The cold slap of reality hit her harder than the cell door slamming shut. Prison wasn't the hell she'd imagined; it was worse. The walls were tight, the air thick with sweat and something mean. The other women sized her up like wolves circling a wounded deer, catching wind of fresh blood.
They knew who she was. Everyone knew. "You're that bitch from TV," one snarled, her voice thick with venom and the thrill of the hunt. "Thinks she's better than us."
It started with words. Sharp, petty jabs. There was no escape. No peace. Not here.
—
Later, in the quiet of the Shepherd estate, Mara kissed the twin but thinks of Rafael. Without thinking much, she booked her tickets.
"I need to take a trip," she told her brothers, her voice soft but steady. "Los Vinania. There's a humanitarian project I promised I'd see through before… before everything. I need to go, but I won't be long."
The brothers exchanged glances. Steve had left earlier, with no word about his destination.
