ZARI
I entered a realm I never imagined seeing when the chilly metal doors clanged shut behind me. I had no idea what prison would be like. The walls were closing in like a coffin, and the air was thick with despair. This was my reality, not a nightmare from which I could awaken. For the murder of my father, Damien Valentine, which I did not commit, I received a ten-year sentence. The media had portrayed me as a pampered heiress who would kill to get her fortune, making the trial a circus. I yelled my innocence, pleaded, and begged, but it made no difference. The jury found me guilty based on the devastating evidence. The most difficult year was the first.
I was devastated by the betrayal, the disgrace, and the loneliness. I sobbed into my cell's tiny, scratchy pillow on innumerable evenings, reliving every choice that had brought me to this point. Getting to know Hamilton Cass and falling for his charisma. Putting my life in his hands. And now, where was Hamilton? Nowhere at all. I had never once had him visit me. In those early days, I held onto hope that he was trying to prove my innocence and that he would one day enter the prison and bring me home. However, he never showed up.
My first visitor arrived a month into my sentence. Neither Hamilton nor any of my former circle of pals were the visitors. Grace was the one. Grace had worked as my personal assistant before everything collapsed for five years. Beyond my celebrity and wealth, she was the one person who truly saw me for who I truly was. And she was the only one who remained faithful. As she sat across from me in the chilly, sterile visitation room, Grace apologised. Her hands were shaking as she clutched mine, and her eyes were glimmering with tears. "I ought to have done more." I ought to have put up more of a fight for you. "You're not to blame," I murmured, but my voice broke under the intensity of my feelings. "You didn't deserve this." With fierceness, she declared, "I never thought you were guilty." "And I never will." Her remarks served as a lifeline light and a glimmer of hope in the shadows. Grace came to see me every single month after that. She provided me with case updates, news from the outside world, and snippets of the life I had left behind.
There was greater heartache in the second year. The tabloids, which another prisoner brought me, told me that Hamilton had gotten married to someone else. Not just anybody. Charlotte, my best friend. The headline, "Hamilton Cass and Charlotte Blake Tie the Knot in Lavish Ceremony", was a heart-stopper. My palms trembled as I gazed at the blurry picture. Hamilton's arm was connected with Charlotte's, who looked stunning in a designer outfit. They appeared to be the ideal pair. I felt the sting of betrayal like acid. The person I trusted the most, Charlotte, had been my confidante. And Hamilton—he had made me a lifelong pledge to me. During her subsequent visit, Grace verified the information. With tears in her eyes, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Zari." "I was unsure of how to tell you." Even though it felt hollow, I said sourly, "They deserve each other."
The remnants of my former existence gradually faded away as the years went by. Everything I owned, including my house, music catalogue, and even my mother's jewellery, had been sold by Hamilton. I had nothing left after he had robbed me of every last bit of who I was. He had granted the rights to my work to a young, up-and-coming performer, a girl half my age, who was suddenly at the top of the charts with songs I had put my all into. Observing her accomplishments from the safety of the screen and magazines, I was tormented uniquely by the limitations of my cell. However, what Hamilton had taken wasn't the worst part. It was the knowledge that I had never been loved by him. Not at all. I had served as a pawn in his scheme, a springboard to further authority. And I had been used by him.
After six years, I had become more resilient. You were reshaped by prison, the softness carved away until steel was all that remained. I was no longer the gullible young woman who had entered Hamilton's embrace, oblivious to his allure. Now I was a survivor. Even survivors, however, had their limitations. While taking a shower in the shared loo one evening, I sensed someone standing behind me. I pivoted, and I saw a flash of metal—a shiv. The fight was vicious and chaotic, but I was able to repel my assailant, but it cost me dearly. Blood gathered on the tiled floor, my vision became blurry, and I passed out. When I woke up, I was in the infirmary, bruised and bandaged. "You're being released for good behaviour," Grace told me during her next visit, "it is a miracle they let you go. Good behaviour and overcrowding worked in your favour." When I was released from prison, I stood outside those chilly, iron gates with only a small bag of belongings and the clothes on my back. Grace was waiting for me, her arms open, and she said, "You're free," with tears in her eyes. A new suspect clue suggests another suspect had been found, and finally, the case has been reopened. I exhale while holding Grace; the air smells different, more soothing and pure. But I didn't feel free. I felt lost.
Reality set in quickly. I had no money, no home, and no family. The world had moved on without me, and I was a ghost haunting the wreckage of my past. Hamilton had given me a position as his maid. His maid. I chuckled furiously at his arrogance. Naturally, I said no, but I could still hear his arrogant phone voice. "Consider it," he had advised. The least I can do is this, he had said. What more could he do? Following all that he had stolen from me? No. I'd figure it out on my own. Grace was married with a set of twins around four years old; her husband, Diamond Router, was a driver, and they were living in a one-bedroom apartment; hence, I couldn't stay there, so I found a lousy, shitty motel charging next to nothing with the money Grace was able to raise. I don't want to be an inconvenience, so I need to fix my life fast.
I was sitting at a little café in downtown Manhattan with Grace a week after I was released. Although it was very different from the glitzy eateries I used to visit, it felt secure. Grace carefully stated, "Zari, there's someone who wants to meet you." I enquired as I sipped my coffee, "Who?" Before she could respond, a man entered the café through the open door. Andrew Michael. New York's entertainment king. He commanded attention as soon as he walked into the room because of his height and commanding presence. I was momentarily unable to breathe as his black eyes met mine. He held out his hand and said, "Miss Valentine." "It is a privilege to meet you at last." I shook his hand, my mind racing. Despite my nervousness, I said, "Michael Andrew", in a calm voice. "This is not what I expected." He sat down opposite me and grinned. "Zari, I've been following your career for years. Your talent and spirit have always been admirable to me. It was unfair what happened to you. Even I was surprised by the anger in my tone as I responded, "Tell me something I don't know." Michael laughed, but then his face became grave. "I wish to assist you. I believe in second chances, and I understand what you've been through. For you, I have a proposal. "What sort of proposal is it?" I enquired cautiously. He asked Grace to excuse us, and she did.
The phrase "contract marriage" was his direct statement. Uncertain if I had heard him correctly, I blinked. "Pardon me?" Leaning forward, Michael's eyes were keen. "I need a wife." A person the media cannot destroy. Someone who is unflappable, strong, and resilient. And in exchange, I'll provide you with the means to start over. to reclaim what is rightfully yours. His implication-laden remarks lingered in the atmosphere. "I... I'm not sure," I stumbled. "There's a lot to take in." In a soft voice, he said, "Take your time." "Consider it. But be aware that I'm not just offering you a relationship. I'm allowing you to soar above the ashes. He put a business card on the table and stood up. "Call me when you're ready." I glanced at the card as he left, a flurry of emotions racing through my head. Grace placed her hand on mine as she reached across the table. She questioned, "What are you going to do?" I didn't respond. I stared at the door, where Michael had just disappeared. This was my chance to reclaim my life, to fight back against everything that had been stolen from me. But could I trust him?
The weight of the decision I had to make pressed down on me as I walked the city streets that night, the card clutched tightly in my hand. And then, in the shadows, I saw someone watching me. A figure I thought I'd never see again.