“Miss Johanna Suárez, you are found guilty of the murder of producer Vincent Castillo,” the judge declared with authority. “However, since you are a minor, you will be transferred to the women’s juvenile correctional facility until you reach the age of majority.” He concluded, slamming his wooden gavel on the desk.
“No!” A piercing scream echoed through the courtroom, coming from Vincent Castillo’s mother, who was outraged by the sentence handed down to the woman who killed her son. “That woman should be sentenced to death!” she cried, her brown hair streaked with gray.
“Silence in the court!” the judge barked in a gravelly voice. “This trial is now adjourned.” As he finished speaking, everyone in the room stood up.
Two police officers grabbed the arms of the fifteen-year-old girl with brown hair, medium-toned skin, and a slender build. Her wrists and ankles were bound by handcuffs. The men escorted the young girl out of the courtroom.
“I swear I’ll never let you have peace! You took the person I loved most, and I’ll make sure no one ever hires you again!” the woman spat, her voice dripping with venom.
Johanna ignored the threats. She didn’t care what they did to her; she felt no remorse for defending herself against Vincent’s abuse.
As they walked through the hallways, her mind replayed every bitter memory caused by that man and how naive she had been to fall into his trap. The three of them exited through a back door, leading her to an armored vehicle. They placed her inside and sat beside her.
The engine roared to life, followed by the motion of the vehicle. She knew where they were taking her, and she didn’t feel bad about it. She understood she had to be there.
What she regretted was trusting that man. She could still remember how they met: it all started at an audition for a toothpaste commercial. Johanna was in line, anxiously waiting for her turn. When it came, she gave it her all, but at the end, they told her she was great—except they weren’t looking for a girl with brown hair. They rejected her on the spot.
She was heartbroken and discouraged to hear she was being turned away for something so trivial. As she was about to leave the building, a man ran after her and stopped her.
“Johanna?” called the tall, muscular man, dressed impeccably, with light brown hair and striking hazel eyes.
“Yes,” Johanna replied, tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I know this industry can be tough on newcomers,” he said with a smile. “But honestly, I thought you were amazing, and I want you to work for me.”
Johanna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her sadness vanished as a ray of hope lit up inside her. Finally, she was going to make it as a famous model.
The doors of the vehicle opened, letting light flood into the back and momentarily blinding the brown-haired girl. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw a man, fully armed and his face completely covered.
“Get down!” the man ordered. Johanna, ever the obedient girl, followed the stranger’s command without hesitation.
She stepped out of the vehicle without protest, followed by the two officers who were already with her. The new man grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the entrance of the massive prison.
They walked calmly through the cold, dark corridors until they stopped at a small room where an older woman, wearing excessive makeup, sat in front of an ancient computer.
“Mrs. Olmos,” one of the men called out to get her attention. The woman looked away from her monitor, glancing in their direction with a satisfied smile, as if she already knew Johanna.
“You must be the new girl,” the woman said, grinning widely.
She typed something into her computer, and the sound of a printer whirred to life. The woman grabbed the sheet that came out and approached them. They left the small room and moved to the next one, which contained only a camera and a backdrop with height markings.
“Stand there!” one of the men behind her shoved Johanna forward. She moved to the spot the older woman was pointing to with her bony finger.
“Right here, honey,” the woman said. Johanna stood on the marked cross. “Hold this,” the elderly woman handed her a sign with “Johanna Suárez” written in large letters, along with a serial number.
The old woman shuffled slowly to the camera, positioning herself behind it. She snapped the first photo.
“Smile, sweetie. At least try to look cute in your mugshot,” the woman suggested, but Johanna didn’t care if she looked good or not. “Fine, suit yourself,” the woman grumbled, annoyed. “Now, right profile,” she ordered. Johanna complied. “Left profile. Perfect.”
After the photo session, the older woman took the sign from Johanna, placing it on a nearby table, and then took the young girl by the hands.
She led her to another room, where she handed Johanna a pair of blankets and a uniform.
“Welcome, honey,” the old woman added. Johanna just looked at her with disdain but didn’t respond.
One of the officers grabbed Johanna, pulling her along until they reached the area where all the inmates were housed. They walked down a hallway, and from the first floor, she could see the prison was divided into two levels—upper and lower.
Johanna stayed close to the men as they passed by small cells. Some were empty, while others held young, seemingly aggressive women who blew kisses or shouted crude remarks at her. Finally, they reached a cell with a woman already inside.
“This is your new home. Breakfast is at 7:00 a.m., and lunch is at 3:00 p.m. Be on time, because if you’re late, you don’t eat, and that’s not our problem,” the man informed her. “From noon to 2:30 p.m., you can go out to the yard,” he continued. “And from 7:00 to 8:00 p.m., you can use the showers, but only during that time. Got it?” he yelled.
“Yes, sir,” Johanna confirmed.
“Good. Redhead over there will be your cellmate during your stay with us, so I hope you get along with her. If not, that’s not our problem,” the man went on.
Meanwhile, the other officer who had been behind her removed the chains from her ankles and wrists. He pushed Johanna inside the cell and locked the door, leaving her alone with the short-haired woman.
“Hey, you must be Johanna Suárez, the model who killed producer Vincent Castillo,” the woman said.
“Yeah,” Johanna admitted.
“And is it true what they say—that you killed him by slitting his throat and watched his soul slip away bit by bit?” the woman asked in a chilling tone.
“Maybe,” Johanna replied, matching her tone and trying to keep her gaze cold.
For a moment, the two women stared at each other in silence, locked in a tense standoff, until the short-haired woman stood up and faced Johanna. Inside, Johanna trembled, hoping this woman wouldn’t hurt her.
“Ha, ha, ha!” the woman burst into laughter, slinging an arm over Johanna’s shoulders. “I like you, kid. I think we’re gonna be good friends. My bed’s the top bunk, so you’ll sleep on the bottom,” she clarified.
“That’s fine, I don’t mind,” Johanna agreed willingly. She was okay with sleeping on the lower bunk. “What are the girls here like?” she asked, wanting to know if she needed to watch her back.
“Tough. A few weeks ago, I got into a fight with one of them just for taking her seat. So, my advice? If you don’t want trouble, don’t start any,” the girl warned, knowing full well how things worked around here.
Johanna just nodded. The last thing she wanted was trouble. She sat down on her bed, hoping her mother was okay. During the trial, her mom had looked sad and somber, watching her daughter being sentenced...