Amber Gatmaitan dreamed of walls.
Cold concrete walls that loomed without end, painted with the shadows of iron bars. She walked barefoot along a corridor that seemed to stretch forever, her footsteps echoing in endless repetition. And at the far end stood Harry Bolaños, his figure shrouded in a dim light, his wrists bound, his head lowered.
She reached for him. She called his name. Her voice broke against the walls as though swallowed by water. He lifted his head slowly, and when his eyes met hers, the weight of them pinned her where she stood. They were not pleading. They were not guilty. They were searching, magnetic, a silent confession stronger than chains.
She tried to move closer, but the floor beneath her cracked. Chasms opened, black and bottomless. Her pulse raced. She tried to leap across, tried to stretch her hand toward him, but each step widened the distance until he was swallowed by the dark.
Amber woke gasping, drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around her like ropes. The morning light filtered pale through the curtains. Her body trembled as though she had truly stood at the edge of that abyss.
She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. The dream had been nothing more than a dream, yet it carried the weight of a prophecy. She whispered to herself, as if repetition could cleanse it. “It is nothing. It is nothing. It is nothing.”
But the lie was brittle.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it with reluctant fingers. A message blinked from Razel Ann del Prado, the journalist who had been circling the trial like a hawk.
Word is that the defense requested your statement be reviewed again. You might be called to the detention center for clarification. Better prepare yourself. And Amber—be careful.
Amber’s breath hitched. The detention center. That meant facing him again, not across a courtroom filled with eyes, but in the suffocating intimacy of visitation.
She set the phone down. Her reflection in the mirror across the room looked pale, drawn. She whispered, “Prison of stone, prison of desire.” And she did not know which one frightened her more.
By midafternoon she found herself standing at the entrance of the detention facility. The building loomed heavy, its steel gates shutting out the noise of the world. Inside, fluorescent lights glared against linoleum floors, and guards moved with the precision of habit.
Amber clutched her bag against her side. Her throat was dry. She told herself this was duty. Clarification of testimony. Nothing more. Yet her heart betrayed her, beating in frantic rhythm.
A guard led her through narrow corridors until they reached the visitation room. Glass partitions separated visitors from inmates, with phones bolted to each side. Amber’s hands trembled as she sat, waiting.
Then he appeared. Harry Bolaños, in prison garb, escorted by two guards. His presence filled the space as though the walls bent around him. He sat across from her, lifting the phone with deliberate calm.
Amber mirrored him, pressing the receiver to her ear.
“Miss Gatmaitan,” he said, his voice smooth despite the static of the line. “I did not expect to see you here.”
Amber steadied herself. “The prosecutor said there were clarifications needed. I am here because of that.”
Harry leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. “And only that?”
Amber swallowed hard. “Yes. Only that.”
Silence stretched, thick and dangerous. His gaze pinned her, forcing the lie to tremble on her lips.
“You looked at me in court,” Harry said quietly. “Not once. Not twice. Many times. Tell me why.”
Amber’s pulse hammered. “I was answering questions. I was following procedure. Do not read into it.”
He smiled faintly, a curve of lips that unsettled her more than any scowl. “You want me to believe that the way you looked at me was nothing.”
Amber gripped the phone tighter. “What else could it be.”
His voice lowered, intimate. “It could be truth trying to surface. Truth about what you feel when our eyes meet.”
Amber’s breath caught. She forced her tone steady. “This is not appropriate. You are on trial. I am a witness. We should not even be speaking like this.”
“And yet here we are,” Harry replied, his eyes gleaming. “Separated by glass, chained by law, but speaking words that should not be spoken. Do you not see it, Amber. The world built its walls, and still something between us breaks through.”
Amber closed her eyes briefly. “Stop. You are manipulating me.”
“Or perhaps I am only naming what you already feel.”
Amber’s chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. She hated him in that moment for seeing too much, for unraveling the defense she had built with such care.
The guard tapped his watch, signaling time.
Harry’s voice softened. “They can cage my body. They can put bars around my life. But you, Amber—you are the one caging yourself. Which prison is heavier.”
