Chapter 457 - 460: Death Becomes a Luxury

The pitch-black prison cell was swallowed by the dense night.

Laura Alden lay on her side on the hard plank bed, her spine as taut and rigid as a rod. She feigned sleep, her eyelids gently lowered, but through a narrow slit, a glint of cold, sharp light from her eyes remained fixed on the huddled figure in the corner.

She knew Maya Marshall all too well. More than that, she recognized this deathly quiet—the calm before the storm.

This wasn’t the silence of repentance. It was the desperate stillness of a person at the end of their rope, mustering their last shred of strength to embrace the release of death.

Years ago, she had been wrongfully imprisoned, pushed into an abyss by Maya Marshall’s carefully woven lies. Her reputation was ruined, her future was destroyed, and her family was dragged down with her. During those bleak years, she too had often curled up in a corner of her cell, contemplating death.

So she could see through it all at a glance—the extinguished spark of life in Maya Marshall’s eyes, the rigid, deathly stillness of her body.

Laura Alden didn’t let her guard down. She lay in wait, watching coldly. Her heart stirred not with a shred of pity, but only with a monstrous hatred that had built up for years, seeping deep into her bones.

After some time, a faint tearing sound drifted from the corner, almost completely swallowed by the sound of snoring in the cell.

Laura Alden’s nerves tensed instantly, her muscles coiling with power, yet her face remained a perfect mask of relaxed sleep. She didn’t move a muscle.

In the dim light, she watched clearly as Maya Marshall’s trembling hand rose and forcefully tore a sturdy strip from the hem of her prison uniform.

Those hands, once pampered, slender, and delicate, were now covered in rough scratches. With an almost frenzied clumsiness and obstinacy, she repeatedly twisted and wound the strip, quickly fashioning a tight loop.

Laura Alden watched silently as she slipped the cloth noose around her wrist. She watched her clench her jaw, neck muscles straining, as she tightened it bit by bit.

The coarse cloth dug deep into the tender flesh, constricting the blood vessels. The skin on her wrist turned red, then purple, and swelled at a visible rate, forming a vicious, deep indentation.

Maya Marshall’s breathing became shallow and faint, the rise and fall of her chest slowing. Her limbs began to grow uncontrollably stiff and numb. Her head lolled to the side, her vision blurred into darkness, and she was sinking, step by step, into the abyss of suffocation, unconsciousness, and total release.

Laura Alden, who had witnessed the entire thing, felt not a flicker of hesitation in her heart, let alone a shred of pity.

There was only a bone-chilling cold and an almost fanatical conviction.

’Most people think death is the final resort for the wicked, their most tragic end.’

’But in Laura Alden’s eyes, death was the most luxurious, yet cheapest, escape for Maya Marshall.’

’By what right?’

’Just because of Maya Marshall’s selfish obsession and vicious scheming, with a flippant claim of wanting revenge, she had been allowed to shatter Laura’s reputation and destroy her future.’

’She had forced Laura to bear a tainted name, endure the world’s scorn, and barely survive in the mire of prison. She had forced her family to hang their heads in shame, her years wasted, steeped day and night in humiliation, resentment, and pain.’

Laura had been trapped in endless darkness, tormented year after year, atoning day after day, enduring unending retribution and hardship.

’And yet the perpetrator, Maya Marshall, dared to attempt a clean escape from all her sins with a suicide that would end everything? To evade all punishment and completely erase the evil she had wrought?’

’There was no such easy way out in this world!’

’I will not allow it!’

’Maya Marshall doesn’t deserve to die. She absolutely cannot die.’

’Death is an instant release, an end to everything, with no more pain.’

’Only by living—an endless existence of atoning day by day and being punished year after year—could she face the most thorough, most cruel, and most just revenge.’

’She must live to endure the torment of prison, live to face the cold glares and contempt of everyone.’

’She must taste every hardship Laura once endured. She will suffer, ache, and repent, unable to die and finding only agony in life. That is the ultimate retribution she deserves.’

