The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 71

Margot’s POV

The door to the bathroom clicked shut behind him.

The sound of running water echoed out seconds later – steady, hot, and thunderous and only then did I finally breathe.

I stood frozen for a moment, notebook clutched in one hand, the pen trembling in the other. My pulse was still racing in my ears, loud and fast, and I had to force myself to sit at the desk without toppling over.

He wanted me to rewrite the notes.

Better ones.

Ones he approved of.

Ones that wouldn’t get me hurt.

But I didn’t want to lie either.

My fingers curled tighter around the pen. It was just a list. Just words on a page. But now it felt like a bomb waiting to go off if I wrote the wrong thing again.

He said I bent for him, and maybe he was right.

But I wouldn’t break.

Not for anyone…

Still, my survival depended on balance. Not truth. Not justice. Just balance. I needed to say the things that pleased him, without entirely losing myself in the process either…

I flipped the notebook open to a blank page and stared down at it, heart thudding.

I didn’t have long either, as I felt the pressure mount on my shoulders…

New Notes on Coban Santorelli

I took a slow, shaky breath and began to write:

• Coban follows his own routine. It may not be conventional, but it’s consistent in the ways that matter to him. He values control over his own time, and I’m starting to understand that.

That sounded fair. Not too flattering, not too critical. It was better than writing he didn’t like routine at all?

I had to keep going…

He has a powerful presence. When Coban enters a room, people notice. He doesn’t demand respect with

words, he earns it with silence, with the way he confidently moves, the way others react to him.

That would stroke his ego.

Maybe keep me alive…

The next words came a little slower, a little more cautious.

• Coban plays mind games, yes. But they’re not without reason and are harmless. They test me. Teach me. It’s never for nothing. There’s always a purpose behind his control, even if I don’t understand it at the time. He wants to help me find my way in the prison system…

I paused and reread that. It felt true. Twisted, but true.

I glanced toward the closed bathroom door, steam starting to curl out from beneath it like a warning. I had no idea how long he’d be in there. Five more minutes? Ten?

I had to move faster…

• He doesn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. The silence, the calm, that’s when he’s at his most dangerous. But also, weirdly… his most honest too.

God, what was I even writing?

Was I romanticising him? Or just trying to survive him?

The line between the two was getting harder to see.

I forced myself to keep going again….

• Coban values obedience, but not blind obedience. He wants understanding. He wants me to choose to follow his rules. When I don’t… I can see the way it ignites something in him but he has never hurt me.

I didn’t elaborate on what that “something” was either.

Fear? Rage? A sick thrill?

All three?

• He has no fear. It’s unsettling at first, but I’m learning it’s part of what makes him who he is. Fear slows people down. Coban doesn’t slow down. Ever. He enjoys keeping busy and to himself, only seeming to spend time with his friend Leo.

Finally, he looked up. His eyes didn’t betray much, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something almost like approval.

“This…” he said slowly, tapping the page, “is acceptable.”

I nearly sagged in relief.

“But next time,” he continued, tone turning sharp, “don’t wait for me to tell you what to write. If you ever submit something like your last report again, it’ll be the last thing you ever write with working fingers.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.”

He smirked, closing the notebook and tossing it to the side. “Good girl.”

I hated how much that phrase lit something inside me.

Then he straightened, the towel still clinging low on his hips. “You want your reward now?”

My eyes snapped up to his, unsure how to answer.

He leaned forward, so close I could smell the clean scent of soap and warm skin.

“Your reward,” he said again, voice a whisper now, “is that I’m not mad anymore.”

He pulled back, amused at the flicker of confusion on my face.

“That’s all I get?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He raised a brow. “Careful.”

My lips slammed shut, mortified that he had heard the need in my tone…

“If you want me to fuck you, then you can just ask, my little virgin.” He hummed as he fished out his clothes, and I blinked in horror,

This man…