After My Prison Release, I Was Already Dying

Three years after she killed her boyfriend's mother, Tricia Fletcher was released from prison. The person who came to pick her up was Officer Blake—the very man who had put her behind bars.

"Tricia, have you really thought this through? Becoming my informant is dangerous."

Tricia gave a bitter smile. "I've thought it through. I won’t live long anyway. At least this way, I can do something meaningful."

Officer Blake sighed. "Why did you make such a mistake back then?"

He had handled countless cases, but Tricia stood out. The day he arrested her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t a bad person. Yet, she had insisted she was the murderer.

In prison, she was a model inmate, working hard to reduce her sentence. Her good behavior earned her an early release.

But fate was cruel. A final medical checkup before her release revealed she had advanced gastric cancer.

At most, she had three months left to live.

Knowing Officer Blake was struggling to find an informant, she volunteered for the job.

"I won’t find a decent job after prison anyway. Working at the club will let me help with your case and support myself. It's a win-win. If I can take down criminals before I go, at least my life won’t have been for nothing." She forced a smile.

"But promise me one thing," she added.

"Anything," Officer Blake said immediately.

"If I die, bury me at Glenwood Cemetery, next to Aunt Kara's tombstone." She lowered her head.

That way, whenever Phil Knight visited his mother’s grave, she could see him—just once more.

Officer Blake saw the sorrow in her eyes. Though he didn’t understand it, he nodded.

That night, Tricia followed his instructions and started working at Beehive Club as a waitress.

She was beautiful, so they assigned her to the VIP section.

She exhaled.

Officer Blake had told her a drug lord was hiding in the club and would be making a deal soon. She needed access to VIPs to get close to the target.

But she never expected to run into Phil first.

Phil—Boston’s golden boy, heir to the Knight family, and her former boyfriend.

Once, they were a couple everyone envied. He had vowed, in front of countless people, that he would only love her, that only she could be Mrs. Knight.

He had even cut ties with his family for her, renouncing his status as the Knight family's heir, forcing them to accept their marriage.

But on the eve of their wedding, his mother was found dead in a pool of blood—her murder weapon in Tricia’s hands.

She would never forget Phil’s eyes that night, filled with fury and despair.

The woman he loved most had killed the mother he cherished.

In his rage, he had grabbed her by the throat, demanding to know why.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

Because if she did, Phil’s life would be over.

So she lied. "Your mother was against our marriage, so I killed her. Now, nothing stands in my way. I’ll be the only mistress of the Knight family. I’ll have endless money, and no one will ever look down on me for being an orphan again."

She watched as his disbelief turned to disgust, then hatred.

Phil was the one who sent her to prison.

His last words to her had been: Never appear in front of me again. If you do, I’ll make you wish you were dead.

Now, seeing him again, Tricia panicked and turned to leave.

But Sister Wilma stopped her. "Tricia, where are you going? Hurry and pour Mr. Knight a drink."

She was shoved forward—right in front of Phil.

Her heart pounded. Would he humiliate her?

But he only stared at her, silent. As if she were a stranger.

That made sense. Three years in prison and a terminal illness had left her thin and frail. Heavy makeup masked her features. He probably didn’t recognize her.

Taking a shaky breath, she steadied her trembling hands and poured his drink.

But she was too nervous. Her hands slipped.

Red wine spilled onto his expensive leather shoes.

"Where did you find this idiot? She can’t even pour a drink properly," Phil snapped, kicking her over.

The bottle fell from her hands, shattering on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight," Sister Wilma said quickly. "She’s new. I’ll make her clean it up."

She grabbed Tricia and shoved her to the floor.

Shards of glass pierced her knees and arms, but she didn’t dare make a sound. She trembled, eyes stinging with tears.

Just as she was about to lower her head to lick the spilled wine off his shoes, Phil grabbed her.

"You think you're worthy of licking my shoes?" he sneered and let go.

Caught off guard, she stumbled—straight into his arms.

"Throwing yourself at me?" Phil’s voice dripped with mockery. "Fine. I’ll grant your wish."

His hand moved to tear at her dress.

She instinctively raised her arms to block him.

Laughter rang out around them.

"This girl’s got a nice body. Master Knight, once you're done, let us have a turn."

Phil smirked. "Sure. It’s always more fun with a crowd."

The man who spoke grinned, reaching for her.

Terror seized Tricia. She trembled violently, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

But then—

Phil’s expression turned cold.

He slapped the man’s hand away. "Get lost."

Everyone froze. Then, one by one, they obeyed.

Phil grabbed her chin, his grip like iron. "Tricia," he said through gritted teeth.

Her eyes widened in shock.

He had recognized her all along.

She stared at him, her vision blurring.

The Phil she remembered had been gentle. He had made her brown sugar water for her period cramps, wiped away her tears, and whispered sweet words to her. He had spoiled her like a princess, shielding her from any pain.

But now, the same man had humiliated her in front of everyone.

Tricia choked back a sob. "I didn’t know you’d be here. I wasn’t trying to see you. I’m just… working."

Phil’s eyes flickered to the glass shards embedded in her skin. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Of course. A woman like you—an ex-con—can only survive by selling herself in places like this. After all, you’re just a gold-digging whore who only cares about money."

His words cut deep.

For a split second, she wanted to tell him the truth.