THE PENTHOUSE CAGE
1184 Words
I never knew luxury could feel like a prison.
The elevator doors opened straight into Viktor’s penthouse and my breath caught. Floor to ceiling windows showed the entire glittering city below. Everything screamed money. Cold marble, dark wood, leather that probably cost more than my childhood home.
"Wow," I breathed.
Viktor stood behind me, his presence heavy. "This is home now. Get used to it."
I turned to face him. My cheek still ached from yesterday’s slap. "I don’t know how to get used to any of this. Yesterday I was burying my parents. Today I’m here."
He stepped closer. Too close. His silver eyes studied my face like he was memorizing every bruise. "You’ll learn. Fast."
Before I could answer, the elevator dinged again. People poured in. Men in expensive suits. Women dripping in diamonds. Viktor’s inner circle.
A tall redhead in a skin-tight black dress spotted me immediately. Sofia. I remembered her from the funeral, watching from the back like a snake.
"Well, well," she purred, circling me slowly. "So this is the famous Aria Frost. Viktor’s new little project."
The room went quiet. All eyes turned to us.
"Sofia," Viktor warned, voice low.
She ignored him. Her sharp nails tapped her wine glass. "Look at you. Still wearing that cheap funeral dress. Did you think Viktor would play hero forever?"
"I didn’t ask for any of this," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Sofia laughed. Cold. Sharp. "Nobody asked for you, honey. You’re just the dead traitor’s daughter. A charity case he feels guilty about."
The words hit harder than the slap yesterday. I flinched.
Someone chuckled. Another guest whispered something that made the group laugh.
Sofia stepped even closer. "Stay in your place, little charity whore."
Her hand flew.
The slap connected with my already bruised cheek. Wine from her glass splashed across my chest, soaking the front of my dress. Gasps rippled through the room.
Pain bloomed fresh. Hot tears stung my eyes but I refused to let them fall.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, voice breaking.
"Because I can," she hissed. "And because he’ll get bored of you soon enough. They always do."
I stood there shaking, wine dripping down my skin, everyone staring. The humiliation burned deeper than the slap.
"Enough." Viktor’s voice sliced through the tension like a knife. He moved between us in two strides. His hand gripped Sofia’s wrist hard enough that she winced. "Touch her again and you’re out. Permanently."
Sofia’s eyes widened. "Viktor, baby, I was just—"
"Get out."
She opened her mouth to argue but the look on his face stopped her. She shot me one last hateful glare and stormed toward the elevator, heels clicking angrily.
The guests slowly went back to their conversations, but the damage was done. I could feel their eyes on me. Judging. Pitying. Mocking.
Viktor turned to me. His expression softened, just a fraction. "Come with me."
He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand settled on my lower back, guiding me away from the crowd and down a long hallway. We entered a massive bathroom with a marble sink and soft lighting.
"Sit," he ordered gently.
I sat on the edge of the tub. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Viktor grabbed a soft towel and ran it under warm water. He knelt in front of me, which felt wrong. A man like him shouldn’t kneel for anyone.
"This is going to sting," he murmured.
He pressed the warm cloth to my cheek. I hissed.
"Sorry," he said. Actually sounded like he meant it.
"Why did you let her do that?" I asked, voice small. "You could have stopped her sooner."
He paused. His thumb brushed just below the fresh bruise. "I needed to see how you’d handle it."
"Handle it? I got slapped. Again. In front of all your fancy friends." My voice cracked. "I feel so f*****g small here."
"You’re not small." His silver eyes locked on mine. Intense. Burning. "You’re mine to protect now. But in this world, weakness gets you killed or claimed."
The words hung between us. Heavy. Loaded.
I should have pulled away. Instead I leaned into his touch.
"Viktor".
He wiped more wine from my collarbone. His fingers lingered. The air between us thickened.
"You’re trembling," he said softly.
"I’m scared. Of everything. Of you."
His hand stilled. "Good. Fear keeps you alive."
Then he leaned in. Slow enough that I could have stopped him. I didn’t.
His lips brushed mine. Tentative at first. Then hungry. He tasted like whiskey and power and something dangerously addictive.
I gasped against his mouth. My hands fisted in his shirt without thinking.
He growled low in his throat. "Good girl."
The words sent heat straight through me. Wrong. So wrong. He was old enough to be… not my father, but close. My guardian. My dead father’s best friend.
I pulled back, breathing hard. "We shouldn’t."
"I know." His forehead rested against mine. His hand cupped the back of my neck. "But I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you on your knees in the mud yesterday."
My heart hammered. Desire mixed with shame and fear in a dizzying cocktail.
"What are you doing to me?" I whispered.
"Claiming what’s mine." He kissed me again. Deeper this time. His tongue brushed mine and I whimpered.
For a moment the whole world disappeared. Just his mouth. His hands. The way he held me like I might break but also like he wanted to break me himself.
Then he pulled away with a curse. "Not here. Not yet."
I touched my lips. They felt swollen. Marked.
"Viktor, I don’t understand what’s happening."
He helped me stand. His hands stayed on my waist longer than necessary. "Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow."
He left me in a beautiful bedroom that felt like it belonged to someone else. Silk sheets. A closet already filled with new clothes in my size. Everything perfect. Everything wrong.
I waited until I heard the party winding down. Then I slipped out of the room.
I needed answers. I needed to understand why Viktor Kane had really taken me in.
I crept into what looked like his study. Dark wood desk. Floor to ceiling bookshelves. Moonlight streamed through the windows.
I started opening drawers carefully. Most were locked. One wasn’t.
Inside was a thick folder.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Photos. Documents. Bank transfers.
My father’s face stared back at me from surveillance pictures. Dates. Times. Locations.
And there, in black and white, an order signed by Viktor Kane himself.
"Eliminate Thomas Frost. Loose end. Make it clean."
I dropped the folder. Papers scattered across the floor.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."
The man who had just kissed me. The man who had protected me. The man whose touch still burned on my skin.
He was the one who ordered my parents killed.
I backed away from the desk, heart shattering all over again.
The cage door had just slammed shut.
And I was trapped with the monster who built it.
- Writer
