Chapter 2 His Golden Cage
1015 Words
The ink on the contract was barely dry when Gu Chenghan snapped the folder shut. His cold eyes swept over her trembling figure as if she were already something he owned.
“Pack your things,” he ordered.Shen Zhiwei blinked. “What? Now?”“Yes. Now.” His tone brooked no argument. “From this moment on, you live in my house.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Live… with you?”
The corner of his mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it. “What kind of private chef doesn’t stay in the kitchen she serves? Do you think you can run back to your filthy apartment and cook for me from there?”
She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Every instinct screamed to refuse, to tell him he had no right to cage her like this. But then she remembered the contract, the debts, her mother’s hospital bills.
If she defied him, she would lose everything.
So she followed him.
The black Rolls-Royce waiting outside was as intimidating as its owner. The driver opened the door with a bow, and Shen Zhiwei slid inside, feeling like a criminal being escorted to prison.
The leather seats were softer than her bed at home, the faint scent of cedar and cold cologne overwhelming. Gu Chenghan sat across from her, one arm resting casually on the leather, his long legs crossed. The silence pressed down on her like a weight.
She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.
Finally, she whispered, “Mr. Gu… this contract… how long does it last?”
His gaze cut to her, sharp as a knife. “Until I say it ends.”
Her stomach tightened. “So, forever?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said coldly. “When I tire of you, I’ll let you go. Until then, you’re mine.”
The words burned like shackles around her wrists. She turned her face toward the window, refusing to let him see her tears.
The car glided through iron gates taller than any building she had ever lived in. Beyond them stretched a sprawling mansion lit with golden light, fountains dancing in the night, marble pillars rising like ancient gods.
His world.
And her cage.
When the car stopped, two maids were already waiting at the steps. They bowed to Gu Chenghan, then turned curious eyes to Shen Zhiwei.
“Take her upstairs,” he commanded. “She’ll be staying in the east wing. And prepare the kitchen. I want dinner in one hour.”
Dinner.
Shen Zhiwei stiffened. It was nearly two in the morning, yet he wanted her to cook?
The maids led her through corridors lined with chandeliers, past priceless art and polished marble. Every corner screamed of wealth and power. She had grown up in luxury, but this was something else—this was dominance carved into stone.
Her room was bigger than her entire old apartment. Velvet drapes, a king-sized bed, a balcony overlooking the gardens. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
“This is your room, miss,” a maid said politely. “The kitchen staff will assist you, but you are expected to prepare all of Young Master Gu’s meals personally.”
Shen Zhiwei swallowed hard. “And if I refuse?”
The maid’s eyes flickered with pity. “Then you don’t stay here.”
The kitchen gleamed like a palace of steel and glass. Dozens of burners, shelves of imported spices, every tool a chef could dream of. Yet the other chefs stood at a distance, whispering, glaring at her like she was an intruder.
“Who is she?”“Some nobody he dragged back.”“Private chef? More like his new plaything.”
Their words stabbed at her pride, but she held her head high. She had nothing left but her dignity, and she would not let them see her break.
Taking a deep breath, she tied her apron and turned to the ingredients laid out for her: wagyu beef, truffles, caviar, lobster. All luxuries she couldn’t even afford to touch anymore.
But she didn’t cook with them.
Instead, she reached for a simple chicken, some ginger, and a handful of rice.
The chefs scoffed. “Is she insane? He asked for dinner, not peasant food.”
But Shen Zhiwei ignored them. Her hands moved with confidence, washing, slicing, simmering. Soon the fragrance of steaming chicken congee filled the air—warm, soothing, humble.
It was the food of survival. The food of comfort. The food of a girl who had lost everything but still wanted to live.
When she carried the bowl to the dining hall, Gu Chenghan was waiting, lounging at the head of a long table. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar open, but the raw authority clung to him like a second skin.
He lifted a brow at the sight of the congee. “This is what you serve me? Not steak. Not lobster. Porridge?”
Her hands trembled, but her voice was steady. “You said you wanted dinner. This is dinner. If you don’t like it, then fire me.”
For a moment, silence stretched.
Then he took the spoon and tasted it.
Warmth spread across his tongue, subtle yet rich, comfort he hadn’t known in years. His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to admit it, but something in that bowl tugged at the frozen edges of his heart.
He set the spoon down with a sharp clink. “You’ll cook for me again tomorrow.”
Shen Zhiwei blinked. “So… you like it?”
He leaned back, eyes glinting. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t like anything. But I’ll tolerate this.” His gaze burned into hers. “Remember, Shen Zhiwei—your hands belong to me now. And soon, maybe more than just your hands.”
Her breath caught. She clutched her apron to her chest, heart pounding like a trapped bird.
The golden cage had closed around her.
And the devil who owned it had just tasted his first bite of her soul.
- Writer