Amber dropped the phone onto the receiver. She stood abruptly, clutching her bag as though it shielded her. She walked away quickly, the guards’ footsteps echoing around her, but she could still feel his words trailing her like chains.
That night Amber sat at her desk, the single lamp casting a pool of light on scattered papers. She tried to review her notes, tried to anchor herself in facts and testimonies, but her hand trembled as she wrote. Her pen scratched words onto the paper that were not legal details but confessions she could not speak aloud.
Prison is not always made of stone. Sometimes it is a pair of eyes. Sometimes it is a memory that refuses to loosen its grip.
She pushed the paper away, frustrated, but the words had already branded themselves into her thoughts.
The knock at her door startled her. She rose and opened it to find Ernie Cabello standing with his usual worried look.
“You went to the detention center,” he said flatly. “I heard from the prosecutor.”
Amber stepped aside silently, letting him in.
“Why did you not tell me,” Ernie pressed. “Do you know how dangerous that was for you. One rumor that you met him willingly, and your credibility will be shattered.”
Amber sank onto the couch. “I had no choice. They called me. They said my statement needed clarification.”
“Clarification is one thing,” Ernie shot back. “But do not pretend that is all it was. I can see it in your face.”
Amber’s throat tightened. “I kept it professional.”
“Did you,” Ernie challenged. “Because the way you are shaking tells me otherwise.”
Amber buried her face in her hands. “Ernie, I do not know what is happening to me. I should despise him. I should fear him. But instead I feel pulled, as if something larger than me keeps drawing me closer.”
Ernie knelt before her, his voice urgent. “That is not fate, Amber. That is danger disguised as desire. You must fight it.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I tried. I am trying. But when he looks at me, it is as if he knows every weakness I carry.”
Ernie grasped her shoulders. “Then let me remind you of strength. Remember why you testified. Remember the people harmed by his schemes. Their lives matter more than this dangerous pull you feel. Promise me you will remember.”
Amber whispered, broken. “I promise to try.”
Amber did not sleep that night either. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the weight of Harry’s voice echoing through her skull.
Which prison is heavier. The bars around me, or the chains inside you.
She turned onto her side, clutching her pillow tight. Her heart betrayed her again, beating for the man she should have condemned. And as dawn crept pale across the horizon, Amber Gatmaitan realized she was not free. She was locked inside a prison of desire, and the key was nowhere to be found.
Amber Gatmaitan sat at her desk the next morning, staring at the screen of her laptop without seeing the words. Reports and transcripts blinked back at her, but her mind refused to settle. Sleep had been shallow, haunted by the echo of Harry’s voice in the visitation room. The more she tried to banish it, the more it returned, sharp as a knife, soft as a whisper.
Her phone rang, jolting her. The name flashing across the screen froze her in place. Razel Ann del Prado. The journalist.
Amber answered cautiously. “Hello.”
“Miss Gatmaitan,” Razel’s tone carried the crispness of someone accustomed to chasing truth. “I heard you visited the detention center yesterday. Off record, of course. Care to comment.”
Amber’s pulse spiked. “That was official procedure. Nothing more.”
Razel hummed, a sound of skepticism. “And yet the word going around is that you lingered. That there was something… unusual about the way you looked at the accused.”
Amber’s grip on the phone tightened. “Who told you that.”
“I have sources,” Razel said lightly. “But I want to hear it from you. Should I tell the public that the state’s key witness might have feelings for the man she testified against.”
Amber’s breath caught. “That is not true.”
“Then deny it clearly,” Razel pressed. “Say it outright. No hesitation.”
Amber’s throat dried. Silence stretched.
Razel chuckled, low and dangerous. “I see. Thank you for your honesty, or lack thereof. I will be watching closely, Miss Gatmaitan. Very closely.”
The line went dead.
Amber lowered the phone, her hands trembling. She could already imagine the headlines if Razel chose to write her suspicions. Her reputation, her testimony, her entire standing in the case could unravel with one article.
She pressed her palms against her eyes. She whispered, “You are destroying yourself.”
By afternoon, Ernie Cabello stopped by again. He carried a bag of groceries, setting them down on her counter. “You look worse than yesterday,” he said bluntly.
Amber sighed. “Thank you for noticing.”
