Selene  was escorted back to her prison room by two guards, with her hands cuffed in front of her. Her legs were weak. Every step felt heavy.

No baby.  

No voice.  

No comfort.  

Just the same concrete walls.

The whispers began immediately the guards took off the handcuffs and pushed her forward into her cell.

"There she is."

"1165 is back."

"She came back empty-handed."

"Where is the baby?"

Some prisoners came nearer, smiling. Selene lowered her head and headed towards her ward. She didn't want to hear them. She wanted her bed. She would like to go to bed and pretend that the world was not there.

But prisoners did not mind how she felt.

A tall inmate who had braided hair walked in the way of Selene. "I heard you knocked out a dead one,"

she said, and everyone could hear her.

Some other person came in. "Could not even bring something useful in the world." 

Laughter followed.

Selene said nothing. She walked around them.

"She cannot speak," somebody sneered, and made a guttural noise with her throat. "Just like this--rrhh-khhh."

More laughter.

Selene walked to her ward and sneaked in. Her bed was the top bunk. She was too weak to get up, and lay down on the bottom one, and curled slowly on her side. Her stomach ached. Her head felt heavy.

She closed her eyes.

Perhaps, they would leave her alone had she remained quiet.

But peace didn't last long.

The metal door opened with a bang.

"There she is!"

Two inmates picked up Selene before she could sit up.

"No..." she tried to beg.

"Get her up!" one shouted.

They dragged her off the bed and began pushing her to the bathroom. 

Some of the inmates grumbled  she believed that she was safe because she was pregnant.

She believed that she was able to get out of work.

She expected to get sympathy.

They dragged her into the bathroom and pushed her to the wet and tiled floor.

Selene attempted to sit up, and someone pushed her shoulder down.

She was surrounded by a crowd  of women. Their expressions were cold. All sent here for committing great crimes against humanity. 

The tallest prisoner came forward. "You believe you are superior to us because you had been an artist out there? Because you had one or two shows? You believe you are better?"

Another scoffed. "Artist? Please. She couldn't even talk now."

One of them said, she was not an artist. She was a drug peddler who was posing as a singer. 

Somebody called her a fake singer, and she held her nose up and talked in a squeaky voice. "Oh, see me, I am 1165, I would like to be famous."

The bathroom was full of laughter.

Selene put her hand to her stomach. It still hurt from labor. One of the inmates kicked her thigh, as she attempted to move back.

"Don't move."

The tall one bent over and roughly grabbed the chin of Selene, and raised her face.

"Look at this," she said, turning Selene's face left and right as she took a good look at it. "What happened to your face? Did someone melt it? Did you get hit with a truck filled with ugly?"

Selene's breathing sped up. She made attempts to withdraw, but the woman clung to her.

"You wanna sing with this face?" she mocked. "Fine then, sing."

"Sing for us, 1165!" another shouted.

"Yes! Sing!" someone else repeated.

They all laughed again.

Selene opened her mouth and made an attempt to speak.

"Hh... nn... stop--"

The silence was interrupted, hardly a murmur.

The prisoners broke into greater laughter.

She is more like a tractor.

"She sounds like a dying rat."

"Hush it," one replied and hit Selene on the cheek.

Selene's head jerked sideways. Her eyesight momentarily went blurry.

"Hit her again!" someone yelled.

The giant inmate hit her right shoulder. The blow pushed Selene off on her side.

Another blow fell on the other side.

Then another.

And another.

"Stop trying to hide," somebody said and kicked her side.

"Oh, she is crying, "another sneered.

"Perhaps she is still acting like she is weak," someone added. "Perhaps she is smuggling drugs once again. Tell us girl! Do you have coke for us?"

She was kicked again on the ribs.

Selene grunted, but scarcely audible.

Her head started spinning. The walls began to tilt. Her breaths came out shallow.

One of the prisoners sneered back. "She's going to pass out."

"Let her," another said. "She deserves it."

Then there was a voice in the rear.  

"Wait."

Selene lifted her eyes weakly.

The woman came forward gradually. She was shorter than others, and with a scar on her forehead. She stuck into her boot and came out with something shiny.

A knife.

Selene's heart dropped.

The room got quiet.

The lady cowered before her. "You were not saved by pregnancy, she said. "Nothing will save you."

Selene shook her head weakly. "No... pl... no--"

Her voice cracked painfully.

The woman raised the knife.

Someone laughed nervously. "You really gonna do it?"

"She deserves it," the woman answered. " I had to do all her work whilst she was at the hospital having that dead child." 

Selene attempted to crawl away, but her physical form was too weak. Her vision doubled. Her ears rang.

The woman caught Selene by the shirt, dragged her nearer. 

And plunged the knife deep in the stomach of Selene.

Selene gasped silently. No shriek came forth, but a gasp of pain.

Hot blood was sprayed on her shirt and the floor.

Her eyes rolled back.

The walls of the bathroom became obscured and went into dark forms.

Voices became faint.

Someone said, "She's done."

