Chapter 2 – The Warden’s Curiosity

Liam

I love how easy it was to make that dog run away with his tail between his legs. My job is always interesting—that much I can say. I run a tight ship, and anyone who doesn’t follow my rules becomes a problem. Pike clearly needed a reminder of who gives the orders around here, and what happens when those orders aren’t followed.

Now, my attention shifts entirely to her.

I’ve done this job for twelve years, and I’ve seen all kinds of people—broken, dangerous, cunning—but never anyone like her. There’s something different about this woman.

My heart beats faster. My cock stirs with a pulse I can’t ignore, a reaction as instinctive as breathing. Her raven hair cascades around her shoulders in soft waves, dark and wild, framing a face that’s far too delicate for a place like this. She has the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you—quiet, disarming.

Those eyes… bright blue, impossibly deep. They carry too much. Pain. Darkness. Innocence. How can someone look like both the villain and the victim at the same time? If she’s here, innocence is far from her truth. Yet, her gaze tells a story I can’t stop trying to read.

My eyes flick down to her mouth. Her lip is split, still healing. Was it from a fight? Inmates here are like wolves in a cage—cornered, hungry, vicious. The thought of someone laying a hand on her brings an unexpected burn to my chest.

Then my gaze drifts lower. Her chest rises and falls beneath the thin fabric, soft curves straining against the shapeless uniform. She’s small—five feet at most—but her body carries a quiet strength, the kind forged through fire.

The look on her face amuses me. She’s trying so hard to mask her emotions, but her body betrays her—her shoulders tense, her breathing shallow. Her nipples pebble beneath the fabric, and though she tries to play it cool, I can see her trembling just slightly.

She’s pretending she isn’t affected by me. Adorable. Transparent.

Her voice still lingers in my mind—soft, confident, laced with defiance. A woman who won’t break easily. I find myself intrigued, far more than I should be.

Her jab at Pike made my morning. That man may be loyal, but he’s an idiot with a badge. He does his job well enough, but the way he provokes inmates? Unacceptable. I’ll deal with him properly later. Punishment is a language even fools understand.

But now… her.

Who is she really?

Back in my office, I shut the door behind me, the soft click echoing like a decision. My pulse is still heavy from the encounter. I cross the room, the soles of my shoes thudding softly against the cold floor, and settle behind my desk.

With a tap of a key, I pull up her file.

Amara Black.

A name with weight.

Assault charge.

Not surprising.

But as I scroll, something catches my eye—whole sections of the file are redacted. Thick black bars slice through her history, hiding the truth like scars under makeup. Even the name of the man she attacked is missing.

That’s unusual. Very unusual.

I press the intercom. “Dana, my office. Now.”

Within seconds, my secretary appears in the doorway. Her red hair is pulled into a messy bun, strands falling around her freckled face. She’s tall, slim, always dressed in those eccentric outfits that look like they belong on a runway from another era. Today, she’s wearing a tan skirt with knee-high socks, a blouse decorated with tiny cherries, and—of course—two missing buttons.

I didn’t hire her for her wardrobe. I hired her because she’s efficient—and more importantly, not my type. This year, I promised myself no distractions.

So much for that.

My new fixation on Amara shatters that plan entirely.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she asks, adjusting her glasses with a nervous twitch. “More coffee?”

I wave her off. “No. I’m reviewing a case—Amara Black. One of the new inmates.”

She steps closer, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What about her, sir?”

I turn the monitor toward her. “Why are half these details blacked out?”

Dana squints. “I—I’m not sure, sir. Those are the documents we received before processing.”

“She’s not underage. So why is the victim’s name removed? And her prior records—gone. Even her intake interview notes are sealed.”

“I only scanned what they sent,” she says quickly, voice rising with uncertainty. “Maybe the judge ordered it sealed?”

“Maybe,” I mutter, though my gut tells me otherwise. This isn’t standard procedure. Someone doesn’t want her story told.

I lean back in my chair, tapping a pen against my knee. Every inmate has a trail, a pattern, a paper record that tells you who they are before they open their mouth. But Amara? She’s a shadow, pieces missing, rewritten.

What are you hiding, kitten?

“Get the judge on the phone,” I say finally.

Dana hesitates. “Now, sir?”

“Yes, now. Tell him it’s urgent.”

She nods, scribbles a note, and rushes out the door, heels clicking against the tile.

Silence falls again, thick and heavy. The faint hum of the air vent fills the room. I glance back at the screen, at those blacked-out lines taunting me.

In my world, secrets are currency—and this woman is sitting on a fortune.

I rise, pacing to the window. From here, I can see the courtyard below, gray concrete walls encasing a handful of inmates shuffling through the cold morning air. None of them matter. Only her.

That look she gave me—defiance mixed with fear—has burned itself into my mind. She’s dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with violence. She’s the kind of danger that tempts a man to break his own rules.

My reflection stares back from the glass—calm, controlled, every inch the man in charge. But beneath that, a hunger I haven’t felt in years is stirring.

You’re losing focus, Liam.

Maybe. But curiosity has always been my downfall.

The phone on my desk buzzes. Dana’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Sir, the judge is on line one.”

I turn slowly, eyes still on the redacted file.

“Patch him through.”

The receiver feels cool in my hand as I lift it, gaze still locked on her name glowing across the screen.

“Judge Harlan,” I say, voice smooth but edged with command, “we need to talk about one of your cases.”

A pause. Static hums softly.

“Her name’s Amara Black.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then the judge exhales—a sound heavy with something that feels like regret.

“This one’s… complicated, Warden.”

I smile faintly. “Aren’t they all?”

But deep down, I know this isn’t just another case. Amara Black isn’t another inmate.

She’s a mystery waiting to unravel—and I intend to be the one to do it.