Just as Maya Marshall’s strength gave out, her consciousness on the brink of collapse, her fingertips going slack, in the final moment before she suffocated and died...

Laura Alden sprang into action.

No warning, no hesitation. Her movements were swift as the wind, clean and without a single wasted motion.

She instantly rolled off the bed, her bare feet landing silently on the cold concrete floor. In two quick strides, she was at the corner.

Before the near-unconscious Maya Marshall could react, Laura Alden raised her arm, her well-defined fingers closing around Maya’s taut wrist.

She pressed down hard with her palm, wedging her fingertips between the cloth and the flesh, and pried open the deathly tight knot.

With a soft SNAP, the tension in the cloth, stretched to its limit, suddenly gave way. The constriction cutting off her blood flow instantly loosened.

The entire intervention was decisive, sharp, and precise, carried out with an irresistible force.

There was no hesitation, no softness. It was a complete interruption, an absolute denial.

Before Maya Marshall’s ragged breathing could even out or her fading consciousness return, Laura Alden snatched the loose strip of cloth. With a vicious tug, she ripped the lethal rope from her wrist, balled it up in her palm, and twisted it into a mangled mess.

She utterly destroyed any potential tool, eliminating any chance of a second attempt.

Maya Marshall had already sunk into the dark, silent state of near-death. Her chest ached from suffocation, her body was numb and stiff, and she had been ready for the final release.

The sudden external force had brutally dragged her back from the brink of death and thrown her into a boundless purgatory.

The blocked breath rushed back in. Icy air flooded her constricted lungs, making her chest heave violently. She choked, gasped, and her whole body shook uncontrollably.

Her blurred, dark vision struggled to focus. She forced her heavy eyelids open. Through the haze, the looming, bone-chilling figure of Laura Alden came into view.

An extreme despair instantly swept through her, more devastating than the suffocation of near-death.

’I can’t die.’

Her only escape had been crushed by Laura Alden’s own hands.

Amidst the dim shadows.

Laura Alden lowered her gaze, looking down at Maya Marshall’s face, pale as paper and completely drained of color.

She looked at the ghastly, bruised purple ligature mark on her wrist, so deep it was clearly visible.

There was no warmth in her eyes, not a trace of pity—only years of accumulated venom, cold mockery, and absolute control.

Her voice was extremely low, restrained yet laced with a chilling frost in every word. Each sentence stabbed at the heart, delivered with an ultimate ferocity and obsession, hammering into Maya Marshall’s shattered soul.

"You want to die?"

"Maya Marshall, in your dreams."

"Out of your own petty grudge, you meticulously framed me, destroying my reputation and cutting off my future. You made me serve time for your own malice and arrogance. You made me suffer the world’s condemnation for your sins and endure the torments of prison. You dragged me, alive, into a pit of mud I could never climb out of."

"And now you think you can just die and casually settle all your debts? By what right?"

"Let me tell you, that’s impossible."

"Death is too easy for you."

"Someone like you doesn’t deserve to end your suffering with death. For you, death is salvation. Living is the karmic retribution you’re owed."

"I won’t be soft-hearted, and I certainly won’t let you get your wish. I will make you live. You will serve out your long sentence, suffer the full misery of prison, and bear the cold stares and scorn of everyone."

"I want you to live every day in regret, to never forget what you did. The debt you owe me... I will have you spend every minute and second of the rest of your life in an agony worse than death. You will slowly atone. Slowly repay. And you will pay back everything you owe me, and every other victim, down to the very last drop!"

Maya Marshall trembled violently, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Hot tears streamed down, blurring her face, but she didn’t dare let out a single sob or cry.

She understood completely.

Laura Alden wasn’t saving her.

It was never about being soft-hearted or kind.

Laura Alden was punishing her. She had deliberately blocked her only escape, intending to use a long, agonizing life as the sharpest, most thorough form of revenge.

Death was an instant release; living was an eternal death by a thousand cuts.

The slight commotion in the cell finally woke a few of the lightly sleeping inmates.

