His Caged Bird

Chapter 1 First Sight

Everyone said I was nothing but a caged canary, kept by Christian Holmes and a substitute for Wanda White.

But what they didn't know was that even canaries can sometimes fly to the top of the highest branches and become phoenixes.

******

Christian was 26 and I was 19 when we met.

He was the youngest master of the Holmes family, one of the four wealthiest families in Seaville. The one thing he didn't lack was money. I was a high school graduate, homeless, working at a milk tea shop to earn my university tuition. We were from completely different worlds, with statuses as different as heaven and earth.

The night we met, Christian had drunk too much and was sitting by the roadside, throwing up. At the time, I didn't know who he was. Sitting there so late, vomiting, dressed in a shirt and leather shoes, he looked like a salesman struggling to make a living, a kindred spirit suffering just like me. So I gave him my brown sugar bubble tea.

"To soothe your throat," I said.

He looked up, and I saw a face completely different from the so-called "campus hunks" at school. It was a mature, handsome face—one that had shed any trace of youthful innocence, bearing the marks of wealth and experience. Perhaps because he was drunk, his tie was a little loose, his eyes a little hazy.

According to the usual movie plot, he would be touched by my kindness and warmth, and we would embark on a romantic love story like Romeo and Juliet. But he only said, "It's a shame for someone so pretty to be working at a milk tea shop."

Later, I learned that the Cullinan parked not far away was his. He had just been out with friends, had too much to drink, and got out of the car for some fresh air.

That was our encounter. Plain and ordinary.

The story did unfold as I had imagined, with one difference: I became Christian's mistress. Later, I asked Christian why me. He exhaled a smoke ring, looked at me, and said, "You have a cool, aloof air, a sense of mystery, but you don't put on airs. That's rare."

I smiled without speaking.

"Lil, let me take you on a trip sometime."

"Okay."

Christian rarely called me by my name. I sometimes wondered if he even remembered it. He didn't care about where I came from, whether I had been to school, or why I was so young and already a kept woman. He only engaged in a purely physical, transactional relationship with me.

Until one day, I told him, "Mr. Holmes, I want to go back to school."

He sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit. He frowned, which was rare. "So, that means we're done?"

"Yes."

He didn't say much, just nodded and transferred a large sum of money to me. "For your milk tea."

So he did remember. He just didn't care. It didn't matter. He was a rare find, a generous and handsome benefactor.

"Are you in a hurry? If not, stay with me a little longer."

"Sure."

Before leaving with him, I went home. I wanted to tell my mother that I was going to university. Even though she often chose to stand by idly while my stepfather beat and even molested me over the years, I still wanted to talk to her. I told her I didn't blame her. Even though I had started school later than my peers, she at least allowed me to get an education. She was just naive, completely taken in by my stepfather, that good-looking scumbag.

But I never expected her to just take my card. "Lil', Mom wants to buy a new house…"

I couldn't believe it. Even after I had poured my heart out to her, she didn't care where the money came from; she was just trying to con me out of all of it.

"Tell me, have you… ever considered me your daughter?"

"If you're not my daughter, then who is? But you'll eventually get married, and I still have to spend the rest of my life with your father."

'Haha.'

I laughed self-deprecatingly, a hollow coldness spreading through me. Sometimes, I really wished my mother had never been kind to me, had never gone door to door borrowing money for my tuition, had never rushed to argue with people when I had conflicts with classmates, had never been beaten by my stepfather for standing up for me.

I wished she had always been indifferent, that she had never loved me. That way, I could be heartless and not care about her. But she wasn't, so I couldn't let go.

I left the card with her and went on a cruise at sea with Christian. He was in a good mood and even watched Titanic with me in the room.

Until the disaster struck.

Although Christian was only my benefactor, he treated me well. He gave me everything except love. Even in bed, he was considerate of my feelings, even though he was the one paying for pleasure. He even stopped smoking in front of me because I didn't like the smell. And he never two-timed; at least, as far as I knew, I was the only one he had during that period.

So, in the end, even though the rescuer reached out to me, I pushed him onto the lifeboat.

He was shocked.

Christian showed me an expression I had never seen on his face before. I had never shown any love for him, so he probably couldn't understand why I would risk my life to save him.

"You…" He didn't say, "Let me save you." Instead, he gritted his teeth and asked, "Who do you have at home? I'll take care of them for you."

"I have no family."

He wasn't surprised, as if he had known all along. It was understandable. What family could a nineteen-year-old kept woman have?

"I'm sorry, I promised someone I wouldn't die."

"Don't be sorry. I'm doing this willingly."

He lowered his head and didn't speak. I didn't know what he was thinking, whether he was starting to regret it. The people around us were urging us to part. At that moment, he suddenly tried to climb back to get me, but I pushed him down again.

The lifeboat left. The remaining people were panicked, crying and screaming. Only I stood there, watching him go.

Later, Christian told me that was the second time in his life he had regretted something.

I didn't know what the first time was. I knew nothing about his life.

I wasn't afraid of death. I just felt that my life was hopeless. No one in this world would care if I lived or died. But at least, if I died saving him, maybe he would remember me.

Someone shouted that there was one more spot. Many people scrambled to get on, and I, who was at the very front, was suddenly pushed down.

I didn't expect that those who wanted to live didn't make it, but I, who neither wanted to live nor die, did.

So I survived.