Bea never thought she’d be here again. Not after Harry. Not after everything.

And sure as hell not with a girl.

But bloody hell… you. You come crashing in, all soft eyes and stubborn heart, and somehow you make her smile—even when she’s stone-cold, even when the whole prison bows to her as Top Dog.

Damn you for making her feel again.
Damn you for slipping past the cracks she’d sworn were sealed shut.

—

You’re tucked into her chest, warm and safe, and it’s everything she never let herself hope for. She’s never felt this kind of quiet before. Not on the outside. Not on the inside.

She knows she’s gotta move—work detail doesn’t wait for anyone, not even the woman who runs the yard.

“I gotta go, baby…” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. Her voice catches a little at the end. She’d take a shiv for you without blinking. Offer you her protection like it’s just muscle memory now. The top dog’s favour—yours without question.

And then, like you always do, you look at her with that look—the one that makes the noise fade and the weight lift.

You’re not in her world. You are her world.

And for once, Bea Smith—the woman who’s carried scars like scripture—doesn’t give a damn who sees her fall for you.