TURNS OF BETRAYAL

Philip stood in the cold, harsh light of the prison intake room, undressing and preparing to don his new uniform. He felt a rush of disbelief wash over him; twelve years stretched ahead like an endless horizon. As he changed, he couldn't help but think of Jessica. She would have moved on by now. The court's reading of his sentence had crushed her, he knew, and he could almost see the look of hurt and anger in her eyes. She couldn’t even look at him during the trial. That memory gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the life he had lost.

"I will try and make it up to her," Philip muttered to himself, blaming himself for everything—the crime, the ruling, the sentence that stretched far longer than he had anticipated. Twelve years instead of two. What has gone wrong? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered.

Prison, he quickly realized, was not a place for the weak. The reality of his new life sank in, and he felt disjointed, unable to accept that this was his reality for the next twelve years. Clinging to the hope that Jessica still loved him, he told himself that twelve years would be a small price to pay to rekindle their love. That hope was the thin thread keeping him from despair.

Being unaffiliated with any gang made him vulnerable. He knew it, and so did the other inmates. One day, while in the prison library—his sanctuary where he could lose himself in books and thoughts of Jessica—a group of men approached him. He glanced up from his book as they surrounded him.

"You're Philip Scott?" one of them asked, his voice gruff.

"Yes, I am," Philip replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

The men exchanged knowing looks and nodded. "He’s the one," one said. "Yeah, he’s the same person from the picture."

Panic surged through Philip as one of the men pulled out a dagger. He tried to escape, causing a scene, but the guards were nowhere to be found—the inmates had tipped them off. They grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to a secluded part of the library, intending to stab him to death.

Just then, someone hit the man with the knife from behind, sending him to the ground. The other attacker tried to pick up the knife, but the same rescuer knocked him down with a chair. Both men lay lifeless on the floor.

"Come with me," the man commanded, his voice harsh and urgent.

Philip, still shaking, couldn't move. The man, impatient, grabbed his hand and led him to a more populated area, acting as if nothing had happened. They made their way to the cafeteria and sat down.

"Who are you?" Philip asked, his voice trembling.

"David Martin," the man replied.

"What's your crime?" Martin asked, seemingly casual but with an undertone of urgency.

"Money laundering," Philip answered.

"Oh dear, let me guess—Lane’s Industries?" Martin’s eyes bore into him.

"Yeah... yeah... how did you know?" Philip asked, his voice rising in surprise and fear.

"Once I worked there. I'm in prison for the same crime. I didn’t commit it, but here I am," Martin explained.

Philip’s panic escalated. "Did you, by any chance, have a relationship with Jessica Lane?"

Martin laughed bitterly. "Oh dear, fuck! Of course, I was. We were supposed to get married."

"No... no... this can't be happening," Philip murmured, standing up to leave.

Martin joined him, speaking in a low, urgent tone. "This is the real deal, brother. Lane’s family are vampires. You fall in love with Jessica, they frame you, tell you to accept a deal—it’s just for a while—and boom, you're spending thirty years in prison, always watching your back because they have informants here."

Philip didn't want to believe it. He refused to accept that he shared the same fate as a stranger. His love for Jessica blinded him to the harsh reality. He told himself that he was special and never spoke of it again.

Philip and Martin became best friends, deciding to share a cell to watch each other's backs. The men Martin had knocked out were still alive, waiting for a chance to finish their mission.

Four days later, Philip received a sudden summons to the chief prison warden's office.

"Philip Scott, right?" the chief warder asked.

"Yes, I am," Philip replied, his heart pounding.

"Well, you’re in luck," the warder said with a faint smile.

Philip's heart leapt. Was it a call from Jessica? A visit? He hung on the warder’s next words.

"You got a pardon. You’re leaving prison," the warder announced.

Philip couldn’t believe it. Leaving prison this early felt like a dream. He was confused but overjoyed. He shared the news with Martin, who felt a mix of happiness and sadness.

"Promise me one thing, Philip," Martin said.

"What's that?" Philip asked.

"Don't forget me," Martin answered, his voice heavy with emotion.

"I won’t," Philip said, crossing his heart.

LANE’S ESTATE

Philip’s heart pounded as he gazed out the cab window, gripping the frayed edge of his jacket. “Hey, I have no money,” he stammered, glancing at the driver. “Maybe you can wait here so I can go inside and get some?”

The driver rolled his eyes, his face contorting with disdain. “Oh for Christ's sake, you prison inmates are all the same,” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “Get the fuck out of my vehicle. I hope you go back to prison.”

