Back From Prison, Built For Revenge - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The iron gate of Dawnridge Women's Prison creaked open, its shrill groan slicing through the still morning air.
Inside a cramped cell, Chloe Quinn folded the few pathetic clothes she had left—a bleached-out T-shirt, faded jeans, and beat-up sneakers. The air reeked of disinfectant and damp concrete, a stench she'd long since learned to live with for three years.
Her movements were slow but not sluggish. Each fold of her clothing was like drawing a final period on her past. She continued to pack up her bag until footsteps stopped outside her door.
"Quinn, You've got a ride," a guard called out, her voice flat and indifferent.
Chloe looked up. The guard's face was a wall of practiced indifference—no sympathy, no contempt, just the dead-eyed stare of someone who'd seen too much and stopped caring a long time ago.
With a quiet nod, Chloe stuffed the clothes into a worn canvas bag and stood.
"Thanks," she smiled at the guard and croaked, her voice scraping like rust in her throat.
The guard said nothing. Just stepped aside. Chloe hefted the bag—light, but somehow still heavy—and stepped out. She'd counted down three years only for this moment.
At the end of the cold, sterile corridor, a final iron door stood waiting. Beyond it was freedom, but Chloe's feet felt like they were made of lead.
Three years ago, she was Chloe Stone, the darling of the city's most powerful Stone family. Pampered. Protected. Untouchable. But now? She was just Chloe Quinn, an ex-con and nobody. A ghost the world had already forgotten.
Memories flooded back like a relentless tide, pulling her back to the night that had marked the turning point of her fate.
She remembered the moment that night when her father, Peter Stone, announced that she didn't belong to the Stone family. She remembered the gut-punch truth that she'd been switched at birth. And worst of all, the betrayal—by the two people she trusted most: Yolanda Stone, the one who framed her, and Hayden Stone, her so-called brother who watched it all but did nothing.
Chloe had gone from living in the lap of luxury to rotting in a jail cell—the whiplash was enough to knock the wind out of her. But even so, she never cried. To her, tears were a luxury only the weak could afford.
The final gate slid open, and sunlight slammed into her like a fist. The world outside was still bustling—but it no longer belonged to her.
In the empty lot, a black sedan gleamed like a blade under the sun. Leaning against it was a man in a perfectly tailored suit. Tall. Sharp, and cold. He was like a statue carved from stone and pride.
Chloe recognized him immediately. It was Hayden.
He stood there, seemingly having waited for a long time, and his eyes darkened as he spotted her.
Chloe stopped in her tracks, meeting his gaze from a dozen yards away. Hayden looked like a stranger. He was still the high and mighty heir of the Stone family, but to her, he was no longer the brother who would stand up for her.
"You're finally out," Hayden spoke up first, his deep voice carrying something between guilt and annoyance.
Chloe didn't respond. She merely watched him in silence, her face blank and unreadable. The silence needled Hayden. A flicker of irritation crossed his face as he stepped forward and reached for her arm.
But Chloe pulled away, smooth and fast. His touch wasn't welcome anymore.
"I'm here to take you home," Hayden's tone softened a little, as if trying to show a rare trace of gentleness. But to Chloe, that so-called gentleness felt nothing short of cruelly ironic.
"Home?" she finally spoke, biting out the word with extreme weight of disdain. "Mr. Stone, I have long been without a home."
Hayden's expression darkened. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anger. "You will always be a Stone. No matter what happened, that won't change."
"Really?" A mocking smile played on Chloe's lips. "Then tell me, who let me bear the blame and rot in a cell? Who watched me take the fall?"
The questions hung there, unanswered and heavy. Hayden fell silent. His face stiffened, and his composure cracked. He tried to offer an explanation but found he had no words, for the facts could not be changed, and the truth was far crueler than any excuse.
"Quit the drama." After the brief standoff, Hayden finally lost his patience. "Just get in the car," he demanded coldly.
"No," Chloe refused without hesitation. "I'll walk on my own."
Her firm tone completely set him off. Hayden suddenly raised his voice. "Do you even realize what's going on right now? The media, the gossip... people are all watching you out there!" he snapped. "You're no more that high-and-mighty heiress from before, got it?"
His anger rolled off her like smoke. But Chloe didn't even blink. She just stared him down, showing no sign of compromise or retreat. In the end, Hayden was the one who gave in. Gritting his teeth, he sat back into the car and barked at the driver, "Drive!"
The car peeled away in a storm of dust. Chloe stood in the silence, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and started walking. It was at least ten kilometers from the prison to the center of Dawnridge, but she didn't care. This was her path to walk—no one's mercy or sympathy needed.
She hadn't gone a hundred yards when a black Rolls-Royce glided up beside her. The tinted window hummed down, and then she recognized that face, both familiar and distant. It was Carlos Lambert. As poised and handsome as ever, his eyes flickered with a dangerous gleam as they fixed on her.
"Need a ride?" he asked with a smile. His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, but his question sounded a lot like a command.
Chloe stopped. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she starred at him, wondering what kind of game he was playing now.