GILDED CAGE
1776 Words
~ Lynchard Towers – Second Door on the Right ~
The door creaked open like a secret whispering a warning.
Krishna stepped into her new room.
It was... vast. Silent. Cold.
A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in black silk sheets that glistened under the soft amber lights. The floor was marble, smooth beneath her bare feet.
On the wall across from the bed, a massive window opened to the Manhattan skyline—stars blurred by city haze. A walk-in closet stood to the side, empty. Not a single dress, not a single shoe.
Just walls.
And silence.
She let the small suitcase drop beside the bed and walked to the window. Her reflection met her—bruised lip, tired eyes, dry skin, and bones aching from four days of hunger.
In the golden glow of a billionaire’s world… she looked like a ghost.
“I don’t belong here,” she whispered to her reflection.
But the mirror didn’t argue. It stared back at her instead.
>>>Later That Night...
She had curled into one corner of the enormous bed, too intimidated to touch anything else, when there was a knock.
Not the firm, sharp knock of Eric.
This one was soft… cautious.
The door opened slightly, revealing a woman in her early forties. Sharp cheekbones, grey hair tied in a bun, dressed in a simple maid’s uniform.
But her eyes weren’t cold—they held something Krishna hadn’t seen in days: concern.
“I’m Brigid,” she whispered. “I’m the housekeeper.”
Krishna sat up. “Are you… going to give me orders too?”
Brigid entered and closed the door behind her. She placed a folded white robe on the bed.
“No, child. I’m here to help.” She paused. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”
Krishna shook her head.
Brigid’s lips tightened. “Of course not. That man doesn’t think about such things.”
“I don’t want to make trouble,” Krishna said, hugging her knees. “He said this isn’t kindness. That I was just... a contract.”
Brigid nodded slowly, walking toward the hidden panel on the wall. It opened into a secret pantry.
“Then eat in secret,” she said, pulling out a tray. “Before the cold kills the little strength you have.”
There was soup. Bread. Warm water with lemon. Krishna almost cried.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Brigid paused at the door. “Be careful with him, Krishna. Eric Lynchard is not like other men.”
Krishna looked up, a spoon halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
Brigid's eyes darkened. “He doesn’t care about hearts. Only control. And when someone breaks that control...” She shook her head. “Just be careful.”
And she left.
~ Next Morning – Lynchard's Private Study ~
Tristan poured himself a glass of whiskey, ignoring the fact that it was barely past 10 AM.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, nodding toward Eric who was dressed in all black, staring out the window again.
“Or were you too busy plotting world domination and faking a marriage?”
Eric didn’t answer.
Tristan sighed, sipping his drink. “She’s pretty, though. Your new… contract.”
Eric finally turned.
“Pretty is dangerous,” he said simply. “People fall in love with pretty.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “So? Isn’t that the point? A few public appearances, kill the gay rumors, keep your throne and crush your rivals.”
“I don’t need love, Tristan. I need silence.”
Tristan gave a low whistle. “God, I hope she survives you.”
Eric’s jaw clenched. “She will. Or she won’t. Either way, one year. Then she vanishes.”
But his voice… it faltered slightly.
Because something about her eyes last night… something felt too alive.
Too innocent. And that unsettled him more than he would admit.
✿ ♡♡✿ ♡♡✿ ♡♡✿ ♡♡✿ ♡♡✿ ♡
~ That Evening – Public Event Alert ~
“Mr. Lynchard,” Tristan’s voice came through the intercom. “Charity Gala tomorrow night. Press will be there. If you’re serious about shutting down the rumors…”
“I’ll bring her,” Eric said.
“You sure she can handle it? One wrong move and the headlines won’t be pretty.”
“I said I’ll bring her.”
He ended the call.
His eyes narrowed.
Time to dress the lamb for the s*******r.
✿~ Lynchard Towers – The Morning After ~✿
She woke to silence.
Not the kind of silence she was used to—cold, broken, and harsh—but something heavier… luxurious, unnatural.
It felt like the kind of silence that watched you, judged you, expected you to break it with the wrong sound.
The sheets beneath her felt too smooth, too expensive. Her eyes fluttered open, unfamiliar with the soft morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she remembered.
The deal.
The dinner.
The limo.
Him.
She sat up slowly, brushing her tangled hair behind her ears.
