As Angel finishes a longer-term prison sentence, she meets a world that has changed without her. While she is adjusting to the all of these new changes around her, she finds herself in a world wind of love, violence and tragedy. This is 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐢�...
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|📍𝙰𝚃𝙻―𝟻:𝟹𝟶𝚊𝚖 | - 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍. - 𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~ 𝙹𝚊𝚒𝚕
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Angel leaned her head against the cold, rough wall of her prison cell, the ticking clock counting down the final minutes of a sentence that had felt like a lifetime. The world outside had kept turning, evolving in ways she couldn't imagine, while her life had been paused, frozen in time within these concrete walls.
The guards had stopped by earlier, handing her a set of clothes that didn't belong to her—a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and some sneakers that felt too big. They were hers now, though. Everything that had been hers once was gone, left behind in a world she no longer recognized.
The prison gates opened slowly, creaking as if they were reluctant to release her. As Angel stepped through, the weight of her newfound freedom pressed down on her chest. The sunlight felt foreign on her skin, and the noises of the city beyond the fence were a distant hum she could barely comprehend. She was no longer Angel, the girl who had walked into this place so many years ago. She was something new, something yet to be defined.
She took a deep breath, her first as a free woman, but the air tasted different, laced with a bitterness she couldn't place. The bus that would take her into the city was already waiting, its engine rumbling like an impatient beast. Angel hesitated, staring at the open door as if it was another prison cell, another trap waiting to close around her.
But she had no choice. The life she'd known, was gone. The only way was forward.
The city was loud, overwhelming, and chaotic in a way that made her heart race. Buildings towered over her like giants, casting long shadows that made her shiver. The people, so many people, moved past her in a blur, their faces indifferent, unaware of the battle raging inside her. Every step felt like a test, her legs unsteady, her mind screaming at her to run, to hide, to disappear back into the safety of the walls she'd left behind.
But she kept walking, kept moving forward, because there was nowhere else to go. The streets led her to a Two - Story House in Downtown, Atlanta. A fresh start, they called it.
Slowly, she walks to the front door, knocking softly. The silence was deafening after, as if the world itself was holding its breath. For a moment, she hesitated, her hand hovering just above the doorframe. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged fears. She almost turned back, almost convinced herself that it was better to leave things as they were. But something compelled her to stay, to face whatever was waiting on the other side.
The door creaked open, revealing the familiar yet aged face of her mother, eyes filled with concern. "Angel," her mother whispered, the name laced with relief but also something darker—fear.
Angel stepped inside, her heart pounding as she followed her mother down the narrow hallway. The house was exactly as she remembered, yet everything felt different, wrong. Her father's voice rumbled from the living room, a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere.
And then she saw him.
Santos was sitting on the worn couch, leaning back with an air of unsettling familiarity. He looked too comfortable, too at home. The sight of him here, in her parents' house, sent a chill down her spine. This was her space, her sanctuary, and now it was tainted by his presence.
"Look who finally decided to come home," Santos said, his voice dripping with mockery as his eyes met hers. He had a way of making every word sound like a threat, every glance a challenge.
Her father looked at her with a strange mix of guilt and helplessness, as if he had no choice but to allow Santos to stay. Angel's mother stood silently by her side, her hand trembling slightly as she squeezed Angel's arm.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Santos smiled, a cold, calculating grin that made her stomach turn. "Just having a chat with your parents. They've missed you, you know. We all have."
The way he said it, the possessiveness in his tone, made Angel's skin crawl. She wanted to run, to pull her parents away from him, but the weight of the past, of all the years he had controlled and manipulated her, held her in place.
"We should talk," Santos continued, his eyes narrowing. "Alone."
Angel's mother looked at her, silently pleading for her to be careful. But Angel knew there was no easy way out of this. Santos wasn't here for a casual visit—he was here to remind her that she could never truly escape him, no matter where she went.
"Fine," Angel said, her voice tight. "Let's talk."
