He stopped and turned toward the direction of the sound.
The cell was packed to the brim. The prisoners were squeezed together like pomegranate seeds, both men and women, their prison uniforms filthy and tattered.
The sound came from the farthest corner of the cell, where a disheveled woman was curled up, hugging her knees.
Her face was buried in her tangled hair, and she was just crying.
Although Luo Hai couldn’t see her face, her figure and voice were familiar—unmistakable.
She was the Omega woman named Alin, the one captured at the Nantes Square stronghold.
Noticing Luo Hai’s gaze, Xiao Tao quickly explained, “That woman went insane. She just cries all day, no matter what we do. Nothing works, so we just leave her like that.”
“Gone insane?” Luo Hai murmured.
“Yeah. She doesn’t speak at all. Ask her anything, and she won’t answer—just keeps crying. Cases like hers aren’t rare around here. As long as they’re not violent, we don’t bother with them.”
Luo Hai silently stared at the curled-up Alin for a long time. Xiao Tao, waiting beside him, grew uneasy. He had no idea what this prosecutor was up to, and just when he was about to ask, Luo Hai finally spoke.
“Open the cell.”
His voice was low.
Xiao Tao was startled. “T-This… These prisoners are really dirty, you know. They haven’t bathed in weeks, and who knows what diseases they have? If you have your eye on one, you should’ve told us in advance so we could prepare—”
Luo Hai cut him off with a frown. “Open the cell. I’m not going to do anything.”
Xiao Tao looked at Luo Hai in alarm, then at the prisoners, then toward the entrance.
Unfortunately, at this hour, there was no one else he could turn to for help. Helpless, he pulled out the key and unlocked the cell, muttering anxiously, “Be careful, don’t get too close! If you get hurt…”
Luo Hai ignored him and slowly approached Alin.
Alin was still crying with her head lowered, seemingly oblivious to the changes around her.
Her prison uniform was filthy, her hair a tangled mess like straw, and she had become much thinner than before.
Luo Hai wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He didn’t even know why he was doing this.
He was the one who had sent Alin to prison. It was his duty. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Order must be upheld. Criminals must be punished. The strong make the rules, and the weak must obey—otherwise, they will only suffer an even worse fate.
That had been his guiding belief for over a decade. He had done nothing wrong.
And yet, his heart felt as though it was being squeezed and twisted by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe, leaving his throat dry and hoarse.
“Alin,” he called her name softly.
The woman’s sobs faltered slightly—she had reacted to his voice.
She slowly lifted her head, revealing her face from behind the messy strands of her hair.
Luo Hai saw the scars on her cheeks, her eyes swollen from crying, and her lips cracked and bleeding.
Luo Hai didn’t know what to say for a moment.
Just then, Alin’s expression suddenly turned ferocious. She abruptly sat up straight and shouted, “I won’t say anything! I won’t say anything!”
Luo Hai was startled and instinctively stepped back, but Xiao Tao reacted even faster.
Before Alin could do anything, Xiao Tao swiftly grabbed her by the hair, yanking her forward like a livestock, then violently slammed her head against the ground. “Crazy bitch! Whore! Slut! How dare you act like this?!”
A loud buzz filled Luo Hai’s head, and before his mind could catch up, his voice instinctively roared in anger: “Let go!”
His voice was so loud that Xiao Tao was frightened into falling backward, his face instantly turning pale.
He had no idea what he had done to anger the Alpha prosecutor, nor could he understand why the Alpha was suddenly furious. The only thing he could do was throw himself to the ground and beg desperately, “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Please, forgive me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Taking advantage of the moment, Alin scrambled back into the prison cell on all fours, staring warily from behind the bars as if they were her only protection.
Luo Hai felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness and nausea, barely able to stay on his feet. He had to steady himself against the wall.
Just a moment ago, Xiao Tao had been cruelly abusing Alin, and now he was groveling at his feet, face pale with fear.
And the reason? He didn’t even know. The only thing that mattered was that the person standing before him was an Alpha.
Whatever an Alpha said was law. An Alpha’s judgment was the truth. An Alpha’s words must be obeyed absolutely—otherwise, there would be consequences.
But what if he, the person standing before Xiao Tao, was just like him—just another lowly, powerless Omega?
What if he had never hidden his gender from the start and had grown up just like any other Omega?
Would he still be who he was today?
Would he have ended up like Alin, locked in a dark, narrow prison, beaten and abused by people like Xiao Tao, waiting for his death in utter despair?
Xiao Tao kept his face pressed against the cold floor, not daring to lift his gaze. After what felt like an eternity, the icy prosecutor finally spoke. But for some reason, his voice carried an overwhelming fatigue and disgust.