Someone else added, "Leave her. Let's get out of here before we are caught!" 

Then everything went black.

Selene  was sitting on the couch in the mansion's  living room, holding her phone, her leg trembling slightly due to habit. She had been rehearsing a song. 

Her phone suddenly rang.

She stared at the screen.  

Unknown number... but from LA.

She replied promptly, and her heart was racing. "Hello?"

The voice of a man came through calm and professional. "Is this Selene Rivers?"

"Yes, this is Selene."

"This is Viktor Hale, the manager of A-list artist Kaelara Storm. We heard your demo. Kaelara loves your tone." He paused. "We want you to open her tour."

Selene's breath caught. Her hand fell over her mouth.

"Me?" she whispered. 

"Yes. Very shortly, the tour begins, and we want to know whether you are interested. We will require you to come to our office today in case you are. And we will take care of paper work and rehearsal schedules." The man said.

"Yes! I'm interested--absolutely!"

"Good. You can get in within an hour, that would be good." He said.

"I will. Thank you very much for this great opportunity. I will be there." Selene replied, using the last ounce of self control she had to stop herself from screaming into the phone.

"Great. See you soon."  

The call ended.

"Yes!" She screamed, twirling around as soon as the man hung up the call. "I need to get ready! I have less than an hour." 

Selene rose to her feet and hastened to the bedroom. She took a plain yet nice dress, did her make-up sparingly, and attempted to relax her trembling hands.

This was it.  

Her chance.  

Her dream becoming real.

The front door flung open, and she was about to reach out to her bag, when she walked toward the door.

Garrick Thorne walked in.

Her husband.  

Big and good-looking, in a suit, smelling of perfume and a costly life.

He halted at her all dressed up.

"Where are you going?" he asked, loosening his tie.

Selene smiled softly. "Garrick Thorne, I just got a call. From Kaelara Storm's team. They want me to open her tour. I ..I must now go and see the manager."

Garrick Thorne blinked at her. His face changed to a neutral to an annoyed one within seconds.

"So you're leaving?" he asked.

"I have to go now. The manager..."

"I have just arrived at home," he  interrupted. "I want to sleep with my wife. And you are just running out of the house in that way? To go meet some man?"

Selene's smile faded. "Garrick Thorne... please. This is my dream. I've waited so long.."

He scoffed. "Dream? Selene, you should not embarrass yourself." 

Her shoulders tensed.

"This music thing again?" he continued. "You're my wife. I can afford any record label  you choose, but I do not want a singer as my wife." 

Selene swallowed hard. "I do not want you to purchase anything. This is something I earned. You know I've always worked for anything related to my music, I am rejecting your help but please."

He came nearer and caught her by the arm. "Call them. Tell them you're not coming."

She withdrew her arm tenderly. "Garrick Thorne, no. This is my future. Please don't do this."

"I said call them." His voice grew louder. "Reject the offer. Now."

Selene shook her head. "Please listen, just this once. This is what I have been striving to achieve.

Garrick Thorne gazed at her some time, his jaw set, anger in his face. "Fine! Have it your way." 

Then he took his keys and walked  himself out of the door. 

Selene stood there breathing shakily.

She closed her eyes.

She wasn't giving up.

She was ready, picked up her bag and walked out of the house. She was going to the office and her hands were clenching the steering wheel. She attempted to remain calm, attempted to concentrate on the future she had.

Midway there her phone rang once more.

She answered. "Hello?"

This time it was the voice of a woman. "Is this Selene Rivers?"

"Yes, I'm..." 

"This is Kaelara Storm's office. This is to tell you that we are dropping you. The team revisited your profile and we found out that you are not a real artist. You don't write your songs."

That is not the case, Selene said hastily, and her panic grew. "I write everything myself. I can show..." 

"We don't work with frauds."  

The call cut off.

Selene was looking at her phone in disbelief.

Dropped.  

Without meeting her.  

Without letting her explain.  

Saying she does not write her song?

Her chest tightened.

She pulled on the side of the road and parked. She shook with her breath trying to comprehend what had just occurred.

Then she saw figures coming to her window.

Four men.  

Rough-looking. Hoodies. Hard faces.

One tapped on her window. "Hey," he said. "You're parked in our spot."

Selene opened the window a bit. "I--I'm sorry. I'll move now."

The man leaned closer. "You're already here. That means you owe us." 

"Owe you?" she whispered.

Another man approached her door and banged it open. "She is a pretty one fellas. Get out."

Selene got out slowly and her hands were trembling. I am simply trying to go, please.

One of the men touched her at the waist. "Relax, pretty."

She pushed his hand away. "Don't touch me."

His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"I said don't.." 

He struck her violently on the face. "You don't tell us what to do!" 

Her head jerked.

The others moved in.

A punch hit her shoulder.  

Another hit her stomach.  

She attempted to defend herself, but the number of hands, the number of blows were too many.

"Stop, please," she begged.

They pushed her to the ground, with one kicking her stomach. "This aint personal, it's business honey."