He studied her. “What happened.”
“Razel called me. She knows.”
Ernie stiffened. “Knows what.”
Amber’s lips trembled. “That something exists. That my face betrays me when I see him.”
Ernie slammed a fist lightly on the counter. “Amber, this is spiraling. You must cut ties with the case emotionally. Right now. Before you lose everything.”
Amber’s voice cracked. “I want to. Do you think I have not tried. But when I close my eyes, I still see him.”
Ernie shook his head. “Then you are choosing to see him. You are feeding the fire.”
Amber bit her lip. She wanted to protest, but part of her knew he was right. She had fed it, in secret moments, in whispered thoughts she never admitted aloud.
Ernie softened his tone. “I care for you, Amber. I will not watch you throw your life away for someone like him. Do you hear me. I will not.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I hear you. But hearing is not the same as obeying.”
Ernie’s expression darkened. “Then God help you.”
He left soon after, leaving her apartment filled with silence once more.
Night fell heavy. Amber sat at her window, staring at the blur of city lights. She should have felt comfort in their distance, but instead she felt enclosed, as though glass and steel pressed closer.
Her phone buzzed. An unknown number.
She hesitated, then answered. “Hello.”
Static filled the line, followed by a voice she recognized instantly. Harry.
“Amber.”
Her heart lurched. “How did you get this number.”
He chuckled faintly. “You forget that influence lingers, even behind bars. I needed to hear your voice.”
Amber’s pulse raced. “This is wrong. We should not be speaking.”
“And yet you answered,” Harry replied smoothly. “You could have let it ring. But you did not.”
Amber pressed a hand to her temple. “Why are you doing this to me.”
“Because you already feel it too,” Harry said. “Because when you looked at me yesterday, you did not see a criminal. You saw a man. And when I looked at you, I did not see a witness. I saw the only person who can see through these walls.”
Amber’s breath shook. “Do not say these things.”
“Then hang up,” he challenged. “If I am wrong, hang up now.”
Amber stared at the phone in her hand. But her fingers refused to move.
“You see,” Harry whispered. “The prison of desire holds you tighter than iron. Admit it, Amber. Admit that you are as bound to me as I am to you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You are dangerous. You are pulling me into ruin.”
“Or I am pulling you into truth,” Harry countered. “The truth that law and order cannot erase what lives in us.”
Amber choked back a sob. “Stop. Please.”
“Say the word,” Harry said softly. “Say you do not feel it, and I will never call again.”
Amber’s lips parted. The words hovered, but they withered on her tongue.
Silence stretched, thick as chains.
Harry exhaled slowly. “I will take your silence as confession.”
The line went dead.
Amber dropped the phone, pressing both hands to her face. She sobbed quietly, the sound muffled against her palms. She was unraveling, thread by thread, bound by something she could neither deny nor escape.
The following day, Razel cornered her outside the courthouse. Cameras flashed, reporters swarmed, and Razel’s voice cut sharp through the chaos.
“Miss Gatmaitan, care to comment on the nature of your relationship with the accused. Witnesses say your visits have been unusually personal.”
Amber froze. “That is not true.”
Razel smirked. “Then why do you blush when I ask.”
Amber forced her tone steady. “Because your question is insulting. I am a witness, nothing more.”
She pushed past, but inside her heart pounded in frantic rhythm. The trap was tightening.
That night, Amber sat again at her desk, pen in hand. She tried to write clarity into her testimony, but her hand betrayed her, scrawling instead:
I am the prisoner. Not him. Not Harry. Me.
She dropped the pen, tears blurring her vision.
The days that followed blurred. Amber moved through court proceedings like a ghost, speaking the right words, standing at the right times, but inside she was elsewhere. With every glance at Harry, with every stolen second of eye contact, the chain tightened.
Ernie noticed. Razel noticed. Perhaps even Judge Capiña noticed, though her stern gaze revealed nothing.
And Amber herself knew. She knew she was sinking. Yet she no longer struggled.
One night she stood before her mirror, whispering to her reflection.
“You are the witness. You are the one meant to speak truth. And yet you are silenced by desire. Our love is a crime. And I am already serving the sentence.”
6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDsErNie6iX
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