Vengeful Desires

2-

"Osuoa, Amirah! Number 4592!"

The harsh bellow echoed down the corridor, shaking Amirah from her stupor on the cold metal bench.

She blinked owlishly returning to the present, temporarily disoriented until the reality of her surroundings crashed back into merciless focus.

The holding center. They were processing her for transfer to the detention facility.

With a weary inhalation, she rose to her sock-feet and shuffled towards the barred gateway, steeling herself against the judgmental sneers and sidelong looks from the other disheveled women awaiting their fates. Though she kept her eyes stubbornly averted, Amirah could feel the weight of their silent condemnations like phantoms clawing at her skin.

"You have a visitor, inmate," the stocky guard grunted without preamble as Amirah approached the booth, not bothering to make eye contact. 

She froze mid-stride, her heart stuttering in her chest as a fleeting ember of hope sparked somewhere deep within the numbing emptiness that had consumed her very essence.

Swallowing hard, Amirah forced herself to meet the sneering guard's piggish gaze, hating the way her voice wavered with desperation.

"A visitor...? You mean...my husband is here?"

Her words just say suspended in the stale air, only dissipating when the guard issued a derisive snort before keying his radio to life with a crackle of static. 

"Escort for 4592. Visitor in Interview Two."

He jerked his head towards the sole vacant holding room just past the security screening, jaw worked in a contemptuous grind as another set of heavy footfalls approached from the corridor behind Amirah.

"You got ten minutes before transport arrives. Don't make me come in there." The original guard's tone implied the threat was anything but hollow as the cell door clanged open with a rusty groan.

Amirah flinched almost imperceptibly at the sound, watching with trepidation as the second guard – a towering, granite-faced woman in a rumpled uniform – emerged to take hold of her upper arm with a vice-like grip.

"Let's go," the matron barked, giving a none-too-gentle yank to propel Amirah into the barren interview room. "And keep those paws where I can see 'em." 

The cell door screeched shut behind them with a heavy finality that ignited a new set of scorching embers in the pit of Amirah's stomach. Anxiety and flickering hope warred for dominance as she swept her gaze around the claustrophobic space...only to land abruptly on the lone occupant seated across the battered metal tabletop.

"M-Mr. Wang's head of security...?" She stammered in disbelief, feeling her knees wobble beneath the baggy prison-issue coverall. "Cha-ssi, what are you...? Where is my husband?"

The grizzled old retainer regarded her with an inscrutable expression, seeming to weigh something indiscernible before reaching into the breast pocket of his crisply-pressed suit with his sole hand. From the depths of his jacket, he produced a manila envelope – its surface bearing the unmistakable letterhead and embossed seal of the Wang family's elite legal team. 

Cha placed the correspondence on the table and slid it across towards Amirah with a weary exhalation. When he finally spoke, his gravelly tone was subdued – yet brimming with a solemn finality that sapped what little remained of the blood from her veins.

"Mr. Wang gave me instructions to deliver this to you in person, Miss Osuoa." His formal use of her maiden name felt like a dagger's point scoring her flesh. "I'm afraid these are...divorce proceedings, ma'am. To be filed with the court first thing in the morning."