Five – The Penthouse Prison
306 Words
The ride to his penthouse was silent. His hand rested on his knee, calm and controlled, while I sat stiffly beside him, my wedding gown suffocating me.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a world of glass, marble, and breathtaking views of the city skyline. The penthouse was as cold and magnificent as the man himself.
“This is your home now,” Alexander said simply, loosening his tie as he moved across the room.
“More like my cage,” I muttered.
He paused, glancing back at me. “Cages are meant to keep things safe.”
“Or trapped,” I shot back, lifting my chin.
His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Depends on how you look at it.”
I set the bouquet down on a marble table and faced him, my chest tight with defiance. “You may have forced me into this marriage, but don’t think for a second that you own me.”
In two strides, he was in front of me, his presence overwhelming, his gaze burning into mine. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, dangerously, “I don’t need to own you. You’ll give yourself to me willingly. Eventually.”
My breath caught. His nearness was intoxicating, his cologne a dizzying mix of cedar and smoke. For one reckless moment, I thought he might kiss me again—not like in the chapel, but for real.
Instead, he stepped back, his expression cool once more. “The guest room is down the hall. I don’t share my bed. Not yet.”
He left me standing there, trembling with a mix of relief and… something else. Something I couldn’t name.
Because the truth was terrifying:
Part of me hated him.
But another part—deep, secret, shameful—was curious.
And that was even more dangerous.
- Writer
