The Glass cage
735 Words
If the fire was hell, the Thorne Estate was a kingdom of ice.
The gates were wrought iron, towering stalks of black metal that hissed open like a serpent's jaw. As the sleek black SUV carved its way up the cliffside, the city below looked like a collection of discarded toys. Up here, the air was thinner. Sharper.
Cassian didn't help me out of the car. He grabbed my upper arm, his fingers finding the bruises he’d already left, and hauled me toward the front doors.
"Careful, Enforcer," a voice drifted from the shadows of the portico. Silas. He was standing there, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, looking as if he hadn’t just watched a woman’s life turn to ash. "She’s a Vance. They’re made of silk and ego. They break easily."
"This one’s made of spite," Cassian grunted, shoving me into the foyer.
I stumbled, my ruined heels skidding on marble so polished it looked like black water. The foyer was a cathedral of glass and shadow. A three-story chandelier hung above us like a frozen explosion of diamonds.
"Where is my father?" I demanded, pushing my hair out of my face. I was covered in soot, my dress was a rag, and I was shaking—but I wouldn't let them see it.
"Safe," Silas said, stepping into the light. He looked me up and down, his gaze clinical and devastating. "And irrelevant. He signed the papers, Elara. He traded the only thing he had left to pay off the Moretti family. He traded you."
"I am not a commodity."
"In this house, you are the only commodity," Silas corrected. He walked a slow, predatory circle around me. "You are the face of our new merger. You are the tragic heiress we 'rescued.' Tomorrow, the papers will say the Thorne brothers are the heroes of the Vance tragedy. You will be on our arms, smiling, proving to the world that we are the new kings of this city."
He stopped in front of me, so close I could smell the expensive tobacco and cold rain on his suit. He reached out, his thumb catching a smear of soot on my cheek and wiping it away with a slow, agonizing pressure.
"The contract is simple," Silas whispered. "Total transparency. No secrets. No privacy. You belong to the estate now."
"And if I run?"
A low, dark chuckle came from behind me. Cassian was leaning against the heavy oak doors, blocking the only exit. He started unbuttoning his damp shirt, his eyes never leaving the curve of my neck.
"Go ahead," Cassian said, his voice a gravelly invitation. "I haven't had a good hunt in months. I’ll give you a five-minute head start before I bring you back and show you exactly what happens to 'property' that gets lost."
The threat wasn't just in his words; it was in the way his gaze dropped to my lips, heavy with a heat that made my stomach flip.
"Upstairs," Silas commanded, breaking the tension like a snap of cold air. "Third door on the left. A bath has been drawn. The soot comes off tonight, Elara. Tomorrow, we start the molding process."
I turned to go, but Silas caught my wrist. His grip wasn't rough like Cassian’s, but it was absolute.
"One more thing," Silas said, his eyes boring into mine. "The red dress on the bed? Put it on. I don’t like to be kept waiting for dinner."
I pulled my arm away and climbed the stairs, the silence of the house weighing on me like a shroud. When I reached the room, I stopped dead.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a suite of glass and velvet. And on the bed lay a dress the color of fresh blood, paired with a gold-and-black choker.
I walked to the window. The estate was surrounded by a sheer drop into the ocean. There were no bars on the windows because the world itself was the cage.
I looked at the red dress, then at my reflection in the glass—smudged, broken, but still standing. I realized then that they hadn't just bought my debt. They had bought a war.
And I was going to make sure it cost them everything.
- Writer
