Lady and the Rogue

Caged

Jamila

After Todd walked me to the front door, I used my key to unlock the door. As I stepped inside of the mansion, I attempted to take off my heels and walk up the stairs.

“Where were you?”

I turned towards my father’s voice. A single lamp was turned on, casting a golden pool of light that illuminated the sharp planes of his face, carved from the same mahogany as his expensive furniture. He was a force of nature, a man who had built his empire on an unshakeable foundation of ambition and control. To defy him was to challenge the very laws of gravity, and I, in my recklessness, had just taken a flying leap off the tallest cliff in the world.

He pushed himself up from his armchair and walked towards me.

“That smell,” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

The words were a question, a statement, and an accusation all at once. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I tried to keep my face a blank mask, to feign ignorance, to let the lie I had spun just moments ago take root.

“I was with the girls. We went for a late-night drive.”

The girls were my three best friends, Bianca, Makena, and Yara. I’ve known them since we were kids. We all went to the same packschool. The words were a bitter lie on my tongue, but I knew if he called either of them, they would have my back. He looked at me with those cold eyes, but he didn’t pushed back.

My gaze fell to the floor, my eyes fixed on the intricate pattern of the Persian rug. The Sankofa pendant felt like a lead weight against my collarbone. It was the only thing I hadn’t hidden, the one piece of my true self I had left exposed. It was a symbol of my blood, a reminder that we were a pack that understood the power of history and reaching back to retrieve what was lost. My father had given it to me and had taught me its meaning. But now, it felt like a shackle, a reminder of a past that was not as golden as he had painted it to be.

"You smell like a wet dog," he frowned, and this time there was no pretense of a question.

The words were laced with a visceral disgust that cut deeper than any insult. It wasn't just the smell of rain, of the humid city night, of the alley. It was the smell of the wild, of a wolf who lived outside the gilded cage he had built for me. It was the smell of a rogue. He saw the path I had taken, the dirt I had willingly stepped in. My father, a man who prided himself on his self-control, let a flicker of pure rage flash in his eyes before he schooled his features back into a mask of cold disdain.

"Go get cleaned up."

I didn’t argue. I didn't have the energy. The defiance that had coursed through me in that alley with Silas had been replaced by a crushing weariness. I was a Duvall, an heir, a daughter. I was also a wolf, and tonight, my wolf had tasted freedom, and now she was demanding more. The more I tried to push her back, the more she clawed against my body, begging to be let loose. I turned to retreat to my wing of the mansion, but he stopped me again. His voice this time was softer, but no less dangerous.

“Jamila, you are going to be a leader,” he emphasized, his voice a low thrum of a funeral drum. I turned around, my heart pounding in my ears. He was a master of manipulation, a man who could turn a word into a weapon, a silence into a threat.

His gaze fixed on my face, on the mask I wore so poorly. "You are going to be an Alpha. You are going to lead your pack and you are going to do it with grace and dignity. You will not let the world see your weakness."

He paused, his eyes holding mine as if he was giving me a silent warning.

"You are going to be everything I ever wanted you to be."

I felt suffocated and in that moment, I knew what I had to do. I had to find out what my father did to Silas. I had to find out what had created a man with so much hatred, so much pain, in his eyes. I had to know the truth. The Duvall version of our history had always been one of triumph and victory, of a pack that had risen from the ways of the old world to build a new one. On the other hand, Silas untamed hunger in his eyes, told a different story and just like my Sankofa pendant with its head turned back to the past, I had to know which story was true.

The heavy oak door closed behind me with a soft click. That single motion severed me from the house below, from the watchful eyes of my father, from the suffocating weight of my family’s legacy. My room spread out before me. The walls glittered with priceless art, every stroke meant to remind me of legacy. Thick rugs cushioned my feet, muffling every movement like the house itself wanted silence. I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. My reflection nearly stole my breath. Brown luminous skin, but pale in spirit. My hands shook and my body trembled. My eyes were haunted. The gown shimmered like liquid. It was the very picture of elegance, but it mocked me. Every sequin was a blade reminding me of the performance I had given all of my life.

A princess act. An obedient daughter’s act. A lie.

With sharp motions, I stripped the trench coat from my shoulders, the fabric collapsing at my feet like a discarded shadow. The zipper of the gown whispered against my back as I peeled myself free. The silk slid down my curves, pooling at my ankles. My body was a canvas painted by my father’s world, a showcase when he wanted me seen.

I walked to the bathroom and turned on the water. The marble shower hissed alive, steam bloomed, covering the glass. I stepped into it, the spray biting hot against my skin. I scrubbed until my arms ached, until my dark skin flushed red under my washcloth. I wanted his scent gone. But no matter how raw I rubbed, his scent still clung. The memory of his eyes, of the way he had looked at me remained in my head. He didn’t look at me like I was a princess nor as my father’s daughter. I couldn’t wash it away.

Eventually, I shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a soft lush towel sitting on the counter. I dried myself and pulled on a white silk nightgown that was soft against my skin. Standing by the window, I looked out at the moon. It was bright and in a way recharging. Below me, the gardens stretched in perfect lines, like a controlled Eden. Beyond them, the city of Detroit lit up. The renaissance center and the fisher building was where my father went and conducted his meetings with other alphas. Its internal world was like a corporate labyrinth. A world of panoramic views that felt a million miles away from the grit and soul of Detroit below. Further down, Paradise Valley pulsed with an envious glow. That place, despised to everyone else, whispered to me now. It called to something in my bones.

I had lived in a perfect world, a world where the monsters were always someone else, a world where our victories were clean, our hands were pure. But what if the story was a lie? What if the monster wasn't Crimson Peak? What if it was my father?

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I whipped my head in that direction. No one has my number except for Amina, my father and my best friends. I hesitated for a moment, my heart in my throat. I picked it up, my hands shaking. The message was a simple text, a single word.

‘Ashes’

The number was an unknown number and I wanted to respond. But what if it was a trap? What if it was one of my father’s enemies? Maybe leaving the party was a bad idea. I probably made myself a target. With a bone-deep certainty, I knew who it was from. I remember his words in the alley and how he was at the party and my father making a deal with Crimson Peak.

Who was Silas?

My phone buzzed again with another message of the location and time.

“Meet me tomorrow night at midnight at the Old Mill.”

I didn’t respond, but I wrote down the words and deleted the messages. It was risky, sure, but I needed to find out the full story regarding my family and what ties it had with Silas. My wolf stirred inside me again. She wanted to know. She wanted the truth just as much as I did. She wanted to be free and as bad as I wanted to respond to the message and tell him to meet me tonight, I knew that it was cause more trouble than I anticipated.