The cage closes
1029 Words
The applause started. We turned to face the crowd. Adrian’s arm went around my waist. Possessive for the photos, loose the second the flash stopped. I smiled because I was supposed to.
In the third row sat Olivia.
Her red hair pinned elegantly. Emerald dress hugging her curves. She looked like she belonged at the front. When our eyes met, her smile was small, satisfied. Adrian didn’t glance her way during the ceremony, but I saw him straighten his tie once, shoulders squaring. Like he felt her watching.
She was here because he wanted her here.
The reception was worse.
Everywhere was so shiny and glittery. The décor hurt my eyes. My dad gave a toast. Something about legacy and continuity. I didn’t listen, I couldn’t. This whole farce felt like a humiliation ritual. Adrian left soon enough to ‘handle clients’, but I saw him walk straight to Olivia’s table. In our wedding. My wedding.
I watched from across the room, not touching my champagne.
He leaned down to her ear and whispered something that made her smile brightly. She whispered something back and he laughed. The first smile I had ever seen on his face.
My stomach twisted.
I turned away and found a quiet corner near the balcony doors. Let the cool glass press against my back while I breathed.
Later, when the crowd thinned, Adrian found me.
“Having fun?” he asked, voice flat.
I forced a smile. “It’s… nice.”
He nodded once. Looked around the room like he was checking inventory. “Good. People are watching.”
I swallowed. “You’ve been gone a lot tonight.”
“Business contacts. You know how it is.” He glanced toward Olivia’s table again. “I need to make the rounds.”
“Adrian—”
“What?” He looked back at me, his eyes impatient.
I hesitated. “Nothing. Just… it’s our wedding.”
He exhaled through his nose. “I know. And I’m doing my part. You should too.”
He walked away before I could answer.
We had no honeymoon. He claimed business, but I knew better. We went straight to the penthouse. His place, now ours. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors. It echoed when I walked.
That first night he slept in the guest room. “To give you space to settle,” he said.
I lay in the massive bed alone, staring at the city lights. Replaying the bar kiss until my skin felt too tight. Guilt burned low, but underneath it was something sharper. Something alive.
The days blurred into weeks.
Adrian left early, came home late. When he was here, he was distant. Conversations were short.
One morning over breakfast. He in his suit, me in a robe I’d bought hoping it would make me feel like a wife, he set his coffee down.
“There’s a big gala next week,” he said without looking up from his tablet. “Industry thing. You’ll come, make us look good.”
I stared at my untouched plate. “Okay.”
He nodded. “Wear something appropriate. Nothing flashy.”
I looked up. “I can choose my own dress.”
He finally met my eyes. “You can. But remember who you represent now.”
The words landed like a slap.
I swallowed. “I know.”
“Good.” He stood. Grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
The door clicked shut.
I sat there in the silence, the city humming far below. Slowly, I twisted the wedding ring off my finger and held it in my palm. It caught the light.
Another morning, a few days later. He was still at the table when I came down for coffee.
I poured a cup. “How was your meeting last night?”
“Fine.” He didn’t look up.
I tried again. “You’ve been gone a lot lately.”
He sighed. “Work doesn’t stop because we got married, Aria.”
“I know. I just thought—”
“You thought what?” He set his tablet down. Looked at me like I was an interruption. “That we’d be some fairy-tale couple? This is a partnership. A business arrangement. You knew that going in.”
My throat tightened. “I thought we could at least try to be… friends.”
He laughed once humorlessly. “Friends. Cute.” He stood. “I don’t have time for friends. I have a company to run. And you have a role to play. That’s it.”
He walked past me without another word.
I stood there, coffee cooling in my hands, staring at the empty doorway.
Noah called that afternoon.
“How are you holding up, sis?” His voice was careful.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You sound like you’re reading from a script.”
I laughed, thin. “It’s just… adjustment.”
“Call me if you need to talk. For real.”
“I will.”
I hung up and stared at the ring I’d put back on and twisted it once.
Rihanna texted later.
*How’s married life? Miss your face. Coffee soon?*
I typed back: *Miss you too. Soon.*
I didn’t mention how empty the penthouse felt. How Adrian’s absence was louder than his presence. How every night I lay awake wondering if the man from the bar had been a dream or a warning.
A week after the wedding, over breakfast again, Adrian scrolling emails, me trying to eat something, he spoke without looking up.
“Gala’s Friday. Be ready by seven. And Aria?”
I looked at him.
“Don’t embarrass me.”
He stood then left.
The door clicked shut.
I sat there, fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
My phone buzzed on the table and I glanced down.
An anonymous message. A blurry photo was attached, taken from across the bar that night. Me in the booth. Him leaning in. Our mouths locked. My hands in his hair.
The caption read: *Some choices follow you.*
My breath caught.
I stared at the screen, heart slamming against my ribs.
Who sent this?
- Writer
