His Ruthless Temptation

Chapter Two

I pulled my blazer tight as I stood at the ferry dock, a cup of coffee in hand. The wind whipped around me, the cold biting through my clothes. I stared at the dark waters stretching toward the island where the maximum-security prison loomed, an imposing silhouette in the mist. My fingers wrapped around the coffee cup for warmth, but my thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Prison wasn't a foreign place to me. The metallic clang of the bars, the cold, sterile air—all of it brought back memories of visiting my mother behind bars. She'd always greet us with a strained smile, trying to act strong, but the weight of her addiction was evident. Drugs had stolen her from us long before she was physically gone.

Selene and I didn't have the same father—neither of them stuck around. It never mattered to us, though. The bond we had was unbreakable. We grew up in foster care, bouncing between homes, never quite finding stability. And yet, we found it in each other. The day I turned 18, I fought to get custody of Selene. I couldn't bear the thought of her continuing to live in that system, so I pulled us out as soon as I could. We left that life behind, determined to build something better for ourselves.

But no matter how far we ran, the scars of our past followed us.

Perhaps that's why I'd chosen this path. Law. Justice. It felt like the antidote to everything she couldn't be—responsibility, structure, order. Yet, the irony wasn't lost on me that my career brought me right back to the places I tried to escape as a child. Prisons, trials, accusing people who looked a lot like the ghosts of my past.

This time, I was here for a young man named Martin Johnson Jr. He had been accused of drug trafficking. I was preparing to offer him a deal. He had been thrown into one of the most dangerous prisons in the United States. To me, the whole situation was unfair, at least from a technical standpoint. That's why I'd spent so much time working on his case. If he could give up the names of those more deeply entangled in the operation, he'd be able to walk away without serving any time.

The ferry jolted me from my thoughts as it approached the dock. I took another sip of coffee, the bitter warmth steadying me as I prepared myself for the task ahead.

The island was bleak. Everything about it felt heavy—the towering walls, the barbed wire that seemed to stretch endlessly, the way the cold air pressed against me as I approached the entrance. The guards stood stoic at their posts, eyes watchful as I approached.

"Name?" barked one of them, a burly man with a name tag reading Officer Peters.

" ADA Aitana Morgane. I'm here to see Martin Johnson Jr."

"ID," he grunted, holding out his hand. I passed him my card, and he glanced at it, giving me a brief nod before gesturing me inside. "Go through security. Leave your phone and anything metal."

I complied, walking through the familiar gauntlet of metal detectors and pat-downs. It wasn't my first time doing this, but the process never failed to make me feel like I was the one being scrutinized, as though the system was designed to wear down anyone who dared cross its threshold.

Each checkpoint felt like another layer of separation from the outside world. The further I walked, the colder the air became, as if the walls themselves were pressing in. I could hear the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, casting the sterile hallways in a harsh white glow.

As I followed Officer Peters down the long corridor, memories of visiting my mother resurfaced. The sound of my shoes clicking against the concrete floor echoed in the back of my mind. The way Selene would always cling to my side, wide-eyed and nervous, while I pretended to be strong for the both of us. It was a routine I knew too well—the cold, distant guards, the sound of steel doors clanging shut behind us.