The Queen of Nothing

Carina was in jail. The cell was cold. Not the kind of cold you fix with a cashmere shawl.

The kind that seeps into your bones. The kind that reminds you—you’re no longer anyone.

Carina leaned her head against the cinderblock wall, eyes bloodshot, makeup long gone. Her skin, once pampered in gold-infused creams, was dull. Her nails chipped. Her hair pulled back in a greasy bun, exposing a face that hadn’t slept in three days.

“Two weeks,” she muttered. “Two weeks until trial. Two weeks until I make them all regret ever betting against me.”

But her voice cracked halfway through. Even she didn’t believe the lie anymore.

She remembered the taste of Don Julio on her tongue. The way the druglord’s laughter vibrated through her as she lay sprawled on his yacht—high, drunk, reckless.

She needed it. The numbness. The illusion.