CHAPTER 1: Ex-convict is back

Have you ever regretted making a decision?

The decision I made seven years ago got me into this, and I regret it. 

The heavy prison gates creaked open, and sunlight shone a blinding white directly on Fiona Robison’s tear-filled eyes. 

Two years. Two years stolen and wasted on a crime she didn't commit. She has finally been released. Yet, it wasn't pure joy that filled her. It was a bitter cocktail of longing, disgust, and hatred. All of this for two different people. 

She clutched the worn photograph in her pocket—the image of her son, Rowan Watson, his gap-toothed grin—a glaring contrast to the harsh reality that she had experienced in prison. 

Taking a shaky breath, she hailed a cab, ignoring the tremor in her voice.

"Tanglin," she rasped, the word a foreign taste on her tongue. 

She highlighted in front of a sprawling mansion with a big iron gate. Despite the steely resolve hardening within her, a tremor ran through her hand as she fished out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill for the fare. 

"Here," she mumbled, her voice rough.

"Thanks, lady," the driver grunted, barely sparing her a glance as he zoomed off in his cab. 

Stepping into the house, she held her eyes closed and took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of her home that had now become foreign to her nostrils. 

“Home at last,” she murmured.

Suddenly, a blur of brown and blue shot through the opened door, with a high-pitched sound shattering the air. Before she could react, a small body collided with her legs, wrapping tiny arms around her waist.

"Mama!"

Looking down, Fiona felt a sob rise in her throat, and at the same time, her heart was filled with joy, seeing Rowan clinging to her like a lifeline. He was four years and six months old when she left for prison, and now he was a far cry from the gap-toothed boy in the photograph—his hair, a mess of windblown brown curls, framed a face streaked with dirt and tears, his bright blue eyes mirroring her own silver gray. He was the one for whom Fiona felt a longing.

"Mama!" He cried again, his voice thick with emotion. "You came back!"

Fiona dropped to her knees, engulfing him in a tight hug. The fabric of his clothes felt rough against her sallow skin. Tears, long held back, streamed down her face, hot and salty. 

"I'm here, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Mama's here now." She patted him slightly. 

Rowan clung to her, his small body trembling. Even at six and a half years old, the confusion and pain of her absence were etched on his face. Fiona rocked him gently, her heart overflowing with a cocktail of love, relief, and simmering anger directed at Jackson Watson, her husband, who never came to see her in prison, not to mention bringing Rowan to check on her. 

She pulled back, wiping away his tears with her calloused thumbs. "Look at you! You've gotten so big," she beamed, tracing the dirt smudged on his cheek.

Rowan sniffled, a wide, wobbly grin splitting his face. "I missed you, mama."

"I missed you more, Row. More than you can ever imagine." She cupped his baby-fat cheeks. 

“I told Dad that I wanted to come to where you were, but he said he was busy and couldn’t leave work,” Rowan blurted as a matter of fact. 

Fiona’s heart clenched, hearing that her husband couldn’t leave his work to come check her up in prison for a whole two years when he was the reason why she had served a jail term. She gulped down nothing in her throat. 

“Where is dad?” Fiona asked, getting to her feet as she held onto Rowan’s hand. One would think that Rowan would disappear if she ever let go of his hand. 

"They are in the lounge," Rowan responded, gesturing in the lounge's direction.

Fiona's hand tightened around Rowan's as a cold dread pooled in the pit of her stomach as she searched her memories for any company Jackson must have gotten because they don’t normally have visitors except for Jackson’s mother and his sister, who often visit them. 

"They?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Rowan nodded again, his innocent eyes searching hers with a huge grin on his face. 

Taking a deep breath, Fiona steeled herself and brushed off the thought that was running through her head. Confusing herself that it must be her mother-in-law or perhaps her sister-in-law. With her chin held high, they walked towards the lounge, her heart pounding slightly against her ribs.

The lounge door swung open, revealing a scene that ripped the breath from her lungs. Jackson, looking more handsome with his styled, dark brown hair, sat on a plush couch, his arm wrapped possessively around a woman with a protruded baby bump. She was pregnant. 

Well, it wasn't just any woman—it was Alaina Preston, Fiona’s best friend, the one she had confided in about her troubles with Jackson.

Before Fiona went to prison, she could perceive scents of women on his clothes, and she could ask him about it, but he always assured her it was because he mingled with business associates, and it was nothing to worry about. 

A wave of nausea washed over Fiona. The scene felt as if a whole bucket of ice was poured on her head, drenching her. Her gaze darted between Jackson's cold hazel eyes and Alaina's carefully painted face, a mask of betrayal hiding what Fiona knew once was genuine friendship and love. 

"Fiona," Jackson drawled, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "We weren't expecting you so soon. So… It’s been two years." He said it sarcastically. 

Before Fiona could speak, Alaina stood up, her designer dress swishing around her legs. Her sharp green eyes fixed on Fiona, and a practiced smile appeared on her face—the same smile she uses when greeting Fiona.

"Looks like we’ve got a visitor. Well, you’re welcome,” she purred, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

The word slammed into Fiona like a physical blow.

In her own home? 

The house she bought with her hard-earned money?

A visitor? 

Rage ignited within her, like a volcano ready to erupt. But this wasn't a prison. This was her life, as well as her home. She wouldn't crumble.

With a dangerous gaze, Fiona ignored Alaina's outstretched hand. 

She scoffed. "Jackson," she called, her voice dangerously low. "Do I really deserve this from you?" Her voice echoed, betraying her emotions as she tried hard not to break herself. Even though she felt like the ground was closing in on her, but not in front of them. She wouldn’t give them that impression. 

“You left me in prison for two damn years. I suffered because of the crime you committed. I was beaten and tortured by other inmates for what I knew nothing about,” she bawled, as tears won the battle against her. 

Jackson snickered as a sly smile found its way to his face. “Fiona, what did you expect me to do? Wait for you? An ex-convict?” He aircoated the last word. 

Fiona's heart shattered like a broken mirror, hearing Jackson call her an ex-convict.

“You don’t expect me to live under the same roof with you when you’ve slept and mixed up with other criminals like you are in prison,” Jackson snorted coldly, his voice void of emotions and love that he had always shown Fiona years back. 

Fiona gasped. “You called me a criminal?” Her teary eyes widened in surprise, not believing Jackson would utter such despite the fact that he had committed the crime that led her to prison. Well, what was she expecting? 

A small, sad smile curled up on Fiona’s face. Her reaction stunned Jackson and Alaina, who were expecting her to break down with what Jackon had said, but little did they know that she doesn’t give a f*ck about them anymore. The only thing that broke her was Alaina, whom she never expected to meet with her husband, and to top it all, she was pregnant. Obviously for him. 

She gulped down the bitterness clinging in her throat. “Jackson, you don’t deserve me, nor do you deserve the luxurious life I have given you.” Her voice was strong and unwavering. 

“Well, since I am back now, I would like to take back what’s mine. The company I put you in charge of a few years back because you were jobless. The company you invaded the taxes and made me take the blame," she demanded, trying hard to gain composure over her inner turmoil. 

Just as Jackson was about to respond to Fiona, a feminine voice laced with disgust reverberated through the walls of the lounge. 

“Who do you think you are?”

“Are you insinuating that my son ran the company down when you were the culprit?”