Rubbing their eyes, they all peeked over. They took in the shocking scene in the corner: the gruesome wound on Maya Marshall’s wrist, her broken, trembling state, and then met Laura Alden’s cold, emotionless eyes... Everyone understood instantly. They didn’t dare to breathe, silently averting their gazes.

No one dared to speak up. No one dared to get involved.

The cell fell silent, with no one to interfere.

Laura Alden completely ignored the surrounding stares. Her heart was calm and clear, filled only with the cold certainty of revenge being served.

She tightened her grip on the crumpled strip of cloth—the evidence—in her palm. Turning, she strode toward the cell door, raised her hand, and firmly struck the emergency alarm button.

A piercing siren shattered the dead silence of the night, penetrating the heavy iron cell door and echoing thunderously throughout the entire detention center.

The sound of urgent footsteps approached from a distance. The guard on duty, along with other personnel, quickly arrived and pushed the door open.

The harsh glare of an incandescent light instantly flooded the dim cell, clearly illuminating the wretched, broken Maya Marshall in the corner and the cold, stern Laura Alden.

The guard’s expression was grave as she asked in a deep voice, "What’s going on?!"

Before the guard could conduct a detailed inquiry, Laura Alden stepped forward. Her posture was straight, her expression composed, her tone calm and steady. Devoid of any personal emotion, she reported the incident publicly with clear words, tight logic, and irrefutable certainty.

"Reporting, Officer. Inmate Maya Marshall refused to adhere to the cell’s nightly schedule, deliberately concealed a strip of cloth, and fashioned a tool for suicide. This constitutes intentional self-harm, a violation for resisting rehabilitation, an attempt to evade punishment through extreme means, and a disruption of regulatory order."

She raised her hand and presented the evidence—the crumpled strip of cloth, frayed with fine threads—to the guard.

Then, she pointed to Maya Marshall’s bruised, swollen, and grotesquely marked wrist. The chain of evidence was complete and undeniable.

"The evidence is here. I witnessed the entire event, and everyone in this cell can testify to it. Her malicious intent was clear. This was not an accidental injury, but a deliberate attempt at suicide and resistance to rehabilitation—a serious violation of the detention center’s rules and regulations."

Her report was orderly and clear, the facts indisputable and well-supported. It was a completely objective statement of fact, without a hint of personal bias, yet it perfectly hit the detention center’s zero-tolerance red line for resisting rehabilitation and acts of self-harm.

The guard on duty immediately went to investigate. She crouched down to carefully examine the fresh, deep ligature mark on Maya Marshall’s wrist, compared it with the tattered cloth strip in her hand, and considered the scene and the tacit confirmation from the other inmates. The facts were clear at a glance; the violation was confirmed beyond any doubt.

Maya Marshall slumped to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Her body was cold and stiff, her eyes blurred with tears. She had lost all strength to struggle or argue.

In the end, she couldn’t escape her punishment.

Her suicide attempt had failed, and in its place, she had brought upon herself a severe, indelible disciplinary action. This solidified the charge of resisting rehabilitation, ensuring that her future days in prison would only be more agonizing and difficult.

Laura Alden stood quietly under the light, her posture erect, her expression indifferent. There was neither joy nor sorrow on her face, but deep in her eyes hid a faint, cold smile.

’This was the result she wanted.’

...

The cold, ghastly glare of the incandescent light shone on Maya Marshall’s wretched body, exposing all her shattered hopes to the inescapable chill of the rules.

The guard pinched the misshapen ball of cloth, rubbing the coarse threads between her fingertips, her expression growing more solemn.

Having worked in the prison block for years, she had seen countless inmates feign illness, self-harm for sympathy, or attempt suicide to escape punishment.

But the irrefutable evidence before her—the fresh, gruesome wound on the wrist, coupled with Laura Alden’s calm and objective testimony—left no room for doubt. It was a rock-solid case of intentional resistance to rehabilitation and self-harm.

"Take her away."

The two short words were delivered without a hint of warmth.

Two female guards stepped forward, grabbing Maya Marshall’s limp arms from either side.

Already weak from near-suffocation, her spirit was now completely shattered. She had no strength left to struggle and could only let them drag her to her feet.