“Close the cell. Let’s go.”
…..
By the time Luo Hai returned to the office, it was already past one in the afternoon.
Most of his colleagues were on their lunch break, and the prosecutor’s office was quiet. The weather was beautiful—sunlight poured in through the windows, and the sky stretched out like a vast, transparent blue silk.
Luo Hai stepped into his office, about to toss his files onto the desk, when a man hiding behind the door suddenly startled him.
“Boo!” The man let out a childish shout, stretching his hands out like claws, then leaned against the door, laughing. “Scared you, didn’t I?”
But Luo Hai wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He walked straight to his desk and slumped into his chair.
“Mad at me?” Eugene leaned in, tilting his head. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“Who’s crying?!” Luo Hai snapped, exasperated.
Eugene’s playful smirk looked even more infuriating on his handsome face—his disguise black hair and striking blue eyes only made his roguish demeanor more unbearable.
“Don’t be mad. Open your mouth.”
Luo Hai instinctively parted his lips, and before he could react, a hard candy was slipped between them, brushing against his lips. He bit down on it—it was lemon-flavored, sweet yet sour.
“You didn’t eat lunch, did you?” Eugene deftly crumpled the candy wrapper into a tiny ball and tossed it straight into the trash can. “I saw you come back and head upstairs right away.”
Luo Hai wasn’t in the mood to chat. “What does that have to do with you?”
Eugene didn’t seem to mind. He propped his elbows on Luo Hai’s desk, watching him intently. “You went to the Omega prison, didn’t you?”
Luo Hai didn’t respond.
“It’s a living hell, isn’t it?” Eugene’s voice was soft. “No one in this world—no, not even a single living being—should ever be treated like that.”
The words struck a painful chord in Luo Hai’s heart. He glared coldly at Eugene. “What does this have to do with you? Don’t you have your own work to do?”
Eugene chuckled, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “No one knows better than you what my real work is, Luo Hai. And yet, you’re the one who lets me act freely, who pushes the plan forward. If I’m a terrorist, then what does that make you?”
Luo Hai abruptly stood up, his eyes burning with fury as he stared at Eugene.
But he had no right to direct his anger at him. In the end, he grabbed the files on his desk and stormed out of the office.
…….
The truth was, Eugene was right.
The Omega prison was a living hell.
The moment he stepped inside, Luo Hai finally understood why no one wanted this job—and why Doyle had assigned it to him as punishment.
For other Alphas, perhaps it was just a punishment.
But for him, it was a blatant threat.
The people who had granted him his privileges were reminding him: if they wished, they could take everything back at any moment.
They could strip away his title, his status, his power—turning the esteemed prosecutor into nothing more than a worm writhing in the depths of hell.
The criminals who once served as proof of his achievements might one day become his own future.
The Omega prison was not only in poor condition but also extremely chaotic in its management.
He had seen the management files of Alpha prisons before—every rule was clearly documented, each prisoner had their own file detailing their crime, sentence, trial date, and prison conduct. These records were maintained by dedicated personnel, ensuring that not a single detail was mistaken.
But the Omega prison was different. A single record was created for an entire cell of Omegas, and the specific crimes and sentences of individuals were unclear. Prisoners with similar sentence lengths were grouped together, but there was no clear standard, leading to frequent mix-ups.
The walls and iron doors of the Omega prison were built solidly, but there were pitifully few guards, all of whom were unofficial staff like Xiao Tao. Some of them could barely read, let alone understand the complex registers and regulations.
Luo Hai spent an entire day organizing the prison’s inmate records and sentence details.
As a prosecutor—especially one who specialized in Omega crime cases—he could not tolerate the fact that the cases he had spent so much time and effort prosecuting were being carelessly mishandled in the prison.
If there was no distinction between a three-year and a five-year sentence, then what was the point of all the documents, reports, and arguments he had painstakingly prepared in court?
Xiao Tao stood hesitantly by his side, afraid to speak. Only when Luo Hai finally lifted his head from his work did he cautiously break the silence.
“Prosecutor, there’s really no need for you to go through all this trouble. Even if you organize everything clearly, it won’t make much of a difference…”
Luo Hai frowned, his anger looking for an outlet. “No difference? The court publicly tries, convicts, and sentences people through careful deliberation of every detail, yet in prison, you all turn everything into a mess. And now you’re telling me it doesn’t matter?”
Xiao Tao paled in fear, waving his hands frantically. “N-no, that’s not what I meant! I just… I meant that it doesn’t matter because this group of prisoners is being transferred tomorrow anyway.”
