Chapter Three – Rules of the Cage
663 Words
Alessia sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the untouched plate of food in front of her.
Someone had brought it in while she was in the bathroom—she hadn’t seen their face. No knocking. No words. Just a silver tray with roasted chicken, vegetables, and a glass of red wine placed carefully on the bedside table like she was a guest at some twisted hotel.
She wasn’t hungry.
She was furious.
Not the kind of loud fury that broke things—but the quiet kind. The deadly kind. The kind that built up in silence, breathing beneath her skin like smoke waiting for flame.
He hadn’t locked her in.
But that didn’t mean she was free.
The entire floor was empty, but she knew eyes were watching. She felt them—behind the ornate doors, beyond the hallways. Every time she stepped outside her room, it was like the walls leaned in closer.
Her bare feet walked toward the window.
It overlooked a garden—lush, perfectly trimmed, wild roses twisting up marble statues. So much beauty wrapped around a house full of ghosts.
She wondered if Lorenzo had ghosts.
Or if he was one.
Her eyes caught movement.
There he was.
Outside, walking through the garden in that same effortless, predatory stride. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a cigarette he hadn’t lit.
Just staring.
Straight at her window.
She moved back immediately.
---
Later that evening, a knock finally came.
Lorenzo didn’t wait for a reply.
He opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. Calm. Cold. Like he owned the air in the room.
“Eat,” he said, eyes falling to the untouched tray.
Alessia didn’t look at him. “I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve had nothing all day.”
“And?”
He walked closer.
She stood.
Mistake.
Because now they were too close—close enough that she could smell the hint of spice on his cologne, feel the heat of his presence, the weight of his gaze dragging across her skin like a chain.
“You’re not in a position to refuse things,” he said quietly.
Her jaw clenched. “Am I a prisoner?”
His expression didn’t change. “You're under my protection.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He tilted his head. “You’re not tied up. Not locked away. Not harmed. You have food, clothes, a room that costs more than some people’s lives. But yes, Alessia—this is still a cage.”
There it was.
The truth, cut sharp and raw.
“I want to go home,” she said, her voice breaking for the first time.
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened—not with sympathy. With something else. Something she couldn’t read.
“That place is not your home anymore.”
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I do now.”
Silence.
Then Alessia whispered, “You bought me.”
His jaw tightened. “No. I stopped someone else from buying you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
She felt the tears sting. She blinked them away violently.
“You think I should thank you for saving me from being sold—by buying me instead?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t apologize.
He just watched her fall apart, brick by brick.
“I don’t understand you,” she whispered.
“You’re not meant to,” he said, softer now. “Not yet.”
And with that, he left.
---
That night, Alessia sat alone by the window. Still in the nightgown. Still untouched food beside her. Still trying to make sense of a man who didn’t care about being understood.
But in that quiet, she made a vow.
If she was going to survive this—whatever this was—she wouldn’t do it as a girl who waited to be saved.
She would become dangerous in silence.
Just like him.
- Writer