She scrambled up to her feetand ran away, despite the throbbing ache in her body.

"Hey! Come back here!" one shouted.

She ran across the road, without looking. 

A loud truck horn horned.

She turned  around and looked in the direction of the noise.

The headlights were too near.

Too fast.

She froze.

And then...

"Garrick!" She screamed when the bright lights of the truck were nearer to her and the very next moment she was raised high in the air and dropped flat and the next moment and the truck driver made a u-turn with his truck,  running  away leaving Selene in her pool of blood.

"Oh God." Selene groaned as she opened her eyes, once again in a hospital room.

What-" the words caught in her throat as saw who sat next to her.

Ronan Blackwood was sitting there, leaning back in a chair beside the bed. His pose was composed, calm and controlled, the calm that might be frightening. He was smartly dressed, clean, and slightly scented with cologne. His eyes were fixed, and he stared at her, and Selene felt, as she had not felt in months, a kind of recognition, not fear.

Ronan Blackwood bent a little, and put both his hands on his knees. Selene, he said in a low voice, his voice was measured. "You're awake."

Selene attempted to move, attempted to push herself up, but her weakness pulled her down at once. "Wh... why..." Her voice was sharp and jagged, as metal rubbing metal together. The words were hardly discernible.

Ronan Blackwood held up a hand. "Relax. You're safe. I came to see you."

Selene's eyes widened. She remembered him. Her husband's best friend. The individual who never appeared to be reachable, not besmirched by the lies, the betrayals. And now he was there--composed, in her hospital room. 

"Not fine I Never... had drugs... police... lied..." Her ravaged voice broke once more. She gulped, attempting to force the words down her throat, though they did not seem to come out as words at all, but as a scratching motor.

Ronan Blackwood's gaze softened. "I know," he said firmly. "I know you didn't carry drugs. I know you were framed. I have been following it since the day it occurred. They have put those drugs in your car. They set you up."

At his words Selene turned her stomach. "Who... did it?" whimpered she, the rasp scarcely intelligible. "Why...?"

Ronan Blackwood sat back a little, examining her. "That is what I have come to tell you, and in the first place I am going to give you something. An opportunity. A chance to get your life back."

The eyes of Selene were flickering with doubt and desire. "Opportunity? What... what do you mean? she managed to rasp.

Ronan Blackwood exhaled slowly. "I can get you out of jail, Selene. You don't have to stay there. You do not need to suffer any more. He stood still and looked at her. "I possess sufficient influence and funds to make it happen. You'll be free. One word from me, and all these gaurds would open those prison doors and escort you out."

Selene sighed and shook her head. "Free? After everything? Years of mistreatment, months of being deprived of her life , months of the agony of being confined in that institution and  tortured there? Could it really be possible?"

He went on, speaking in a calm and firm voice. "You will not only be free but you will have a new life. You will be a different person, different documents and nobody will be aware of your history. Your countenance will be rebuilt. The harm of the past, all that had made you feel inferior to yourself, can be repaired. Your voice... I'll get the best specialists. You will be able to talk and sing once more."

Selene's hand shook on the bed. The cuff was biting into her wrist as she pushed it down. "Face... voice..." she rasped. The idea was nearly too many to think. Her chest tightened. She had a desire to weep, but the tears could not come easily. They were caught, as was her broken voice, in pain and fear.

Ronan Blackwood shook his head, feeling her indecision. And, he said to himself, you will avenge.

Her head lifted slightly. Her heart beat in her breast. "Revenge?" she mumbled , with her broken voice shaking.

"Yes," Ronan Blackwood said. "Your husband, and your best friend they both cheated you. They gave evidence against you in court. They framed you. They destroyed your life. And I can help you fix it."

Selene shut his eyes, and attempted to believe him. Her throat was on fire and she rasped, "Why... you?" 

Ronan Blackwood smiled a little and his eyes remained alert. "I know both of them well, that is why. I was still faking that I was the friend of Garrick Thorne. I made him believe that I was on his side. But the truth is... I have been waiting to have the right time to ensure he is made to pay with what he has done."

Selene's mind spun. She desired to put ask  questions, so many questions, but her throat would not cooperate. Every word was broken, rough, painful. Rather, she gazed at him and his words sunk in.

Ronan Blackwood leaned back slightly. "I am giving you this not because I feel sorry about you, not because I think you are the one who needs to be pitied, but because you are the only one who can stop them. You have talent. You have skill. You have the drive. And you can bring them down with my aid, get all they took away out of you, and get your life back together again. You can make them pay for what they did to you."

Selene's heart raced. Free. A new identity. Her face fixed. Her voice repaired. Revenge. Everything she had desired for years, all the things she had envisioned when she sat in that prison cell, when she was called 1165, when she was beaten, humiliated, and broken--could come to pass.

Ronan Blackwood stood by her, watching her, and his face was composed, but resolute. "I understand it is a lot to digest, Selene," he  said. "But I need your answer. Will you do this? Will you risk your life,  to reclaim your life and have justice?"