Her body still ached from the past week — not just the starvation, but the countless chores, the slaps, the cold cement floors she’d been left to clean in the Martins’ garage.
But this bed… this room… it was something out of a dream she would have never dared to dream.
And yet, it was not hers.
It would never be.
Because she had been brought here like a debt repaid. A piece of currency dressed in pale skin and haunted eyes.
As her feet touched the cold marble floor, she flinched. It was too clean. Too quiet. Every breath she took felt like an offense.
She stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city glittered. Cars were like ants.
Buildings stretched tall like giants with glass skin. Krishna reached out and placed her palm against the cool glass.
So many people down there.
And she felt so far above them.
So alone.
~ Bathroom – Minutes Later ~
The bathroom was larger than the room she had shared with her stepmother’s dirty laundry.
Everything was marble and gold. The mirror was almost taller than her. The tub looked like it had never been used.
She turned on the tap and cupped water into her palms. Her reflection stared back, swollen-lipped and hollow-eyed.
She hadn’t seen herself in days.
The bruise at the corner of her mouth had turned purple.
Her collarbone jutted out beneath the loose neckline of the faded dress she’d worn for four days straight.
Her hair was matted. She looked like someone who had just been rescued from war… only this war hadn’t ended.
It had just moved into a new battleground.
She found a comb tucked in a drawer and began brushing her hair slowly, quietly, afraid to make too much noise, afraid someone might punish her for being awake before she was needed.
Back at the Martins' house, she wasn’t allowed to use the nice bathroom. Only the one near the basement — with no lock and a cracked sink.
She used to count how many seconds the water stayed warm before turning ice cold.
But here… everything was warm.
Even the silence.
And it terrified her.
~ Later That Morning – Dining Lounge ~
Brigid returned — this time with clothes.
Soft cotton pants. A blouse that actually fit. Krishna had never worn something so light before.
She stepped out of the room quietly and followed Miriam down a hallway that felt too long, too quiet.
Everything in this penthouse was intimidatingly beautiful. Walls of dark stone. Bookshelves filled with titles she couldn’t pronounce.
A grand piano that sat untouched in the far end of the living area, black and gleaming like a casket.
When they reached the dining lounge, Krishna stopped.
Because he was already there.
Eric.
Seated at the long mahogany dining table, dressed in a crisp black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins that traced like blue fire beneath his pale skin.
A steaming cup of coffee sat untouched beside him. His eyes were not on her. They were on a newspaper.
But she could feel the tension in the room shift.
He knew she was there.
Brigid gave her a gentle nudge, then disappeared into a nearby hallway.
Krishna stepped forward. Slowly. Each step sounded loud. Her bare feet against the polished tile echoed like whispers in a cathedral.
Eric didn’t look up until she was nearly across from him.
Then, without raising his voice, he said—
“You clean up well. For a girl pulled out of a trash bin.”
Krishna froze mid-step.
His words were ice. Smooth, deliberate, and intended to sting.
But she didn’t reply.
She stood there, hands folded in front of her, and lowered her gaze like she’d been trained to do all her life.
That simple, submissive motion made something shift in Eric’s stare. He finally looked at her — really looked.
She was thinner than he remembered from the night before. Her skin too pale. Her mouth still bruised.
Her blouse hung delicately around her shoulders like it wasn’t sure it belonged there.
“You didn’t eat last night.”
“I did,” she said quietly. “Brigid brought me something.”
His eyes narrowed, barely noticeable, but she caught it.
“I’ll deal with Brigid later.”
Krishna blinked.
No one had ever been punished for feeding her before.
She swallowed, voice soft. “She was kind.”
“I don’t pay people to be kind,” he replied. “I pay them to follow orders.”
She nodded.
He turned a page in his newspaper. “Sit.”
Krishna took a seat at the far end of the table.
A moment passed. Then another.
Finally, Eric spoke again. “You’ll need to be ready by tomorrow evening.”
She looked up. “Ready for… what?”
“Our first public appearance. Gala. Cameras. Journalists. Men who would pay to own what I’ve already bought.”
Krishna’s heart skipped. “You’re taking me?”
“You are my wife now. Even if it’s temporary. You’ll play your part.”
“And if I don’t know how?”
He looked up sharply. His stare was made of knives.
“Then learn. Or you’ll regret not trying.”
His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be.
The silence that followed hurt more than the words.
- Writer