Philip stumbled out of the cab, the door slamming behind him with a finality that echoed in his ears. Despite the harsh words, his heart was light; he was about to see Jessica, the love of his life. After months of confinement, the prospect of reuniting with her filled him with a buoyant sense of hope. He had done his time, albeit an early release, and he couldn’t wait to find out why the Lane family had intervened on his behalf.

As he approached the grand gates of the Lane estate, the imposing security guard stepped forward, blocking his path. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Philip swallowed hard. “Uh, I’m here to see Jessica Lane.”

“Jessica Lane? You mean Jessica Strong?” The guard’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

“What do you mean, Jessica Strong?” Philip’s voice trembled.

“I mean she just got engaged last week. She’s marrying Mr. Strong this weekend.”

Philip’s world tilted on its axis. It felt like he had only been in prison for a week and a few days, and now Jessica was engaged? His thoughts raced as he struggled to comprehend the rapid changes. “Can I see her?” he finally managed to ask.

“Let me check if she’s available.” The guard turned away to make the call, but was interrupted by the sound of a car horn. He rushed to open the gates, and Philip’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Jessica step out of a sleek convoy.

“Philip, you’re alive?” Jessica exclaimed, her face a mask of shock.

“Yeah, yeah, I made it out. I was released today,” Philip said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Released? How… how is that possible?” Jessica stammered.

“You didn’t know, I thought it was you?” Philip’s heart sank at her genuine surprise.

“I had no idea,” she replied, still reeling.

“That’s by the way. I missed you, Jessi,” Philip said, stepping forward to hug her. Jessica recoiled, refusing his embrace.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Philip asked, hurt creeping into his voice.

“I am not your baby,” Jessica snapped. “In fact, you need to leave here right now before my fiancé finds you.”

“So it’s true? You’re marrying someone else? I thought I was doing all this for you. I went to prison because you told me to,” Philip said, his voice breaking.

“No, you went to prison because you stole from me,” Jessica retorted.

“I didn’t steal that money, and you know it,” Philip replied desperately.

“The court ruling said you did,” Jessica responded coolly.

“No, it didn’t. I plead guilty because you told me to, and you…you promised me we’d be together after I got out of jail.”

“Don’t be foolish, Philip. Ask yourself a simple question: was there any world in which we would be together? Look at us—we’re from two different worlds. You’re poor, and I’m rich. You should have known it was never going to happen.”

Philip felt a deep cut inside him, as if a knife had been twisted in his heart. Jessica’s phone rang, and it was Mr. Strong. She answered with a radiant smile, her voice dripping with affection as she spoke to her fiancé.

The reality of the situation dawned on Philip like a crashing wave. It was over. He turned away, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat and despair, and walked out of the Lane estate, each step heavier than the last.

He went straight to the nearest bar, the neon lights flickering above the entrance like a beacon of temporary oblivion. He drank bottle after bottle, trying to drown the pain that frowned at his soul. As the alcohol took over, he fell to the floor, his vision blurred and his mind clouded.

Through the haze, he barely saw two men in black shades lifting him. His senses dulled by alcohol, he was oblivious to his surroundings.

The next morning, an alarm clock woke him up. His head pounded with a vicious headache from the night’s heavy drinking. He looked around, surprised to find himself in a spacious, opulent apartment adorned with gold accents. He staggered to his feet, picking up a glass as a makeshift weapon, and cautiously opened the door.

He was greeted by the sight of numerous workers bustling about in the magnificent house. As he walked slowly, trying to make sense of his new environment, he encountered a woman.

“Hey, what is this place?” he asked nervously.

“Good morning, Mr. Aton,” the head chef interrupted.

“Mr. Aton?” Philip repeated, confused.

“Who is Mr. Aton?” he asked.

“You are, Mr. Aton,” a fierce-looking man with a baritone voice and a cigarette dangling from his lips emerged from another room. “You are my son.”

Philip’s world spun again “I don't believe it, you are not my father, I know my father”

“Yes I am not, I am I am your grandfather” Barry Aton said

“Nah nah I don't believe this, my grandparents are dead” Philip replied.

Barry Aton tried to come close to him “Don't you ever come close to me, what the fuck do you want from me?” Philip said.

“I want you to take over my company, you are my last Heir”

“Last Heir?” Philip replied

“Yes, you are”.

“No I don't believe it” Philip opened the door and stormed out to get some fresh air.