Revenge After Prison

I Had No Dress

My gaze drifted to the tote bag beside me. Inside was a pure white gown, flawless and exquisite, its dense feathered embellishments glimmering softly. Just by looking at it, I could imagine how breathtaking it must be. My fingers unconsciously brushed against the rough fabric of my jeans—compared to everything in this car, the entirety of me wasn’t worth even a corner of that bag.

I turned to the window. The scenery outside blurred rapidly into streaks of color. Deep down, I knew this world was not mine—and I had long since learned how to survive in places where I didn’t belong.

Julian drove in silence for a while before speaking again, his tone sharp beneath the surface of restraint.

“Mom and Dad have missed you terribly these past three years. They cry every day, worried sick about you. When we get home, keep your temper in check. I don’t want to see you scheming against Evangeline or making things difficult for Mom and Dad. If you behave yourself, the Locke family will treat you well.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and stifling.

When I didn’t respond, Julian’s irritation flared. He glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“Aria, I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?”

I met his eyes, and this time, I said everything I had been holding in since the day I was released—my voice calm, steady, almost detached, like reciting a list.

“According to the Louisiana Prison Act, inmates are allowed regular visits from relatives or guardians—once a month, each lasting thirty minutes to an hour. I was incarcerated for three years, thirty-six months. In theory, I could have seen my family thirty-six times. You said your parents missed me so much. Then tell me, why didn’t they ever visit? Were they too busy? Couldn’t spare even half an hour a month?”

My words fell into the car like blades, sharp and unrelenting.

A flicker of guilt and panic crossed Julian’s face. He opened his mouth to retort but faltered, the words catching in his throat. His eyes darted away from mine as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the knuckles whitening.

“It’s just… you were too rebellious,” he stammered. “Mom and Dad thought it’d be better not to see you, so you could calm down and reflect. They did it for your own good.”

“For my own good?” I let out a soft laugh—cold, hollow, cutting.

To throw me into a cage, to let me rot in pain and humiliation—was that their idea of kindness?

If that was “for my own good,” then I’d rather they never cared for me at all.

I didn’t look at him again. My gaze stayed fixed on the window as the car rolled forward, soon pulling into the Lockes’ villa garage.

Julian got out first, grabbing the tote bag from the back seat with practiced ease, his movements brisk and natural—as though everything he did was the way it should be. He took a few steps, then paused mid-stride, as if remembering something. When he turned back, a trace of awkwardness lingered on his face.

“Go change into something proper and meet us in the banquet hall,” he said flatly, before walking off without another glance.

The house was as foreign to me now as it had been three years ago. It had never felt like home. Even the orphanage was kinder than this place. The dormitories there were cramped, but they faced the sun; every morning, sunlight poured across the quilts, filling the room with a warmth that made me believe—however briefly—that there was still something good in the world.

But the “home” here smelled of mildew, untouched by sunlight—stale, damp, suffocating.

I pushed open the door to the room assigned to me. It wasn’t large—no windows, cluttered with boxes and cleaning tools. The only furniture was a folding cot and an old desk. This was where I had been placed to live for three years—a storage room in all but name.

Julian had told me to change into a gown. But where would I get one?

All I owned was a single high school uniform. The T-shirt and jeans I was wearing now were the only other clothes I had—bought with $19.99 I’d saved from a part-time job at Walmart.

Back then, I’d been so proud of them, so eager to show Julian. But he had only frowned.

“What are you wearing? Look at Evangeline—graceful, decent. Go change. Don’t embarrass the Locke family.”

Those words were needles, pricking the same wound over and over.

Standing in that cramped, dim room, I ran my fingers along the cold metal frame of the folding bed. The chill seeped through my fingertips into my bones. Outside, the world kept moving, time rushing past without pause—while I remained here, trapped in a box that reeked of mold and memories.

Every trace of warmth I once associated with “home” had long since rotted into dampness and decay.

Evangeline’s so-called elegance and grace—were nothing but products of money and privilege.

And me? I had nothing.

The Lockes gave me neither love nor resources, yet they blamed me for not being “presentable” enough. Even now, I still don’t understand why they brought me back at all. My existence seems to serve only one purpose—to make Evangeline, the false heiress, shine brighter by comparison.

They say the one unloved is always the outsider.

Fitting, isn’t it? The phrase suits me perfectly.

Once, their unfairness used to hurt me deeply. Now, I feel nothing.

I glanced around the cluttered storage room. The only clean clothes I had left were my old blue-and-white high school uniform. Three years ago, I had received an admission letter from the Louisiana Collegiate Institute—the most prestigious university in the state, rivaling Harvard in reputation.

But the Locke couple had only thrown a grand celebration for Evangeline’s acceptance.

The banquet had gathered every notable figure in Bayou Pointe. Eighteen-year-old Evangeline, in a couture gown worth a fortune and a diamond-studded crown, stood between the Lockes like a real princess, basking in adoration.

And I—awkwardly dressed and out of place—stood in the same hall like an ugly duckling among swans. Under countless watching eyes, the police came for me. That night, while her future glittered like gold, mine was sealed behind prison bars. The three years that should have been my university years were instead spent in a cell.

Five minutes later, I changed into the uniform and slowly made my way to the banquet hall.

As I passed through the corridors, the servants glanced at me curiously, their voices barely hushed.

“Who’s that? Why’s she wearing a high school uniform to the party?”

“She’s probably one of the servers from The Riviere Grande Hotel,” one of the maids whispered. “Looks like a high school student doing a summer job.”

“The master and madam really dote on Miss Evangeline,” another replied with admiration. “Imagine, they even brought in the head chef from The Riviere Grande Hotel just for this celebration.”

“I know, right?”

As they passed by, one of them paused to give me instructions, her tone brisk but polite.

“The banquet’s about to start. Go change into the uniform, and don’t be careless when serving. The guests tonight are all big names in Bayou Pointe.”

I stood there, frozen. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go any farther.

Julian had said Nathaniel and Marielle prepared a welcome dinner for me—but he never mentioned that outsiders would be there. Getting out of prison wasn’t something to celebrate publicly. Was there really a need to make it so grand?

Three years ago, I had been handcuffed and taken away in front of all of Bayou Pointe’s elite.

And now, they wanted to “celebrate” my return before the same people?

This wasn’t a welcome—it was humiliation.

They weren’t trying to restore my place in the family. They were reminding everyone what I was: a convict.

A dull ache pressed against my chest, quickly drowned by anger.

I turned around, unable to stay another second, and started to walk away.