Frank stood before the full-length mirror, and for the first time in a long time, he liked the man staring back at him.
He looked powerful.
Successful.
Untouchable.
His jet-black hair was swept back with flawless precision, each strand perfectly in place. The black wedding suit molded to his tall frame like it had been made for royalty, every stitch whispering wealth, taste, and control. Beneath it, the crisp white shirt only sharpened the contrast, making him look like a man stepping into the brightest day of his life.
And in a few hours, he would marry Hailey.
A slow smile curved his lips.
Hailey...
Just thinking her name softened something inside him.
After today, she would finally be his wife.
No more waiting. No more distance. No more polite smiles through endless ceremonies and fake congratulations. He wanted the wedding over with. Wanted the guests gone. Wanted the cameras to stop flashing so he could finally lock the world outside and have her all to himself.
Just the two of them.
At last.
He lowered his gaze and fastened the clasp of his platinum Rolex, the final limited edition he had once fought hard to obtain. The cool metal settled heavily against his wrist, familiar and comforting. It reminded him of everything he had earned—every battle, every sacrifice, every sleepless night that had brought him here.
This was the last morning he would ever spend as a single man.
Then the suite door creaked open.
Frank's reflection flickered as his gaze shifted.
Pascal stepped inside without knocking.
Frank's smile faded by a fraction.
Pascal had always been there.
Hailey's childhood best friend. Her confidant. Her shadow.
The one man who never seemed to leave her side.
Their closeness had always bothered Frank more than he liked to admit. The way they laughed too easily together. The way Hailey trusted him without question. More than once, strangers had assumed Pascal was her boyfriend, not her friend.
Frank had hated that.
But today was his wedding day.
Today, he refused to let even Pascal ruin his mood.
"Finally," Pascal said, his voice low and strangely soft. "It's your day, Frank."
Frank turned, the corners of his mouth lifting again.
"You won," Pascal continued. "You're finally getting married to Hailey."
The words sounded like congratulations.
But the tone?
Cold.
Flat.
Wrong.
Frank should have noticed.
But he didn't.
Not until it was too late.
"Thanks," Frank said with a small laugh. "I've waited for this day my whole life."
And it was true.
Every road he had taken—every loss, every struggle, every hard-earned step upward—had led him here. To this room. To this suit. To Hailey.
Pascal stared at him.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't warmth.
It wasn't friendship.
It was something twisted.
Something rotten.
"Too bad," Pascal said quietly. "Your dream is never going to come true."
Frank frowned.
"What?"
For one suspended second, the world seemed to stop.
Then Pascal took a step forward.
"This," he said, "is what I mean."
He reached into his jacket.
Frank's breath caught.
A dagger flashed into view—thin, sharp, silver.
His brain barely had time to register it.
Before Frank could shout, before he could move, before he could even ask what the hell Pascal was doing—
Pascal drove the blade straight into his own stomach.
Frank froze.
His entire body locked in horror.
A broken gasp tore from Pascal's throat. He staggered back, clutching the knife buried in his abdomen. Blood began to spread across his shirt, dark and fast, staining the white fabric like ink poured over snow.
Then Pascal screamed.
"What did I ever do to you, Frank?!"
His voice cracked through the room like thunder.
Frank's eyes widened.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't move.
"Why would you do this to me?" Pascal cried, his face twisting in agony. "Why would you go this far just to get rid of me?"
He collapsed to the floor.
And right on cue—
The door burst open.
"Frank? Pascal? The car is—"
Hailey stopped cold.
The rest of her words died in her throat.
Her eyes swept across the room.
Frank standing there.
Pascal bleeding on the floor.
The knife.
The blood.
The silence.
And in that instant, Frank saw it happen.
Saw the exact moment her heart turned against him.
"How could you?!" she screamed.
The sound hit him harder than any blade ever could.
Frank took a stumbling step forward. "Hailey—"
"How could you do this to him?" she cried, her voice breaking with fury. "After everything Pascal has done for you!"
"No!" Frank snapped, panic finally crashing through the shock. "I didn't do anything! Hailey, listen to me—"
But she was already pushing past him.
Like he was nothing.
Like he didn't matter.
She dropped to her knees beside Pascal, lifting his head into her lap with shaking hands. Tears spilled down her face as she pressed trembling fingers to his blood-soaked shirt.
"Pascal... Pascal, stay with me. Please, stay with me..."
Frank stared at her, numb.
Then he looked at Pascal.
And that bastard—
That sick, twisted bastard—
Actually looked pleased.
The smugness lasted only a second before Pascal buried it beneath another groan of pain, but Frank saw it.
He saw it.
