"Octavia,honey… don't cry anymore."
"Please, baby, stop crying. We'll fix this. I promise," Victoria said softly, her hands gripping the cold bars of the holding cell.
But Octavia was far beyond comfort.
She was curled into herself on the cement bench, her expensive hair tangled, her mascara long since smudged into a mess. Her sobs echoed through the cell like a tortured animal. It didn't matter that she was spoiled, always got her way, or never truly faced consequences before. This? This was different.
"This place stinks, Mommy," she choked, struggling to breathe through her tears. "It's cold, the floor is wet, the pillow's like stone, and the food is… is like something from a prison movie!"
Victoria clenched her jaw, eyes brimming with helpless fury. "You are in a prison, darling. But not for long. I'll talk to your father again—we'll figure something out."
