The first thing Ethan Cole felt when the prison gate opened was not relief.
It was rage.
Seven years.
Seven years of rot, concrete, and counted breaths—and the first face waiting for him outside was hers.
Nora Blake.
She stood a few feet away from the gate, dressed in black like she was attending a funeral. Hair pulled tight. Back straight. Controlled.
Like she deserved to be there.
Ethan stopped dead.
The air around him felt too thin to breathe.
She hadn't seen him yet. She was staring at her phone, fingers clenched, jaw tight—as if she was the one facing judgment today.
For one sick second, he wondered if she was nervous.
Then she looked up.
Their eyes collided.
The color drained from her face so fast it was almost satisfying. Her lips parted, soundless. Her body locked like prey realizing it had nowhere to run.
Good.
That fear?
She owed him years of it.
"Ethan," she whispered.
The sound of his name in her voice made something violent coil in his chest.
He stepped toward her.
Slow. Deliberate.
"You don't get to say my name," he said.
His voice was flat. Lifeless. Nothing like the boy who had once loved her.
She swallowed hard. "I—I didn't know they were releasing you today."
He smiled.
It wasn't kind.
"They," he echoed. "Is that what you call the people who believed you?"
Her shoulders flinched like he'd struck her.
A guard brushed past them. The gate slammed shut behind Ethan with a metallic finality.
Free.
And yet the past was standing right in front of him, breathing.
"I'm your lawyer," Nora said suddenly, words spilling too fast. "I've been assigned to represent you."
Ethan laughed.
It tore out of him—raw, broken, ugly. Heads turned. He didn't care.
"My lawyer," he repeated slowly. "That's disgusting."
She stepped closer. "Ethan, please—"
"Don't." His voice dropped. "You lost the right to beg the day you opened your mouth in that courtroom."
Her eyes shimmered.
Seven years ago, she had stood in a witness box wearing white. Innocent. Convincing. Crying just enough.
Yes, Your Honour. He was there that night.
Those words had followed him into every cell. Every sleepless night.
"You looked straight at me," Ethan said quietly, stepping into her space. "And you lied."
"I didn't have a choice," she whispered.
Something inside him snapped.
"You always had a choice," he said harshly. "You just chose to save yourself."
Her breath shook. For a second, her mask cracked.
Then she rebuilt it.
"The case is being reviewed," she said, professional now. Distant. "There were inconsistencies. I can help you."
Help.
The audacity of the word made his hands curl into fists.
"Tell me something," Ethan said, leaning in until she had to look at him.
"When you slept in your warm bed… did you ever wonder what prison does to a man?"
Her gaze dropped.
Coward.
"I didn't come here for forgiveness," she said, voice trembling despite her effort. "I came to fix what I can."
He stepped back like she'd burned him.
"No," he said coldly. "You came because guilt finally found you."
"That's not true."
He smiled again—sharp, merciless.
"You already destroyed my life once," he said. "Why stop now?"
Her eyes filled, but she refused to let the tears fall.
"I was blackmailed," she said.
The words hit him like a bullet.
Ethan froze.
The world went silent.
"What," he said slowly, dangerously, "did you just say?"
Nora closed her eyes, shoulders shaking.
And for the first time since he walked out of that prison—
The truth cracked the ground beneath them.