The cold handcuffs clamped around her wrists again, pressing down on the fresh ligature marks.

A tearing pain spread through her limbs, but compared to the despair in her heart, this physical pain was insignificant.

She was taken from the general population cell that night and brought to the block’s verification office to have her injuries documented and her statement recorded.

The long corridors of the administration building were empty and cold late at night. The sound of footsteps echoed in the silence, each one like a hammer blow to her shattered heart, pulverizing her last sliver of delusional hope.

Laura Alden stood her ground, watching as Maya’s wretched, staggering figure disappeared beyond the iron door. Her own posture remained as steady as a rock. The faint, cold smile in her eyes slowly faded, leaving only a still, wave-less chill.

The other inmates huddled in the corners of their bunks. No one dared to pity Maya Marshall, and certainly no one dared to question Laura Alden.

Everyone knew that within the rules of the prison, self-harm, attempted suicide, and resisting rehabilitation were absolute red lines. Once crossed, they would not be tolerated.

Besides, no one had forgotten that Maya Marshall’s current fate was her own doing—the karmic retribution for the evil she had committed years ago.

Half an hour later, the results of the overnight investigation and disciplinary action were finalized.

A notice was posted on the bulletin board for the entire prison block and entered into Maya Marshall’s permanent prison record, where it would remain, irrevocable.

In accordance with the ’Code of Conduct for Prison Inmates’ and the ’Regulations on Rewards and Punishments for Detainees,’ Maya Marshall was found to have intentionally created a tool for a late-night suicide attempt to evade punishment, maliciously disrupted regulatory order, and resisted re-education. She was to be severely punished to the fullest extent of the regulations.

The additional penalties were harsh, each one piling on top of the last.

Cancellation of all basic assessment points for the current quarter. Permanent disqualification from all future opportunities for commendation based on rehabilitation.

An additional seven days of strict solitary confinement in a sealed cell. No yard time, no rest periods, and no relaxed privileges for washing.

Placement on the monthly high-priority monitoring blacklist. Upgraded to a special high-risk inmate, with a corresponding increase in daily supervision level.

This violation will be recorded in her final review and supplementary disciplinary file, will never be expunged, and will affect her behavioral rating for the entirety of her sentence.

This disciplinary notice, issued overnight, completely shattered Maya Marshall’s last faint glimmer of hope.

She had hoped to end all her sins with death, to escape the endless agony of atonement.

But in the end, she had failed to die and could not escape. Instead, she had personally shackled herself with layer after layer of chains, causing her future in prison to plunge into a bottomless, lightless abyss.

The solitary confinement cell was small, cramped, and dim.

The space, less than three square meters, was airless. The only light came from a single, dim yellow bulb overhead, which stayed on twenty-four hours a day, erasing any distinction between day and night.

The floor was cold concrete. There was no bed, no bedding—only a hard, cold platform.

When Maya Marshall was pushed inside, the ligature mark on her wrist was still faintly oozing blood. The purple bruise was gruesome and terrifying, and the dull ache of suffocation still lingered in her chest.

The iron door CLANGED shut and was heavily locked. The crisp, cold sound of the bolt was a final verdict, sealing her off completely from the outside world.

Total isolation. Total confinement. Total hopelessness.

At that moment, she finally, truly understood the despair Laura Alden had felt all those years ago.

Back then, Laura Alden had also been pushed into the abyss by her own hands—wrongfully imprisoned, saddled with a tarnished name, and locked away in a tiny cage.

Tormented by day, sleepless by night. Unable to die, with no hope in living.

The next seven days would be the ultimate torment for both body and soul.

There was no day or night in the confinement cell. The bright white light was constantly glaring, robbing her of all sleep and peace.

Only water and coarse grain were provided at fixed times each day. She alternated between hunger and cold, her body and mind exhausted.

Guards patrolled at regular intervals, and constant, comprehensive surveillance eliminated any possibility of Maya Marshall harming herself again.

Laura Alden was right. Death was salvation; living was retribution.