The Gilded Cage Contract

Chapter Five: The Penthouse and the Phantom Wife

The elevator doors swished open with an inaudibly barely audible exhalation to expose an exclusive private vestibule exuding money and secrecy. Silvia walked through, taking in before her. Her gaze ran over the cold white marble floor, slippery to the touch, echoing faint remnants of recession lighting to suggest boundless space. Behind her was a minimalist sculpture in whorl shape in rubbed steel standing guard in the vestibule's center, sleek modern lines an abrupt change to ornateness in her life hit hitherto.

Ms. Davies, mask firmly in place, gestured towards an intimidating double pair of doors. "The penthouse is in this direction, Ms. Rossi. Your suite is to your right-hand side."

Silvia nodded, her pulsing heartbeat in her chest above the rumble of the city in the background. Her own life before her was standing before the door to the life she had only known in magazines and film, life in unimaginable luxury and privilege, life now tied to her in s*****y.

The double doors creaked into a vast interior that caused her to gasp. From floor to wall, windows stretched down both lengths of the hall to provide an expansive view over the city: an intricate mosaic of lights to the horizon. Furniture was sleek in design, tastefully mixed in leather, glass, and rich waxed wood, each article an indication of cultured taste and an exorbitant price. Cool and bracing was the interior atmosphere, redolent with faint whiffs of expensive candles and sweet flowers, an aroma that sang sweet melodies of luxury and refinement.

"Your accommodations have been entirely furnished through," Ms. Davies informed her in short economical sentences. "You'll have an inventory of items and clothing which have been provided to you. If you have further requirements, please inform us."

Silvia followed Ms. Davies down the hallway, her steps echoing faintly down the slippery floor. The hallway gave way to a vast bedroom, an oasis in muted colors and rich upholstery. Dominating most floor space was a king-sized bed swathed in silk comforter shuddering with liquid moonlight. On the wall hung the walk-in closet, larger than her whole apartment, full to bursting with things in testament to life beyond her ken. On the opposing wall was a sleek modern bathroom with lines featuring a Jacuzzi bathtub and shower head in the shape of rain.

"This is where you'll be staying," Ms. Davies informed him in an affect-less recitation in clinical specificity to illness: "The closet contains an assortment of shoes and attire. The bathroom is stocked with toiletries. If something additional is needed, please use the intercom system."

Silvia nodded, her head whirling in an attempt to balance reality to her around her to the lunacy in her life. She felt herself to be in a dream, something unreal that was not sensible or logical, an actor in an imaginary play danced upon strings beyond her control.

"Your schedule for tomorrow is this," Ms. Davies continued to inform her, flipping over to her leather planner with sleek pages lined with neatly typed appointments. "Adjustment session with a private stylist to Mr. Sinclair is at 9:00 AM. At 11:00 AM, an audience with a private fitness coach. At 2:00 PM audience with manner coach. At 7:00 PM, dinner with Mr. Sinclair at a charity ball."

Silvia stared down at her planner in her hands, her head whirling over the whirlwind of appointments, the amount of things that swamped her day. "A charity ball?" she breathed in absolute astonishment.

"Yes," Ms. Davies answered in abrupt sentences, not batting an eyelash. "It is an affair to be observed. You'll have to be playing the part of Mr. Sinclair's wife, to act in an atmosphere refined and dignified, to be the woman to whom you've signed yourself over."

Silvia nodded, head whirling to comprehend just how much work was before her. This life in society parties and sightings in public life was thrust upon her headfirst now. This life where she was to perform to be someone she was not to be someone who was an illusion of perfection in marriage.

"Is there something beyond this?" Ms. Davies asked, her eyes scanning her over with an almost clinical detachment, probing each gauge to detect weakness or frailty.

"No," Silvia answered in a hardly audible voice, her head in a dazed whirlwind of thought and sensation. "I think that is all."

"Very well," Ms. Davies answered in brisk efficient sentences. "I'll leave you to settle in. If you need something, call through to intercom."

She turned to leave, the door creaking behind her with a faint groaning to leave Silvia alone in the vastness of her bedroom. Alone in her bedroom now in the middle, her head was in disarray with feelings and thoughts, her heartbeat pounding in her rib cage.

She walked to the window, her eyes drinking in the lights below in the city, a glittering expanse of lights that stretched to infinity. It was something to marvel over to see, an expanse of glittering lights that stretched forever. But nothing was distracting her from the discomfort that was gnawing inside her, the feeling that she was in a cage in gold.

She was an ethereal bride-to-be, an actor in an overwrought performance, nothing more than a puppet in an unfamiliar game. She was in an ornate cage surrounded by luxury and debauchery yet bound by contract to an ulterior motives-filled man.

She walked towards the closet where her hands strayed over rich material covering attire that was furnished to her. Design dresses, bespoke suits, and stylish shoes hung over hanger rods, each symbolizing money and status. It was an outfit that every woman would go crazy about, yet seemed to her to be unreal, an act to put on, an armor to wear.

She picked up a dress, a black evening gown that shimmied in sunlight, smooth to handle in her hands like silk to her body. She stood in front of herself in front of a full glass. She was someone else now, someone she hardly knew in body, specter bride in specter life.

She sighed, hanging the dress in the empty bedroom, sounding hollow in space. She was entering an illusional reality, an illusional reality in which things appeared to have something greater in meaning than reality, an illusional reality in which she was to act an act, live in falsehood. But to appease her mother, she would act whatever act was needed to her part, endure whatever falsehood.