Chapter 3: The Golden Cage
785 Words
I threw the pen down onto the mahogany desk. It rolled across the polished surface, coming to a stop near Victor’s hand.
"I signed," I said, my voice hollow. "Now promise me she's safe. Promise me you won't hurt her."
"She is safe," Victor picked up the contract, inspecting my signature with a critical eye. His gray eyes gleamed with cold triumph. "I keep my word, Emma. Your sister will have the best surgeons in the country. But now..."
He folded the document and locked it in a drawer. The click of the lock sounded like a prison cell slamming shut.
"...now, you belong to me."
He pressed a button on his desk phone. "Send in the team."
"Team?" I asked, stepping back, my heart racing again. "What team? What are you talking about?"
"Read Clause 4," Victor pointed at the paper before locking it away. "Total obedience. Appearance maintenance. The wife of Victor Thorn must project perfection at all times."
He walked up to me. I could smell his cologne—musk, rain, and danger. He reached out and grabbed the collar of my wine-stained, muddy dress.
"This," he sneered, looking at the cheap fabric. "Is an insult to my name."
RIP.
With one violent, sudden tug, he tore the dress.
I gasped, a scream dying in my throat. The fabric gave way easily. I crossed my arms over my chest to cover my underwear, stumbling back in shock.
"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, my face burning with shame. "You have no right!"
"I have every right," Victor said, unimpressed by my modesty. He tossed the torn piece of fabric into the trash bin. "My wife does not wear trash. My wife does not smell like a dumpster. Tomorrow is Liam’s engagement party. We are going."
"I can't go there," I whispered, shaking. The trauma of the evening came rushing back. "He humiliated me. He threw me out. I can't face him."
"Exactly," Victor stepped closer, crowding me against the edge of the desk. He tilted my chin up with a rough finger, forcing me to look into his eyes. "You will go. And you will smile. You will stand tall while he chokes on his own bile. You will show him that throwing you away was the biggest mistake of his miserable life."
He opened a small velvet drawer in his desk and pulled out a ring.
It wasn't just a ring. It was a blinding star. An emerald-cut diamond so large it looked heavy, flanked by two sapphires. Ten carats of cold fire.
"Give me your hand."
I hesitated. I wanted to run. But the image of my sister hooked up to machines held me in place.
He didn't wait for my permission. He seized my left hand. His grip was firm, possessive. He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, heavy and cold, like a golden shackle.
"For them, it's a love story," Victor said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "For you, it's a job. Do not fail me, Emma. Do not embarrass me."
The double doors opened. A team of five people swarmed into the room—stylists, makeup artists, hairdressers. They carried garment bags, cases of makeup, and shoes.
"Make her a queen," Victor commanded, turning his back on me to pour himself a drink. "Scrub the poverty off her skin. I want Chloe to look like a maid next to her."
The stylists descended on me. I was poked, prodded, measured, and stripped. I felt like a doll. A mannequin being dressed for a display window. I watched myself disappear in the mirror. The messy, crying girl with the broken heart faded away.
In her place, a stranger began to emerge. Sharper. Colder. Harder.
I touched the cold diamond on my finger. The fear was fading, replaced by a steely resolve. If I was going to be trapped in this cage, I would make sure I owned the keys.
"Mr. Thorn?" I called out over the noise of the hairdryers.
He glanced over his shoulder, glass of whiskey in hand.
"If I do this," I said, my voice steady for the first time that night. "If I play your wife... I have conditions."
Victor raised an eyebrow, amused. "You are in no position to negotiate."
"I want to see Liam's face," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "I want to be the one who tells him. I want to see him break when he has to call me 'Mom'."
Victor stared at me for a long moment. Then, a smirk played on his lips—a sharp, predatory expression that made him look terrifyingly attractive.
"Deal."
- Writer
