"So you're the homewrecker trying to climb the ladder?" She let out a sharp laugh. "How pathetic."
"Caught red-handed by the wife and tossed in here with the rest of us." She clicked her tongue. "Absolutely shameless."
My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
"I'm not a homewrecker!"
But my denial only made them laugh harder.
The next second, the blonde moved first.
She shoved me—hard.
Something snapped inside me. I lunged at her, eyes burning, and we collided in a tangle of fists and clawing hands.
Her friends jumped in immediately, yanking my hair, landing blows wherever they could reach. More fists rained down on my body, my face.
Pain radiated through my limbs, but the ache in my chest cut deeper.
The guards finally heard the commotion and rushed in, pulling us apart. We were all written up and warned—next time, the consequences would be severe.
After that, they didn't touch me again. But the mocking glances never stopped. The snide comments. The whispered insults.
I ignored all of it. Found a corner. Curled up. Waited.
Five days.
Five days I survived.
Walking out of that detention center, every step sent pain shooting through my battered body.