The Day I was Released From Prison, I Got Married

As Lydia stood there, furious and helpless, the sight filled me with a deep, dark satisfaction. This was just the beginning. Watching her forced to swallow her pride, knowing that I had her exactly where I wanted her, brought me immense pleasure. But deep inside, I knew this was far from enough. Apologies and slaps were nothing compared to what I truly wanted.

No, I wanted her—and everyone else who had ever wronged me—to pay. To suffer. To lose everything. And I wouldn’t stop until every single one of them got exactly what they deserved.

Later that evening, I made my way to Maxwell’s study. The room was dimly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls and the heavy scent of leather and wood filled the air. I sat across from him, the weight of everything that had transpired between us pressing down like a stone in my chest. The silence between us was thick and uncomfortable, but I remained composed, my posture straight and calm despite the storm brewing inside me.

Maxwell slid a document across the table toward me—the prenuptial agreement. The sound of the paper scraping against the polished mahogany echoed in the stillness of the room. I stared at the contract without touching it, my eyes narrowing as memories I had fought to bury began to claw their way back to the surface.

The weight of my past hung heavily on my shoulders. My fingers twitched slightly as I clenched my hands in my lap, my mind racing back to the beginning of my downfall. A year ago, I had been on top of the world—an academic star, celebrated for my achievements and granted a prestigious scholarship to study abroad. It was supposed to be my golden opportunity, a chance to escape the shadows of my past and secure a bright future for myself.

That’s when I met Maxwell and Lydia. I hadn’t known then the nightmare that would follow. Maxwell, charming and attentive, had gradually fallen for me. His affection had seemed genuine at first, but it hadn’t taken long for Lydia to catch on. Her obsession with her brother had always been unhealthy, her attachment bordering on possessive and my presence in his life had ignited a jealousy in her that quickly spiraled out of control.

Lydia's hatred festered, dark and venomous. She couldn’t stand the thought of Maxwell loving anyone but her. And so, she turned to the one person as twisted as she was—Vivienne, their older sister. Together, they had crafted a plan, framing me for theft, ensuring my swift and brutal downfall.

I still remember the day of my trial. The way the world had turned against me, how quickly people believed their lies. I had been convicted, sentenced to five years in prison, my bright future snuffed out in an instant. When I first entered that cold, unforgiving place, I was utterly alone, abandoned by everyone I had once known. The whispers of betrayal followed me wherever I went and the stares from the other inmates cut deeper than any knife.

The humiliation of that time still burned in my veins. I wore the prison uniform like a badge of shame, shackled and disheveled, stripped of my dignity. There were nights when my anger was the only thing that kept me warm, nights when I would lie awake in my cold cell, dreaming of revenge. I wanted to tear apart every single member of the Ashford Family who had wronged me, to make them pay for what they had done.

But amid that fury, there was only one person who visited me—Maxwell. Week after week, he came, sitting across from me on the other side of the glass, his eyes full of regret and sorrow. It was during one of those visits that he made me a promise.

“Nichole,” he had said, his voice soft, his gaze steady, “if you agree to marry me, I can get you out of here.”

How ridiculous!

This man, who claimed to love me, stood by as his sisters framed me, sending me to prison. The only defense he ever offered was a weak, “I believe you.” Pathetic. Maxwell wasn’t a hero—he was an opportunist, terrified of the scandal that might drag him down. He knew the truth, just like those who had framed me.

In the end, I compromised. Somehow, he managed to get my five-year sentence reduced to one. The only condition I set was we wouldn’t consummate the marriage for the first three months.

Maxwell urged me impatiently, clearly eager to finalize things. I took the contract, flipping through its pages with deliberate slowness, before finally signing my name. His face brightened immediately and he suggested we head to City Hall to register our marriage. But as he turned away, I discreetly sent a message to Lydia, setting the next phase of my plan in motion.