stared down at her, bits of mashed potatoes on his shirt, his jaw tight. Around them, a few inmates chuckled under their breath, sensing blood in the water.

Clara stepped forward quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I’m sorry, boys, it's our first time on the job” she said with aintent to lighten the mood. her voice echoed cutting through the tension. “My friend and I can be a bit clumsy sometimes.”

The laughter died. The word boys hung in the air like smoke.

From the far corner of the room, someone moved.

Hale Maddox rose from his seat...slowly, almost lazily. His presence silenced even the whispers. Dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, his posture relaxed but dangerous.

“Boys?” he repeated softly, his voice low and smooth.

It wasn’t anger in his tone it was something colder. A warning.

His gaze locked on Clara, unreadable, steady. The kind of look that pinned a person in place without touching them.

The air in the hall shifted like a storm gathering again.

Clara swallowed hard, feeling the weight of it before Rome stepped forward and broke the silence. “Alright, everyone. Back to your meals.”

But Hale didn’t move.

And Clara couldn’t look away.