"Hailey!" Frank's voice cracked. "He did this to himself! I swear to you, he did this to himself!"
Hailey didn't even look at him.
Not once.
Not even once.
Her entire world was wrapped around the man in her arms.
"You can explain it to the police," she said, each word sharp as broken glass. "Not to me."
Something inside Frank shattered.
The paramedics rushed in seconds later, followed by security, then police. The room dissolved into noise and chaos, but none of it felt real. Nothing did.
Not until a police officer grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back.
"Frank Robert, you are under arrest for attempted murder."
The handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists.
Cold.
Merciless.
Final.
Frank lifted his head in disbelief as he was dragged out of the room, still dressed like a groom, still wearing the suit he had chosen for the happiest day of his life.
Only now, instead of walking toward the altar, he was being marched past rows of horrified guests and stunned family members, their whispers chasing him like curses.
The groom had become a criminal before he could even say I do.
The trial moved fast.
Too fast.
Frank barely had time to breathe before the world buried him alive.
Pascal survived.
Of course he did.
And when he took the stand, pale and fragile with a bandage around his waist, he played his part perfectly. The wounded best friend. The innocent victim. The loyal man who had done nothing but care too much.
Hailey testified too.
Frank had once imagined her standing before him in white, promising to love him forever.
Instead, she stood in court and destroyed him with her own mouth.
Her eyes were cold.
Her voice was steady.
And every word she spoke drove another nail into his coffin.
She said she saw Frank standing over Pascal.
She said she heard Pascal begging.
She said she believed Frank had done it.
Believed.
That word was enough to ruin him.
Frank shouted the truth until his throat bled.
No one cared.
By the end of it, the story had already been written for him: a jealous groom, threatened by the bond between his bride and her male best friend, snapped in a fit of possessive rage.
Because Pascal lived, Frank was charged with attempted murder.
Sentence: two years.
Destination: Blackmoor Penitentiary.
The worst prison in the country.
It was less a prison than a graveyard for the living.
The guards barely controlled the place. The inmates made the rules, and violence was the only law that truly mattered. Men were starved, worked half to death, and discarded like broken tools. Food came once every forty-eight hours—if the gray slop they served could even be called food. Yet even starving, the prisoners were forced into brutal labor, hammering rock beneath a merciless sun until their skin split and their bones screamed.
On his first day, Frank sat in a stinking holding cell packed shoulder to shoulder with men who looked more animal than human.
He lowered his eyes to the handcuffs locked around his wrists.
Once, they had been evidence.
Now, they were a brand.
A reminder.
Not of Pascal's lies.
Not even of the court's judgment.
But of Hailey.
Of the woman who had claimed to love him... and abandoned him without even asking for the truth.
"Hey, pretty boy."
Frank didn't look up.
"Hey. I'm talking to you, bastard."
The voice was rough, guttural, soaked in menace.
Frank kept his gaze fixed on the filthy concrete floor.
If he stayed quiet, maybe the man would get bored.
Maybe he'd be left alone.
A stupid hope.
A dangerous one.
Metal screeched as someone rose from a bunk.
Frank looked up just enough to see him.
The prisoner was huge, thick-necked, with scars crawling across his face like cracked glass. His smile was all threat and no humor.
Frank said nothing.
That was mistake enough.
"How dare you ignore me?"
The man lunged.
His fist smashed into Frank's jaw with savage force.
Pain detonated through Frank's skull. His head snapped sideways, and his body staggered back before he could catch himself. The cell burst into laughter. Cheers. Shouts. The others were already gathering, hungry for blood, for distraction, for sport.
The scarred inmate grinned and came again.
Frank twisted away just in time.
The punch missed.
The man snarled and swung harder.
Frank dodged again.
This time the inmate's knuckles slammed into the iron bars with a sickening crack.
He roared in pain.
Then his face darkened with murderous fury.
"Get him!"
That was all it took.
They came at Frank all at once.
Like wolves.
He threw his arms up, but the handcuffs wrecked his balance and trapped his movements. He couldn't block properly. Couldn't swing properly. Couldn't protect himself.
The first kick hit his stomach.
The next struck his ribs.
A fist crashed into the side of his head. A knee drove into his back. Boots slammed into him again and again until pain became everything.
Then he hit the floor.
Hard.
The concrete was freezing against his cheek. Blood flooded his mouth, thick and metallic. Sweat, grime, and violence choked the air around him.
They beat him like he was nothing.
Like he wasn't a man.
Like he had never been one.
And through one swollen, watering eye, Frank saw a prison guard standing just outside the cell, watching.
Watching.
Doing nothing.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Then the guard turned his back—
and walked away.
Leaving Frank to die.